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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: The Lodger
+
+Author: Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+Release Date: December, 1999 [eBook #2014]
+[Most recently updated: April 22, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LODGER ***
+
+
+
+
+The Lodger
+
+by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+
+Contents
+
+ CHAPTER I.
+ CHAPTER II.
+ CHAPTER III.
+ CHAPTER IV.
+ CHAPTER V.
+ CHAPTER VI.
+ CHAPTER VII.
+ CHAPTER VIII.
+ CHAPTER IX.
+ CHAPTER X.
+ CHAPTER XI.
+ CHAPTER XII.
+ CHAPTER XIII.
+ CHAPTER XIV.
+ CHAPTER XV.
+ CHAPTER XVI.
+ CHAPTER XVII.
+ CHAPTER XVIII.
+ CHAPTER XIX.
+ CHAPTER XX.
+ CHAPTER XXI.
+ CHAPTER XXII.
+ CHAPTER XXIII.
+ CHAPTER XXIV.
+ CHAPTER XXV.
+ CHAPTER XXVI.
+ CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+
+
+“Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into
+darkness.”
+PSALM lxxxviii. 18
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Robert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning,
+carefully-banked-up fire.
+
+The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house
+standing in a grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare, was
+exceptionally clean and well-cared-for. A casual stranger, more
+particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly opening
+the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr. and Mrs.
+Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of comfortable married
+life. Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep leather arm-chair, was
+clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance what he had been for many
+years of his life—a self-respecting man-servant.
+
+On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair,
+the marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they were there all
+the same—in her neat black stuff dress, and in her scrupulously clean,
+plain collar and cuffs. Mrs. Bunting, as a single woman, had been what
+is known as a useful maid.
+
+But peculiarly true of average English life is the time-worn English
+proverb as to appearances being deceitful. Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were
+sitting in a very nice room and in their time—how long ago it now
+seemed!—both husband and wife had been proud of their carefully chosen
+belongings. Everything in the room was strong and substantial, and each
+article of furniture had been bought at a well-conducted auction held
+in a private house.
+
+Thus the red damask curtains which now shut out the fog-laden,
+drizzling atmosphere of the Marylebone Road, had cost a mere song, and
+yet they might have been warranted to last another thirty years. A
+great bargain also had been the excellent Axminster carpet which
+covered the floor; as, again, the arm-chair in which Bunting now sat
+forward, staring into the dull, small fire. In fact, that arm-chair had
+been an extravagance of Mrs. Bunting. She had wanted her husband to be
+comfortable after the day’s work was done, and she had paid
+thirty-seven shillings for the chair. Only yesterday Bunting had tried
+to find a purchaser for it, but the man who had come to look at it,
+guessing their cruel necessities, had only offered them twelve
+shillings and sixpence for it; so for the present they were keeping
+their arm-chair.
+
+But man and woman want something more than mere material comfort, much
+as that is valued by the Buntings of this world. So, on the walls of
+the sitting-room, hung neatly framed if now rather faded
+photographs—photographs of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting’s various former
+employers, and of the pretty country houses in which they had
+separately lived during the long years they had spent in a not unhappy
+servitude.
+
+But appearances were not only deceitful, they were more than usually
+deceitful with regard to these unfortunate people. In spite of their
+good furniture—that substantial outward sign of respectability which is
+the last thing which wise folk who fall into trouble try to dispose
+of—they were almost at the end of their tether. Already they had learnt
+to go hungry, and they were beginning to learn to go cold. Tobacco, the
+last thing the sober man foregoes among his comforts, had been given up
+some time ago by Bunting. And even Mrs. Bunting—prim, prudent, careful
+woman as she was in her way—had realised what this must mean to him. So
+well, indeed, had she understood that some days back she had crept out
+and bought him a packet of Virginia.
+
+Bunting had been touched—touched as he had not been for years by any
+woman’s thought and love for him. Painful tears had forced themselves
+into his eyes, and husband and wife had both felt in their odd,
+unemotional way, moved to the heart.
+
+Fortunately he never guessed—how could he have guessed, with his slow,
+normal, rather dull mind?—that his poor Ellen had since more than once
+bitterly regretted that fourpence-ha’penny, for they were now very near
+the soundless depths which divide those who dwell on the safe tableland
+of security—those, that is, who are sure of making a respectable, if
+not a happy, living—and the submerged multitude who, through some lack
+in themselves, or owing to the conditions under which our strange
+civilisation has become organised, struggle rudderless till they die in
+workhouse, hospital, or prison.
+
+Had the Buntings been in a class lower than their own, had they
+belonged to the great company of human beings technically known to so
+many of us as the poor, there would have been friendly neighbours ready
+to help them, and the same would have been the case had they belonged
+to the class of smug, well-meaning, if unimaginative, folk whom they
+had spent so much of their lives in serving.
+
+There was only one person in the world who might possibly be brought to
+help them. That was an aunt of Bunting’s first wife. With this woman,
+the widow of a man who had been well-to-do, lived Daisy, Bunting’s only
+child by his first wife, and during the last long two days he had been
+trying to make up his mind to write to the old lady, and that though he
+suspected that she would almost certainly retort with a cruel, sharp
+rebuff.
+
+As to their few acquaintances, former fellow-servants, and so on, they
+had gradually fallen out of touch with them. There was but one friend
+who often came to see them in their deep trouble. This was a young
+fellow named Chandler, under whose grandfather Bunting had been footman
+years and years ago. Joe Chandler had never gone into service; he was
+attached to the police; in fact not to put too fine a point upon it,
+young Chandler was a detective.
+
+When they had first taken the house which had brought them, so they
+both thought, such bad luck, Bunting had encouraged the young chap to
+come often, for his tales were well worth listening to—quite exciting
+at times. But now poor Bunting didn’t want to hear that sort of
+stories—stories of people being cleverly “nabbed,” or stupidly allowed
+to escape the fate they always, from Chandler’s point of view, richly
+deserved.
+
+But Joe still came very faithfully once or twice a week, so timing his
+calls that neither host nor hostess need press food upon him—nay, more,
+he had done that which showed him to have a good and feeling heart. He
+had offered his father’s old acquaintance a loan, and Bunting, at last,
+had taken 30s. Very little of that money now remained: Bunting still
+could jingle a few coppers in his pocket; and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.;
+that and the rent they would have to pay in five weeks, was all they
+had left. Everything of the light, portable sort that would fetch money
+had been sold. Mrs. Bunting had a fierce horror of the pawnshop. She
+had never put her feet in such a place, and she declared she never
+would—she would rather starve first.
+
+But she had said nothing when there had occurred the gradual
+disappearance of various little possessions she knew that Bunting
+valued, notably of the old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been
+given to him after the death of his first master, a master he had
+nursed faithfully and kindly through a long and terrible illness. There
+had also vanished a twisted gold tie-pin, and a large mourning ring,
+both gifts of former employers.
+
+When people are living near that deep pit which divides the secure from
+the insecure—when they see themselves creeping closer and closer to its
+dread edge—they are apt, however loquacious by nature, to fall into
+long silences. Bunting had always been a talker, but now he talked no
+more. Neither did Mrs. Bunting, but then she had always been a silent
+woman, and that was perhaps one reason why Bunting had felt drawn to
+her from the very first moment he had seen her.
+
+It had fallen out in this way. A lady had just engaged him as butler,
+and he had been shown, by the man whose place he was to take, into the
+dining-room. There, to use his own expression, he had discovered Ellen
+Green, carefully pouring out the glass of port wine which her then
+mistress always drank at 11.30 every morning. And as he, the new
+butler, had seen her engaged in this task, as he had watched her
+carefully stopper the decanter and put it back into the old
+wine-cooler, he had said to himself, “That is the woman for me!”
+
+But now her stillness, her—her dumbness, had got on the unfortunate
+man’s nerves. He no longer felt like going into the various little
+shops, close by, patronised by him in more prosperous days, and Mrs.
+Bunting also went afield to make the slender purchases which still had
+to be made every day or two, if they were to be saved from actually
+starving to death.
+
+Suddenly, across the stillness of the dark November evening there came
+the muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting
+outside—boys crying the late afternoon editions of the evening papers.
+
+Bunting turned uneasily in his chair. The giving up of a daily paper
+had been, after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation. And the paper
+was an older habit than the tobacco, for servants are great readers of
+newspapers.
+
+As the shouts came through the closed windows and the thick damask
+curtains, Bunting felt a sudden sense of mind hunger fall upon him.
+
+It was a shame—a damned shame—that he shouldn’t know what was happening
+in the world outside! Only criminals are kept from hearing news of what
+is going on beyond their prison walls. And those shouts, those hoarse,
+sharp cries must portend that something really exciting had happened,
+something warranted to make a man forget for the moment his own
+intimate, gnawing troubles.
+
+He got up, and going towards the nearest window strained his ears to
+listen. There fell on them, emerging now and again from the confused
+babel of hoarse shouts, the one clear word “Murder!”
+
+Slowly Bunting’s brain pieced the loud, indistinct cries into some sort
+of connected order. Yes, that was it—“Horrible Murder! Murder at St.
+Pancras!” Bunting remembered vaguely another murder which had been
+committed near St. Pancras—that of an old lady by her servant-maid. It
+had happened a great many years ago, but was still vividly remembered,
+as of special and natural interest, among the class to which he had
+belonged.
+
+The newsboys—for there were more than one of them, a rather unusual
+thing in the Marylebone Road—were coming nearer and nearer; now they
+had adopted another cry, but he could not quite catch what they were
+crying. They were still shouting hoarsely, excitedly, but he could only
+hear a word or two now and then. Suddenly “The Avenger! The Avenger at
+his work again!” broke on his ear.
+
+During the last fortnight four very curious and brutal murders had been
+committed in London and within a comparatively small area.
+
+The first had aroused no special interest—even the second had only been
+awarded, in the paper Bunting was still then taking in, quite a small
+paragraph.
+
+Then had come the third—and with that a wave of keen excitement, for
+pinned to the dress of the victim—a drunken woman—had been found a
+three-cornered piece of paper, on which was written, in red ink, and in
+printed characters, the words,
+
+“THE AVENGER”
+
+
+It was then realised, not only by those whose business it is to
+investigate such terrible happenings, but also by the vast world of men
+and women who take an intelligent interest in such sinister mysteries,
+that the same miscreant had committed all three crimes; and before that
+extraordinary fact had had time to soak well into the public mind there
+took place yet another murder, and again the murderer had been to
+special pains to make it clear that some obscure and terrible lust for
+vengeance possessed him.
+
+Now everyone was talking of The Avenger and his crimes! Even the man
+who left their ha’porth of milk at the door each morning had spoken to
+Bunting about them that very day.
+
+Bunting came back to the fire and looked down at his wife with mild
+excitement. Then, seeing her pale, apathetic face, her look of weary,
+mournful absorption, a wave of irritation swept through him. He felt he
+could have shaken her!
+
+Ellen had hardly taken the trouble to listen when he, Bunting, had come
+back to bed that morning, and told her what the milkman had said. In
+fact, she had been quite nasty about it, intimating that she didn’t
+like hearing about such horrid things.
+
+It was a curious fact that though Mrs. Bunting enjoyed tales of pathos
+and sentiment, and would listen with frigid amusement to the details of
+a breach of promise action, she shrank from stories of immorality or of
+physical violence. In the old, happy days, when they could afford to
+buy a paper, aye, and more than one paper daily, Bunting had often had
+to choke down his interest in some exciting “case” or “mystery” which
+was affording him pleasant mental relaxation, because any allusion to
+it sharply angered Ellen.
+
+But now he was at once too dull and too miserable to care how she felt.
+
+Walking away from the window he took a slow, uncertain step towards the
+door; when there he turned half round, and there came over his
+close-shaven, round face the rather sly, pleading look with which a
+child about to do something naughty glances at its parent.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting remained quite still; her thin, narrow shoulders just
+showed above the back of the chair on which she was sitting, bolt
+upright, staring before her as if into vacancy.
+
+Bunting turned round, opened the door, and quickly he went out into the
+dark hall—they had given up lighting the gas there some time ago—and
+opened the front door.
+
+Walking down the small flagged path outside, he flung open the iron
+gate which gave on to the damp pavement. But there he hesitated. The
+coppers in his pocket seemed to have shrunk in number, and he
+remembered ruefully how far Ellen could make even four pennies go.
+
+Then a boy ran up to him with a sheaf of evening papers, and Bunting,
+being sorely tempted—fell. “Give me a _Sun_,” he said roughly, “_Sun_
+or _Echo!_”
+
+But the boy, scarcely stopping to take breath, shook his head. “Only
+penny papers left,” he gasped. “What’ll yer ’ave, sir?”
+
+With an eagerness which was mingled with shame, Bunting drew a penny
+out of his pocket and took a paper—it was the _Evening Standard_—from
+the boy’s hand.
+
+Then, very slowly, he shut the gate and walked back through the raw,
+cold air, up the flagged path, shivering yet full of eager, joyful
+anticipation.
+
+Thanks to that penny he had just spent so recklessly he would pass a
+happy hour, taken, for once, out of his anxious, despondent, miserable
+self. It irritated him shrewdly to know that these moments of respite
+from carking care would not be shared with his poor wife, with
+careworn, troubled Ellen.
+
+A hot wave of unease, almost of remorse, swept over Bunting. Ellen
+would never have spent that penny on herself—he knew that well
+enough—and if it hadn’t been so cold, so foggy, so—so drizzly, he would
+have gone out again through the gate and stood under the street lamp to
+take his pleasure. He dreaded with a nervous dread the glance of
+Ellen’s cold, reproving light-blue eye. That glance would tell him that
+he had had no business to waste a penny on a paper, and that well he
+knew it!
+
+Suddenly the door in front of him opened, and he heard a familiar voice
+saying crossly, yet anxiously, “What on earth are you doing out there,
+Bunting? Come in—do! You’ll catch your death of cold! I don’t want to
+have you ill on my hands as well as everything else!” Mrs. Bunting
+rarely uttered so many words at once nowadays.
+
+He walked in through the front door of his cheerless house. “I went out
+to get a paper,” he said sullenly.
+
+After all, he was master. He had as much right to spend the money as
+she had; for the matter of that the money on which they were now both
+living had been lent, nay, pressed on him—not on Ellen—by that decent
+young chap, Joe Chandler. And he, Bunting, had done all he could; he
+had pawned everything he could pawn, while Ellen, so he resentfully
+noticed, still wore her wedding ring.
+
+He stepped past her heavily, and though she said nothing, he knew she
+grudged him his coming joy. Then, full of rage with her and contempt
+for himself, and giving himself the luxury of a mild, a very mild,
+oath—Ellen had very early made it clear she would have no swearing in
+her presence—he lit the hall gas full-flare.
+
+“How can we hope to get lodgers if they can’t even see the card?” he
+shouted angrily.
+
+And there was truth in what he said, for now that he had lit the gas,
+the oblong card, though not the word “Apartments” printed on it, could
+be plainly seen out-lined against the old-fashioned fanlight above the
+front door.
+
+Bunting went into the sitting-room, silently followed by his wife, and
+then, sitting down in his nice arm-chair, he poked the little banked-up
+fire. It was the first time Bunting had poked the fire for many a long
+day, and this exertion of marital authority made him feel better. A man
+has to assert himself sometimes, and he, Bunting, had not asserted
+himself enough lately.
+
+A little colour came into Mrs. Bunting’s pale face. She was not used to
+be flouted in this way. For Bunting, when not thoroughly upset, was the
+mildest of men.
+
+She began moving about the room, flicking off an imperceptible touch of
+dust here, straightening a piece of furniture there.
+
+But her hands trembled—they trembled with excitement, with self-pity,
+with anger. A penny? It was dreadful—dreadful to have to worry about a
+penny! But they had come to the point when one has to worry about
+pennies. Strange that her husband didn’t realise that.
+
+Bunting looked round once or twice; he would have liked to ask Ellen to
+leave off fidgeting, but he was fond of peace, and perhaps, by now, a
+little bit ashamed of himself, so he refrained from remark, and she
+soon gave over what irritated him of her own accord.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting did not come and sit down as her husband would have
+liked her to do. The sight of him, absorbed in his paper as he was,
+irritated her, and made her long to get away from him. Opening the door
+which separated the sitting-room from the bedroom behind, and—shutting
+out the aggravating vision of Bunting sitting comfortably by the now
+brightly burning fire, with the _Evening Standard_ spread out before
+him—she sat down in the cold darkness, and pressed her hands against
+her temples.
+
+Never, never had she felt so hopeless, so—so broken as now. Where was
+the good of having been an upright, conscientious, self-respecting
+woman all her life long, if it only led to this utter, degrading
+poverty and wretchedness? She and Bunting were just past the age which
+gentlefolk think proper in a married couple seeking to enter service
+together, unless, that is, the wife happens to be a professed cook. A
+cook and a butler can always get a nice situation. But Mrs. Bunting was
+no cook. She could do all right the simple things any lodger she might
+get would require, but that was all.
+
+Lodgers? How foolish she had been to think of taking lodgers! For it
+had been her doing. Bunting had been like butter in her hands.
+
+Yet they had begun well, with a lodging-house in a seaside place. There
+they had prospered, not as they had hoped to do, but still pretty well;
+and then had come an epidemic of scarlet fever, and that had meant ruin
+for them, and for dozens, nay, hundreds, of other luckless people. Then
+had followed a business experiment which had proved even more
+disastrous, and which had left them in debt—in debt to an extent they
+could never hope to repay, to a good-natured former employer.
+
+After that, instead of going back to service, as they might have done,
+perhaps, either together or separately, they had made up their minds to
+make one last effort, and they had taken over, with the trifle of money
+that remained to them, the lease of this house in the Marylebone Road.
+
+In former days, when they had each been leading the sheltered,
+impersonal, and, above all, financially easy existence which is the
+compensation life offers to those men and women who deliberately take
+upon themselves the yoke of domestic service, they had both lived in
+houses overlooking Regent’s Park. It had seemed a wise plan to settle
+in the same neighbourhood, the more so that Bunting, who had a good
+appearance, had retained the kind of connection which enables a man to
+get a job now and again as waiter at private parties.
+
+But life moves quickly, jaggedly, for people like the Buntings. Two of
+his former masters had moved to another part of London, and a caterer
+in Baker Street whom he had known went bankrupt.
+
+And now? Well, just now Bunting could not have taken a job had one been
+offered him, for he had pawned his dress clothes. He had not asked his
+wife’s permission to do this, as so good a husband ought to have done.
+He had just gone out and done it. And she had not had the heart to say
+anything; nay, it was with part of the money that he had handed her
+silently the evening he did it that she had bought that last packet of
+tobacco.
+
+And then, as Mrs. Bunting sat there thinking these painful thoughts,
+there suddenly came to the front door the sound of a loud, tremulous,
+uncertain double knock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Mr. Bunting jumped nervously to her feet. She stood for a moment
+listening in the darkness, a darkness made the blacker by the line of
+light under the door behind which sat Bunting reading his paper.
+
+And then it came again, that loud, tremulous, uncertain double knock;
+not a knock, so the listener told herself, that boded any good.
+Would-be lodgers gave sharp, quick, bold, confident raps. No; this must
+be some kind of beggar. The queerest people came at all hours, and
+asked—whining or threatening—for money.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had had some sinister experiences with men and
+women—especially women—drawn from that nameless, mysterious class made
+up of the human flotsam and jetsam which drifts about every great city.
+But since she had taken to leaving the gas in the passage unlit at
+night she had been very little troubled with that kind of visitors,
+those human bats which are attracted by any kind of light but leave
+alone those who live in darkness.
+
+She opened the door of the sitting-room. It was Bunting’s place to go
+to the front door, but she knew far better than he did how to deal with
+difficult or obtrusive callers. Still, somehow, she would have liked
+him to go to-night. But Bunting sat on, absorbed in his newspaper; all
+he did at the sound of the bedroom door opening was to look up and say,
+“Didn’t you hear a knock?”
+
+Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
+
+Slowly she opened the front door.
+
+On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stood the
+long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an
+old-fashioned top hat. He waited for a few seconds blinking at her,
+perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage. Mrs. Bunting’s
+trained perception told her at once that this man, odd as he looked,
+was a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class with whom her former
+employment had brought her in contact.
+
+“Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?” he asked, and there was
+something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she said uncertainly—it was a long, long time since anyone
+had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they could think
+of taking into their respectable house.
+
+Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger walked
+past her, and so into the hall.
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held a
+narrow bag in his left hand. It was quite a new bag, made of strong
+brown leather.
+
+“I am looking for some quiet rooms,” he said; then he repeated the
+words, “quiet rooms,” in a dreamy, absent way, and as he uttered them
+he looked nervously round him.
+
+Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had been carefully
+furnished, and was very clean.
+
+There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the stranger’s weary feet
+fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red drugget, which matched in
+colour the flock-paper on the walls.
+
+A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a superior
+lodging-house keeper.
+
+“You’d find my rooms quite quiet, sir,” she said gently. “And just now
+I have four to let. The house is empty, save for my husband and me,
+sir.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice. It seemed too good to
+be true, this sudden coming of a possible lodger, and of a lodger who
+spoke in the pleasant, courteous way and voice which recalled to the
+poor woman her happy, far-off days of youth and of security.
+
+“That sounds very suitable,” he said. “Four rooms? Well, perhaps I
+ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should like to see all four
+before I make my choice.”
+
+How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit the gas!
+But for that circumstance this gentleman would have passed them by.
+
+She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitation
+that the front door was still open; and it was the stranger whom she
+already in her mind described as “the lodger,” who turned and rather
+quickly walked down the passage and shut it.
+
+“Oh, thank you, sir!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry you should have had the
+trouble.”
+
+For a moment their eyes met. “It’s not safe to leave a front door open
+in London,” he said, rather sharply. “I hope you do not often do that.
+It would be so easy for anyone to slip in.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had still spoken
+courteously, but he was evidently very much put out.
+
+“I assure you, sir, I never leave my front door open,” she answered
+hastily. “You needn’t be at all afraid of that!”
+
+And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came the sound
+of Bunting coughing—it was just a little, hard cough, but Mrs.
+Bunting’s future lodger started violently.
+
+“Who’s that?” he said, putting out a hand and clutching her arm.
+“Whatever was that?”
+
+“Only my husband, sir. He went out to buy a paper a few minutes ago,
+and the cold just caught him, I suppose.”
+
+“Your husband—?” he looked at her intently, suspiciously. “What—what,
+may I ask, is your husband’s occupation?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting drew herself up. The question as to Bunting’s occupation
+was no one’s business but theirs. Still, it wouldn’t do for her to show
+offence. “He goes out waiting,” she said stiffly. “He was a gentleman’s
+servant, sir. He could, of course, valet you should you require him to
+do so.”
+
+And then she turned and led the way up the steep, narrow staircase.
+
+At the top of the first flight of stairs was what Mrs. Bunting, to
+herself, called the drawing-room floor. It consisted of a sitting-room
+in front, and a bedroom behind. She opened the door of the sitting-room
+and quickly lit the chandelier.
+
+This front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps a little
+over-encumbered with furniture. Covering the floor was a green carpet
+simulating moss; four chairs were placed round the table which occupied
+the exact middle of the apartment, and in the corner, opposite the door
+giving on to the landing, was a roomy, old-fashioned chiffonnier.
+
+On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight engravings, portraits of
+early Victorian belles, clad in lace and tarletan ball dresses, clipped
+from an old Book of Beauty. Mrs. Bunting was very fond of these
+pictures; she thought they gave the drawing-room a note of elegance and
+refinement.
+
+As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad, glad indeed, that she
+had summoned up sufficient energy, two days ago, to give the room a
+thorough turn-out.
+
+It had remained for a long time in the state in which it had been left
+by its last dishonest, dirty occupants when they had been scared into
+going away by Bunting’s rough threats of the police. But now it was in
+apple-pie order, with one paramount exception, of which Mrs. Bunting
+was painfully aware. There were no white curtains to the windows, but
+that omission could soon be remedied if this gentleman really took the
+lodgings.
+
+But what was this—? The stranger was looking round him rather
+dubiously. “This is rather—rather too grand for me,” he said at last “I
+should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er—”
+
+“—Bunting,” she said softly. “Bunting, sir.”
+
+And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again came down and
+settled on her sad, burdened heart. Perhaps she had been mistaken,
+after all—or rather, she had not been mistaken in one sense, but
+perhaps this gentleman was a poor gentleman—too poor, that is, to
+afford the rent of more than one room, say eight or ten shillings a
+week; eight or ten shillings a week would be very little use to her and
+Bunting, though better than nothing at all.
+
+“Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?”
+
+“No,” he said, “no. I think I should like to see what you have farther
+up the house, Mrs.—,” and then, as if making a prodigious mental
+effort, he brought out her name, “Bunting,” with a kind of gasp.
+
+The two top rooms were, of course, immediately above the drawing-room
+floor. But they looked poor and mean, owing to the fact that they were
+bare of any kind of ornament. Very little trouble had been taken over
+their arrangement; in fact, they had been left in much the same
+condition as that in which the Buntings had found them.
+
+For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a nice, genteel
+sitting-room out of an apartment of which the principal features are a
+sink and a big gas stove. The gas stove, of an obsolete pattern, was
+fed by a tiresome, shilling-in-the-slot arrangement. It had been the
+property of the people from whom the Buntings had taken over the lease
+of the house, who, knowing it to be of no monetary value, had thrown it
+in among the humble fittings they had left behind.
+
+What furniture there was in the room was substantial and clean, as
+everything belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be, but it was a
+bare, uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady now felt sorry that
+she had done nothing to make it appear more attractive.
+
+To her surprise, however, her companion’s dark, sensitive,
+hatchet-shaped face became irradiated with satisfaction. “Capital!
+Capital!” he exclaimed, for the first time putting down the bag he held
+at his feet, and rubbing his long, thin hands together with a quick,
+nervous movement.
+
+“This is just what I have been looking for.” He walked with long, eager
+strides towards the gas stove. “First-rate—quite first-rate! Exactly
+what I wanted to find! You must understand, Mrs.—er—Bunting, that I am
+a man of science. I make, that is, all sorts of experiments, and I
+often require the—ah, well, the presence of great heat.”
+
+He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a little, towards the
+stove. “This, too, will be useful—exceedingly useful, to me,” and he
+touched the edge of the stone sink with a lingering, caressing touch.
+
+He threw his head back and passed his hand over his high, bare
+forehead; then, moving towards a chair, he sat down—wearily. “I’m
+tired,” he muttered in a low voice, “tired—tired! I’ve been walking
+about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find nothing to sit down upon.
+They do not put benches for tired men in the London streets. They do so
+on the Continent. In some ways they are far more humane on the
+Continent than they are in England, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“Indeed, sir,” she said civilly; and then, after a nervous glance, she
+asked the question of which the answer would mean so much to her, “Then
+you mean to take my rooms, sir?”
+
+“This room, certainly,” he said, looking round. “This room is exactly
+what I have been looking for, and longing for, the last few days;” and
+then hastily he added, “I mean this kind of place is what I have always
+wanted to possess, Mrs. Bunting. You would be surprised if you knew how
+difficult it is to get anything of the sort. But now my weary search
+has ended, and that is a relief—a very, very great relief to me!”
+
+He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy, abstracted air. And
+then, “Where’s my bag?” he asked suddenly, and there came a note of
+sharp, angry fear in his voice. He glared at the quiet woman standing
+before him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting felt a tremor of fright shoot
+through her. It seemed a pity that Bunting was so far away, right down
+the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has always been a
+perquisite, as it were the special luxury, of the well-born and of the
+well-educated. Scholars, as she well knew, are never quite like other
+people, and her new lodger was undoubtedly a scholar. “Surely I had a
+bag when I came in?” he said in a scared, troubled voice.
+
+“Here it is, sir,” she said soothingly, and, stooping, picked it up and
+handed it to him. And as she did so she noticed that the bag was not at
+all heavy; it was evidently by no means full.
+
+He took it eagerly from her. “I beg your pardon,” he muttered. “But
+there is something in that bag which is very precious to me—something I
+procured with infinite difficulty, and which I could never get again
+without running into great danger, Mrs. Bunting. That must be the
+excuse for my late agitation.”
+
+“About terms, sir?” she said a little timidly, returning to the subject
+which meant so much, so very much to her.
+
+“About terms?” he echoed. And then there came a pause. “My name is
+Sleuth,” he said suddenly,—“S-l-e-u-t-h. Think of a hound, Mrs.
+Bunting, and you’ll never forget my name. I could provide you with a
+reference—” (he gave her what she described to herself as a funny,
+sideways look), “but I should prefer you to dispense with that, if you
+don’t mind. I am quite willing to pay you—well, shall we say a month in
+advance?”
+
+A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting’s cheeks. She felt sick with
+relief—nay, with a joy which was almost pain. She had not known till
+that moment how hungry she was—how eager for—a good meal. “That would
+be all right, sir,” she murmured.
+
+“And what are you going to charge me?” There had come a kindly, almost
+a friendly note into his voice. “With attendance, mind! I shall expect
+you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask if you can cook, Mrs.
+Bunting?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir,” she said. “I am a plain cook. What would you say to
+twenty-five shillings a week, sir?” She looked at him deprecatingly,
+and as he did not answer she went on falteringly, “You see, sir, it may
+seem a good deal, but you would have the best of attendance and careful
+cooking—and my husband, sir—he would be pleased to valet you.”
+
+“I shouldn’t want anything of that sort done for me,” said Mr. Sleuth
+hastily. “I prefer looking after my own clothes. I am used to waiting
+on myself. But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike to sharing
+lodgings—”
+
+She interrupted eagerly, “I could let you have the use of the two
+floors for the same price—that is, until we get another lodger. I
+shouldn’t like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir. It’s such a
+poor little room. You could do as you say, sir—do your work and your
+experiments up here, and then have your meals in the drawing-room.”
+
+“Yes,” he said hesitatingly, “that sounds a good plan. And if I offered
+you two pounds, or two guineas? Might I then rely on your not taking
+another lodger?”
+
+“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’d be very glad only to have you to wait on,
+sir.”
+
+“I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting? I
+don’t like to be disturbed while I’m working.”
+
+He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, “I suppose
+you have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir, there’s a key—a very nice little key. The people who
+lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door.” She went
+over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a round disk had been
+fitted above the old keyhole.
+
+He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if
+absorbed in thought, “Forty-two shillings a week? Yes, that will suit
+me perfectly. And I’ll begin now by paying my first month’s rent in
+advance. Now, four times forty-two shillings is”—he jerked his head
+back and stared at his new landlady; for the first time he smiled, a
+queer, wry smile—“why, just eight pounds eight shillings, Mrs.
+Bunting!”
+
+He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his long cape-like
+coat and took out a handful of sovereigns. Then he began putting these
+down in a row on the bare wooden table which stood in the centre of the
+room. “Here’s five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten pounds. You’d better keep
+the odd change, Mrs. Bunting, for I shall want you to do some shopping
+for me to-morrow morning. I met with a misfortune to-day.” But the new
+lodger did not speak as if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on
+his spirits.
+
+“Indeed, sir. I’m sorry to hear that.” Mrs. Bunting’s heart was going
+thump—thump—thump. She felt extraordinarily moved, dizzy with relief
+and joy.
+
+“Yes, a very great misfortune! I lost my luggage, the few things I
+managed to bring away with me.” His voice dropped suddenly. “I
+shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered. “I was a fool to say that!”
+Then, more loudly, “Someone said to me, ‘You can’t go into a
+lodging-house without any luggage. They wouldn’t take you in.’ But
+_you_ have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I’m grateful for—for the kind
+way you have met me—” He looked at her feelingly, appealingly, and Mrs.
+Bunting was touched. She was beginning to feel very kindly towards her
+new lodger.
+
+“I hope I know a gentleman when I see one,” she said, with a break in
+her staid voice.
+
+“I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs.
+Bunting.” Again he looked at her appealingly.
+
+“I expect you’d like to wash your hands now, sir. And would you tell me
+what you’d like for supper? We haven’t much in the house.”
+
+“Oh, anything’ll do,” he said hastily. “I don’t want you to go out for
+me. It’s a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting. If you have a little
+bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite satisfied.”
+
+“I have a nice sausage,” she said hesitatingly.
+
+It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morning for
+Bunting’s supper; as to herself, she had been going to content herself
+with a little bread and cheese. But now—wonderful, almost, intoxicating
+thought—she could send Bunting out to get anything they both liked. The
+ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfort and good cheer.
+
+“A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never touch flesh meat,”
+he said; “it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage, Mrs.
+Bunting.”
+
+“Is it indeed, sir?” She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly, “And
+will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?”
+
+A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth’s
+pale face.
+
+“Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting. I
+had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer—”
+
+“So I am, sir, lifelong. And so’s Bunting been since we married.” She
+might have said, had she been a woman given to make such confidences,
+that she had made Bunting abstain very early in their acquaintance.
+That he had given in about that had been the thing that first made her
+believe, that he was sincere in all the nonsense that he talked to her,
+in those far-away days of his courting. Glad she was now that he had
+taken the pledge as a younger man; but for that nothing would have kept
+him from the drink during the bad times they had gone through.
+
+And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth the nice bedroom
+which opened out of the drawing-room. It was a replica of Mrs.
+Bunting’s own room just underneath, excepting that everything up here
+had cost just a little more, and was therefore rather better in
+quality.
+
+The new lodger looked round him with such a strange expression of
+content and peace stealing over his worn face. “A haven of rest,” he
+muttered; and then, “‘He bringeth them to their desired haven.’
+Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled. It was the first time anyone had
+quoted the Bible to her for many a long day. But it seemed to set the
+seal, as it were, on Mr. Sleuth’s respectability.
+
+What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal with only one lodger,
+and that a gentleman, instead of with a married couple! Very peculiar
+married couples had drifted in and out of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting’s
+lodgings, not only here, in London, but at the seaside.
+
+How unlucky they had been, to be sure! Since they had come to London
+not a single pair of lodgers had been even moderately respectable and
+kindly. The last lot had belonged to that horrible underworld of men
+and women who, having, as the phrase goes, seen better days, now only
+keep their heads above water with the help of petty fraud.
+
+“I’ll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir, and some clean
+towels,” she said, going to the door.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round. “Mrs. Bunting”—and as he
+spoke he stammered a little—“I—I don’t want you to interpret the word
+attendance too liberally. You need not run yourself off your feet for
+me. I’m accustomed to look after myself.”
+
+And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself dismissed—even a little
+snubbed. “All right, sir,” she said. “I’ll only just let you know when
+I’ve your supper ready.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+But what was a little snub compared with the intense relief and joy of
+going down and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortune which
+had fallen their way?
+
+Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down the steep stairs.
+In the hall, however, she pulled herself together, and tried to still
+her agitation. She had always disliked and despised any show of
+emotion; she called such betrayal of feeling “making a fuss.”
+
+Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood for a moment looking
+at her husband’s bent back, and she realised, with a pang of pain, how
+the last few weeks had aged him.
+
+Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife, stood up. He put
+the paper he had been holding down on to the table: “Well,” he said,
+“well, who was it, then?”
+
+He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who ought to have answered
+the door and done all that parleying of which he had heard murmurs.
+
+And then in a moment his wife’s hand shot out, and the ten sovereigns
+fell in a little clinking heap on the table.
+
+“Look there!” she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in her
+voice. “Look there, Bunting!”
+
+And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.
+
+He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusion that
+his wife had just had in a furniture dealer, and that this ten pounds
+represented all their nice furniture upstairs. If that were so, then it
+was the beginning of the end. That furniture in the first-floor front
+had cost—Ellen had reminded him of the fact bitterly only
+yesterday—seventeen pounds nine shillings, and every single item had
+been a bargain. It was too bad that she had only got ten pounds for it.
+
+Yet he hadn’t the heart to reproach her.
+
+He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting that troubled,
+rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thought had happened.
+
+“We’ve a new lodger!” she cried. “And—and, Bunting? He’s quite the
+gentleman! He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, at two
+guineas a week.”
+
+“No, never!”
+
+Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there,
+fascinated by the little heap of gold. “But there’s ten sovereigns
+here,” he said suddenly.
+
+“Yes, the gentleman said I’d have to buy some things for him to-morrow.
+And, oh, Bunting, he’s so well spoken, I really felt that—I really felt
+that—” and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a step or two sideways, sat down,
+and throwing her little black apron over her face burst into gasping
+sobs.
+
+Bunting patted her back timidly. “Ellen?” he said, much moved by her
+agitation, “Ellen? Don’t take on so, my dear—”
+
+“I won’t,” she sobbed, “I—I won’t! I’m a fool—I know I am! But, oh, I
+didn’t think we was ever going to have any luck again!”
+
+And then she told him—or rather tried to tell him—what the lodger was
+like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing she did
+impress on her husband’s mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was eccentric,
+as so many clever people are eccentric—that is, in a harmless way—and
+that he must be humoured.
+
+“He says he doesn’t want to be waited on much,” she said at last wiping
+her eyes, “but I can see he will want a good bit of looking after, all
+the same, poor gentleman.”
+
+And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound of
+a loud ring. It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled again
+and again.
+
+Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. “I think I’d better go up, eh,
+Ellen?” he said. He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger. For the
+matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something again.
+
+“Yes,” she answered, “you go up! Don’t keep him waiting! I wonder what
+it is he wants? I said I’d let him know when his supper was ready.”
+
+A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an odd smile on his
+face. “Whatever d’you think he wanted?” he whispered mysteriously. And
+as she said nothing, he went on, “He’s asked me for the loan of a
+Bible!”
+
+“Well, I don’t see anything so out of the way in that,” she said
+hastily, “’specially if he don’t feel well. I’ll take it up to him.”
+
+And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows,
+Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her as
+a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she had lived for
+several years.
+
+“He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper,” said
+Bunting; and, then, “Ellen? He’s a queer-looking cove—not like any
+gentleman I ever had to do with.”
+
+“He is a gentleman,” said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.
+
+“Oh, yes, that’s all right.” But still he looked at her doubtfully. “I
+asked him if he’d like me to just put away his clothes. But, Ellen, he
+said he hadn’t got any clothes!”
+
+“No more he hasn’t;” she spoke quickly, defensively. “He had the
+misfortune to lose his luggage. He’s one dishonest folk ’ud take
+advantage of.”
+
+“Yes, one can see that with half an eye,” Bunting agreed.
+
+And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Bunting put
+down on a little bit of paper the things she wanted her husband to go
+out and buy for her. She handed him the list, together with a
+sovereign. “Be as quick as you can,” she said, “for I feel a bit
+hungry. I’ll be going down now to see about Mr. Sleuth’s supper. He
+only wants a glass of milk and two eggs. I’m glad I’ve never fallen to
+bad eggs!”
+
+“Sleuth,” echoed Bunting, staring at her. “What a queer name! How d’you
+spell it—S-l-u-t-h?”
+
+“No,” she shot out, “S-l-e—u—t—h.”
+
+“Oh,” he said doubtfully.
+
+“He said, ‘Think of a hound and you’ll never forget my name,’” and Mrs.
+Bunting smiled.
+
+When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: “We’ll now be able to
+pay young Chandler back some o’ that thirty shillings. I am glad.” She
+nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.
+
+And then each went about his and her business—Bunting out into the
+drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.
+
+The lodger’s tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and
+daintily arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.
+
+Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly
+remembered Mr. Sleuth’s request for a Bible. Putting the tray down in
+the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book; but when
+back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it was worth
+while to make two journeys. But, no, she thought she could manage;
+clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and taking up the tray,
+she walked slowly up the staircase.
+
+But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth’s landlady
+opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped the tray.
+She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy thud to the
+ground.
+
+The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the early
+Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud, with their
+faces to the wall!
+
+For a moment she was really too surprised to speak. Putting the tray
+down on the table, she stooped and picked up the Book. It troubled her
+that the Book should have fallen to the ground; but really she hadn’t
+been able to help it—it was mercy that the tray hadn’t fallen, too.
+
+Mr. Sleuth got up. “I—I have taken the liberty to arrange the room as I
+should wish it to be,” he said awkwardly. “You see, Mrs.—er—Bunting, I
+felt as I sat here that these women’s eyes followed me about. It was a
+most unpleasant sensation, and gave me quite an eerie feeling.”
+
+The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of the table.
+She made no answer to her lodger’s remark, for the good reason that she
+did not know what to say.
+
+Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After what seemed a long
+pause, he spoke again.
+
+“I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting,” he spoke with some agitation. “As
+a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls about me for a
+long time.” And then, at last his landlady answered him, in a composed,
+soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear. “I quite
+understand, sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall take the pictures
+all down. We have plenty of space in our own rooms for them.”
+
+“Thank you—thank you very much.”
+
+Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.
+
+“And I have brought you up my Bible, sir. I understood you wanted the
+loan of it?”
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing
+himself, he said, “Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book.
+There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of
+body too—”
+
+“Very true, sir.” And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what really
+looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut the
+door.
+
+She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for
+Bunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as she did so
+there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident of her
+long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, had maided a
+dear old lady.
+
+The old lady had a favourite nephew—a bright, jolly young gentleman,
+who was learning to paint animals in Paris. And one morning Mr.
+Algernon—that was his rather peculiar Christian name—had had the
+impudence to turn to the wall six beautiful engravings of paintings
+done by the famous Mr. Landseer!
+
+Mrs. Bunting remembered all the circumstances as if they had only
+occurred yesterday, and yet she had not thought of them for years.
+
+It was quite early; she had come down—for in those days maids weren’t
+thought so much of as they are now, and she slept with the upper
+housemaid, and it was the upper housemaid’s duty to be down very
+early—and, there, in the dining-room, she had found Mr. Algernon
+engaged in turning each engraving to the wall! Now, his aunt thought
+all the world of those pictures, and Ellen had felt quite concerned,
+for it doesn’t do for a young gentleman to put himself wrong with a
+kind aunt.
+
+“Oh, sir,” she had exclaimed in dismay, “whatever are you doing?” And
+even now she could almost hear his merry voice, as he had answered, “I
+am doing my duty, fair Helen”—he had always called her “fair Helen”
+when no one was listening. “How can I draw ordinary animals when I see
+these half-human monsters staring at me all the time I am having my
+breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner?” That was what Mr. Algernon had
+said in his own saucy way, and that was what he repeated in a more
+serious, respectful manner to his aunt, when that dear old lady had
+come downstairs. In fact he had declared, quite soberly, that the
+beautiful animals painted by Mr. Landseer put his eye out!
+
+But his aunt had been very much annoyed—in fact, she had made him turn
+the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there he just had
+to put up with what he called “those half-human monsters.” Mrs.
+Bunting, sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth’s odd
+behaviour over, was glad to recall that funny incident of her long-gone
+youth. It seemed to prove that her new lodger was not so strange as he
+appeared to be. Still, when Bunting came in, she did not tell him the
+queer thing which had happened. She told herself that she would be
+quite able to manage the taking down of the pictures in the
+drawing-room herself.
+
+But before getting ready their own supper, Mr. Sleuth’s landlady went
+upstairs to clear away, and when on the staircase she heard the sound
+of—was it talking, in the drawing-room? Startled, she waited a moment
+on the landing outside the drawing-room door, then she realised that it
+was only the lodger reading aloud to himself. There was something very
+awful in the words which rose and fell on her listening ears:
+
+“A strange woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth in wait as for a
+prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men.”
+
+She remained where she was, her hand on the handle of the door, and
+again there broke on her shrinking ears that curious, high, sing-song
+voice, “Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of
+death.”
+
+It made the listener feel quite queer. But at last she summoned up
+courage, knocked, and walked in.
+
+“I’d better clear away, sir, had I not?” she said. And Mr. Sleuth
+nodded.
+
+Then he got up and closed the Book. “I think I’ll go to bed now,” he
+said. “I am very, very tired. I’ve had a long and a very weary day,
+Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+After he had disappeared into the back room, Mrs. Bunting climbed up on
+a chair and unhooked the pictures which had so offended Mr. Sleuth.
+Each left an unsightly mark on the wall—but that, after all, could not
+be helped.
+
+Treading softly, so that Bunting should not hear her, she carried them
+down, two by two, and stood them behind her bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+Mrs. Bunting woke up the next morning feeling happier than she had felt
+for a very, very long time.
+
+For just one moment she could not think why she felt so different—and
+then she suddenly remembered.
+
+How comfortable it was to know that upstairs, just over her head, lay,
+in the well-found bed she had bought with such satisfaction at an
+auction held in a Baker Street house, a lodger who was paying two
+guineas a week! Something seemed to tell her that Mr. Sleuth would be
+“a permanency.” In any case, it wouldn’t be her fault if he wasn’t. As
+to his—his queerness, well, there’s always something funny in
+everybody. But after she had got up, and as the morning wore itself
+away, Mrs. Bunting grew a little anxious, for there came no sound at
+all from the new lodger’s rooms. At twelve, however, the drawing-room
+bell rang. Mrs. Bunting hurried upstairs. She was painfully anxious to
+please and satisfy Mr. Sleuth. His coming had only been in the nick of
+time to save them from terrible disaster.
+
+She found her lodger up, and fully dressed. He was sitting at the round
+table which occupied the middle of the sitting-room, and his landlady’s
+large Bible lay open before him.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting came in, he looked up, and she was troubled to see how
+tired and worn he seemed.
+
+“You did not happen,” he asked, “to have a Concordance, Mrs. Bunting?”
+
+She shook her head; she had no idea what a Concordance could be, but
+she was quite sure that she had nothing of the sort about.
+
+And then her new lodger proceeded to tell her what it was he desired
+her to buy for him. She had supposed the bag he had brought with him to
+contain certain little necessaries of civilised life—such articles, for
+instance, as a comb and brush, a set of razors, a toothbrush, to say
+nothing of a couple of nightshirts—but no, that was evidently not so,
+for Mr. Sleuth required all these things to be bought now.
+
+After having cooked him a nice breakfast Mrs. Bunting hurried out to
+purchase the things of which he was in urgent need.
+
+How pleasant it was to feel that there was money in her purse again—not
+only someone else’s money, but money she was now in the very act of
+earning so agreeably.
+
+Mrs. Bunting first made her way to a little barber’s shop close by. It
+was there she purchased the brush and comb and the razors. It was a
+funny, rather smelly little place, and she hurried as much as she
+could, the more so that the foreigner who served her insisted on
+telling her some of the strange, peculiar details of this Avenger
+murder which had taken place forty-eight hours before, and in which
+Bunting took such a morbid interest.
+
+The conversation upset Mrs. Bunting. She didn’t want to think of
+anything painful or disagreeable on such a day as this.
+
+Then she came back and showed the lodger her various purchases. Mr.
+Sleuth was pleased with everything, and thanked her most courteously.
+But when she suggested doing his bedroom he frowned, and looked quite
+put out.
+
+“Please wait till this evening,” he said hastily. “It is my custom to
+stay at home all day. I only care to walk about the streets when the
+lights are lit. You must bear with me, Mrs. Bunting, if I seem a
+little, just a little, unlike the lodgers you have been accustomed to.
+And I must ask you to understand that I must not be disturbed when
+thinking out my problems—” He broke off short, sighed, then added
+solemnly, “for mine are the great problems of life and death.”
+
+And Mrs. Bunting willingly fell in with his wishes. In spite of her
+prim manner and love of order, Mr. Sleuth’s landlady was a true
+woman—she had, that is, an infinite patience with masculine vagaries
+and oddities.
+
+When she was downstairs again, Mr. Sleuth’s landlady met with a
+surprise; but it was quite a pleasant surprise. While she had been
+upstairs, talking to the lodger, Bunting’s young friend, Joe Chandler,
+the detective, had come in, and as she walked into the sitting-room she
+saw that her husband was pushing half a sovereign across the table
+towards Joe.
+
+Joe Chandler’s fair, good-natured face was full of satisfaction: not at
+seeing his money again, mark you, but at the news Bunting had evidently
+been telling him—that news of the sudden wonderful change in their
+fortunes, the coming of an ideal lodger.
+
+“Mr. Sleuth don’t want me to do his bedroom till he’s gone out!” she
+exclaimed. And then she sat down for a bit of a rest.
+
+It was a comfort to know that the lodger was eating his good breakfast,
+and there was no need to think of him for the present. In a few minutes
+she would be going down to make her own and Bunting’s dinner, and she
+told Joe Chandler that he might as well stop and have a bite with them.
+
+Her heart warmed to the young man, for Mrs. Bunting was in a mood which
+seldom surprised her—a mood to be pleased with anything and everything.
+Nay, more. When Bunting began to ask Joe Chandler about the last of
+those awful Avenger murders, she even listened with a certain languid
+interest to all he had to say.
+
+In the morning paper which Bunting had begun taking again that very day
+three columns were devoted to the extraordinary mystery which was now
+beginning to be the one topic of talk all over London, West and East,
+North and South. Bunting had read out little bits about it while they
+ate their breakfast, and in spite of herself Mrs. Bunting had felt
+thrilled and excited.
+
+“They do say,” observed Bunting cautiously, “They do say, Joe, that the
+police have a clue they won’t say nothing about?” He looked expectantly
+at his visitor. To Bunting the fact that Chandler was attached to the
+detective section of the Metropolitan Police invested the young man
+with a kind of sinister glory—especially just now, when these awful and
+mysterious crimes were amazing and terrifying the town.
+
+“Them who says that says wrong,” answered Chandler slowly, and a look
+of unease, of resentment came over his fair, stolid face. “’Twould make
+a good bit of difference to me if the Yard had a clue.”
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting interposed. “Why that, Joe?” she said, smiling
+indulgently; the young man’s keenness about his work pleased her. And
+in his slow, sure way Joe Chandler was very keen, and took his job very
+seriously. He put his whole heart and mind into it.
+
+“Well, ’tis this way,” he explained. “From to-day I’m on this business
+myself. You see, Mrs. Bunting, the Yard’s nettled—that’s what it is,
+and we’re all on our mettle—that we are. I was right down sorry for the
+poor chap who was on point duty in the street where the last one
+happened—”
+
+“No!” said Bunting incredulously. “You don’t mean there was a policeman
+there, within a few yards?”
+
+That fact hadn’t been recorded in his newspaper.
+
+Chandler nodded. “That’s exactly what I do mean, Mr. Bunting! The man
+is near off his head, so I’m told. He did hear a yell, so he says, but
+he took no notice—there are a good few yells in that part o’ London, as
+you can guess. People always quarrelling and rowing at one another in
+such low parts.”
+
+“Have you seen the bits of grey paper on which the monster writes his
+name?” inquired Bunting eagerly.
+
+Public imagination had been much stirred by the account of those
+three-cornered pieces of grey paper, pinned to the victims’ skirts, on
+which was roughly written in red ink and in printed characters the
+words “The Avenger.”
+
+His round, fat face was full of questioning eagerness. He put his
+elbows on the table, and stared across expectantly at the young man.
+
+“Yes, I have,” said Joe briefly.
+
+“A funny kind of visiting card, eh!” Bunting laughed; the notion struck
+him as downright comic.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting coloured. “It isn’t a thing to make a joke about,” she
+said reprovingly.
+
+And Chandler backed her up. “No, indeed,” he said feelingly. “I’ll
+never forget what I’ve been made to see over this job. And as for that
+grey bit of paper, Mr. Bunting—or, rather, those grey bits of paper”—he
+corrected himself hastily—“you know they’ve three of them now at the
+Yard—well, they gives me the horrors!”
+
+And then he jumped up. “That reminds me that I oughtn’t to be wasting
+my time in pleasant company—”
+
+“Won’t you stay and have a bit of dinner?” said Mrs. Bunting
+solicitously.
+
+But the detective shook his head. “No,” he said, “I had a bite before I
+came out. Our job’s a queer kind of job, as you know. A lot’s left to
+our discretion, so to speak, but it don’t leave us much time for lazing
+about, I can tell you.”
+
+When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate
+carelessness he inquired, “Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London
+again soon?”
+
+Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened. He was very, very fond
+of his only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom. “No,” he said,
+“I’m afraid not Joe. Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady, keeps Daisy
+pretty tightly tied to her apron-string. She was quite put about that
+week the child was up with us last June.”
+
+“Indeed? Well, so long!”
+
+After his wife had let their friend out, Bunting said cheerfully, “Joe
+seems to like our Daisy, eh, Ellen?”
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head scornfully. She did not exactly dislike
+the girl, though she did not hold with the way Bunting’s daughter was
+being managed by that old aunt of hers—an idle, good-for-nothing way,
+very different from the fashion in which she herself had been trained
+at the Foundling, for Mrs. Bunting as a little child had known no other
+home, no other family than those provided by good Captain Coram.
+
+“Joe Chandler’s too sensible a young chap to be thinking of girls yet
+awhile,” she said tartly.
+
+“No doubt you’re right,” Bunting agreed. “Times be changed. In my young
+days chaps always had time for that. ’Twas just a notion that came into
+my head, hearing him asking, anxious-like, after her.”
+
+About five o’clock, after the street lamps were well alight, Mr. Sleuth
+went out, and that same evening there came two parcels addressed to his
+landlady. These parcels contained clothes. But it was quite clear to
+Mrs. Bunting’s eyes that they were not new clothes. In fact, they had
+evidently been bought in some good second-hand clothes-shop. A funny
+thing for a real gentleman like Mr. Sleuth to do! It proved that he had
+given up all hope of getting back his lost luggage.
+
+When the lodger had gone out he had not taken his bag with him, of that
+Mrs. Bunting was positive. And yet, though she searched high and low
+for it, she could not find the place where Mr. Sleuth kept it. And at
+last, had it not been that she was a very clear-headed woman, with a
+good memory, she would have been disposed to think that the bag had
+never existed, save in her imagination.
+
+But no, she could not tell herself that! She remembered exactly how it
+had looked when Mr. Sleuth had first stood, a strange, queer-looking
+figure of a man, on her doorstep.
+
+She further remembered how he had put the bag down on the floor of the
+top front room, and then, forgetting what he had done, how he had asked
+her eagerly, in a tone of angry fear, where the bag was—only to find it
+safely lodged at his feet!
+
+As time went on Mrs. Bunting thought a great deal about that bag, for,
+strange and amazing fact, she never saw Mr. Sleuth’s bag again. But, of
+course, she soon formed a theory as to its whereabouts. The brown
+leather bag which had formed Mr. Sleuth’s only luggage the afternoon of
+his arrival was almost certainly locked up in the lower part of the
+drawing-room chiffonnier. Mr. Sleuth evidently always carried the key
+of the little corner cupboard about his person; Mrs. Bunting had also
+had a good hunt for that key, but, as was the case with the bag, the
+key disappeared, and she never saw either the one or the other again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next few days.
+Already life was settling down into a groove. Waiting on Mr. Sleuth was
+just what Mrs. Bunting could manage to do easily, and without tiring
+herself.
+
+It had at once become clear that the lodger preferred to be waited on
+only by one person, and that person his landlady. He gave her very
+little trouble. Indeed, it did her good having to wait on the lodger;
+it even did her good that he was not like other gentlemen; for the fact
+occupied her mind, and in a way it amused her. The more so that
+whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of those tiresome,
+disagreeable ways with which landladies are only too familiar, and
+which seem peculiar only to those human beings who also happen to be
+lodgers. To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth did not ask to be called
+unduly early. Bunting and his Ellen had fallen into the way of lying
+rather late in the morning, and it was a great comfort not to have to
+turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea at seven, or even half-past
+seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything before eleven.
+
+But odd he certainly was.
+
+The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought in a
+book of which the queer name was Cruden’s Concordance. That and the
+Bible—Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was a relation
+between the two books—seemed to be the lodger’s only reading. He spent
+hours each day, generally after he had eaten the breakfast which also
+served for luncheon, poring over the Old Testament and over that
+strange kind of index to the Book.
+
+As for the delicate and yet the all-important question of money, Mr.
+Sleuth was everything—everything that the most exacting landlady could
+have wished. Never had there been a more confiding or trusting
+gentleman. On the very first day he had been with them he had allowed
+his money—the considerable sum of one hundred and eighty-four
+sovereigns—to lie about wrapped up in little pieces of rather dirty
+newspaper on his dressing-table. That had quite upset Mrs. Bunting. She
+had allowed herself respectfully to point out to him that what he was
+doing was foolish, indeed wrong. But as only answer he had laughed, and
+she had been startled when the loud, unusual and discordant sound had
+issued from his thin lips.
+
+“I know those I can trust,” he had answered, stuttering rather, as was
+his way when moved. “And—and I assure you, Mrs. Bunting, that I hardly
+have to speak to a human being—especially to a woman” (and he had drawn
+in his breath with a hissing sound) “before I know exactly what manner
+of person is before me.”
+
+It hadn’t taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodger had
+a queer kind of fear and dislike of women. When she was doing the
+staircase and landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth reading aloud to
+himself passages in the Bible that were very uncomplimentary to her
+sex. But Mrs. Bunting had no very great opinion of her sister woman, so
+that didn’t put her out. Besides, where one’s lodger is concerned, a
+dislike of women is better than—well, than the other thing.
+
+In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about the
+lodger’s funny ways? Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric. If he hadn’t
+been, as Bunting funnily styled it, “just a leetle touched upstairs,”
+he wouldn’t be here, living this strange, solitary life in lodgings. He
+would be living in quite a different sort of way with some of his
+relatives, or with a friend of his own class.
+
+There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back—as even the least
+imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of our own past
+lives which becomes for any reason poignantly memorable—wondered how
+soon it was that she had discovered that her lodger was given to
+creeping out of the house at a time when almost all living things
+prefer to sleep.
+
+She brought herself to believe—but I am inclined to doubt whether she
+was right in so believing—that the first time she became aware of this
+strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth’s happened to be during the night
+which preceded the day on which she had observed a very curious
+circumstance. This very curious circumstance was the complete
+disappearance of one of Mr. Sleuth’s three suits of clothes.
+
+It always passes my comprehension how people can remember, over any
+length of time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that is
+natural enough, but the day, the hour, the minute when these happenings
+took place! Much as she thought about it afterwards, even Mrs. Bunting
+never quite made up her mind whether it was during the fifth or the
+sixth night of Mr. Sleuth’s stay under her roof that she became aware
+that he had gone out at two in the morning and had only come in at
+five.
+
+But that there did come such a night is certain—as certain as is the
+fact that her discovery coincided with various occurrences which were
+destined to remain retrospectively memorable.
+
+It was intensely dark, intensely quiet—the darkest quietest hour of the
+night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep, dreamless
+sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. She knew at once what
+those sounds were. They were those made by Mr. Sleuth, first coming
+down the stairs, and walking on tiptoe—she was sure it was on
+tiptoe—past her door, and finally softly shutting the front door behind
+him.
+
+Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go to sleep
+again. There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Bunting should
+waken up too, till she heard Mr. Sleuth, three hours later, creep back
+into the house and so up to bed.
+
+Then, and not till then, she slept again. But in the morning she felt
+very tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad when Bunting
+good-naturedly suggested that he should go out and do their little bit
+of marketing.
+
+The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter of
+catering it was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth,
+and that though he always tried to appear pleased. This perfect lodger
+had one serious fault from the point of view of those who keep
+lodgings. Strange to say, he was a vegetarian. He would not eat meat in
+any form. He sometimes, however, condescended to a chicken, and when he
+did so condescend he generously intimated that Mr. and Mrs. Bunting
+were welcome to a share in it.
+
+Now to-day—this day of which the happenings were to linger in Mrs.
+Bunting’s mind so very long, and to remain so very vivid, it had been
+arranged that Mr. Sleuth was to have some fish for his lunch, while
+what he left was to be “done up” to serve for his simple supper.
+
+Knowing that Bunting would be out for at least an hour, for he was a
+gregarious soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops he frequented,
+Mrs. Bunting rose and dressed in a leisurely manner; then she went and
+“did” her front sitting-room.
+
+She felt languid and dull, as one is apt to feel after a broken night,
+and it was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was not likely to
+ring before twelve.
+
+But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through the quiet
+house. She knew it for the front door bell.
+
+Mrs. Bunting frowned. No doubt the ring betokened one of those tiresome
+people who come round for old bottles and such-like fal-lals.
+
+She went slowly, reluctantly to the door. And then her face cleared,
+for it was that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waiting
+outside.
+
+He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quickly
+through the moist, foggy air.
+
+“Why, Joe?” said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly. “Come in—do! Bunting’s out,
+but he won’t be very long now. You’ve been quite a stranger these last
+few days.”
+
+“Well, you know why, Mrs. Bunting—”
+
+She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he could mean. Then,
+suddenly she remembered. Why, of course, Joe was on a big job just
+now—the job of trying to catch The Avenger! Her husband had alluded to
+the fact again and again when reading out to her little bits from the
+halfpenny evening paper he was taking again.
+
+She led the way to the sitting-room. It was a good thing Bunting had
+insisted on lighting the fire before he went out, for now the room was
+nice and warm—and it was just horrible outside. She had felt a chill go
+right through her as she had stood, even for that second, at the front
+door.
+
+And she hadn’t been alone to feel it, for, “I say, it is jolly to be in
+here, out of that awful cold!” exclaimed Chandler, sitting down heavily
+in Bunting’s easy chair.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting bethought herself that the young man was tired,
+as well as cold. He was pale, almost pallid under his usual healthy,
+tanned complexion—the complexion of the man who lives much out of
+doors.
+
+“Wouldn’t you like me just to make you a cup of tea?” she said
+solicitously.
+
+“Well, to tell truth, I should be right down thankful for one, Mrs.
+Bunting!” Then he looked round, and again he said her name, “Mrs.
+Bunting—?”
+
+He spoke in so odd, so thick a tone that she turned quickly. “Yes, what
+is it, Joe?” she asked. And then, in sudden terror, “You’ve never come
+to tell me that anything’s happened to Bunting? He’s not had an
+accident?”
+
+“Goodness, no! Whatever made you think that? But—but, Mrs. Bunting,
+there’s been another of them!”
+
+His voice dropped almost to a whisper. He was staring at her with
+unhappy, it seemed to her terror-filled, eyes.
+
+“Another of them?” She looked at him, bewildered—at a loss. And then
+what he meant flashed across her—“another of them” meant another of
+these strange, mysterious, awful murders.
+
+But her relief for the moment was so great—for she really had thought
+for a second that he had come to give her ill news of Bunting—that the
+feeling that she did experience on hearing this piece of news was
+actually pleasurable, though she would have been much shocked had that
+fact been brought to her notice.
+
+Almost in spite of herself, Mrs. Bunting had become keenly interested
+in the amazing series of crimes which was occupying the imagination of
+the whole of London’s nether-world. Even her refined mind had busied
+itself for the last two or three days with the strange problem so
+frequently presented to it by Bunting—for Bunting, now that they were
+no longer worried, took an open, unashamed, intense interest in “The
+Avenger” and his doings.
+
+She took the kettle off the gas-ring. “It’s a pity Bunting isn’t here,”
+she said, drawing in her breath. “He’d a-liked so much to hear you tell
+all about it, Joe.”
+
+As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
+
+But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him. “Why, you
+do look bad!” she exclaimed.
+
+And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad—very bad indeed.
+
+“I can’t help it,” he said, with a kind of gasp. “It was your saying
+that about my telling you all about it that made me turn queer. You
+see, this time I was one of the first there, and it fairly turned me
+sick—that it did. Oh, it was too awful, Mrs. Bunting! Don’t talk of
+it.”
+
+He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
+
+She looked at him with sympathetic interest. “Why, Joe,” she said, “I
+never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see, that
+anything could upset you like that.”
+
+“This isn’t like anything there’s ever been before,” he said. “And
+then—then—oh, Mrs. Bunting, ’twas I that discovered the piece of paper
+this time.”
+
+“Then it _is_ true,” she cried eagerly. “It _is_ The Avenger’s bit of
+paper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in that practical
+joker.”
+
+“I did,” said Chandler reluctantly. “You see, there are some queer
+fellows even—even—” (he lowered his voice, and looked round him as if
+the walls had ears)—“even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, and these murders
+have fair got on our nerves.”
+
+“No, never!” she said. “D’you think that a Bobby might do a thing like
+that?”
+
+He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn’t worth answering. Then,
+“It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while the poor
+soul was still warm,”—he shuddered—“that brought me out West this
+morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince Albert Terrace,
+and I had to go and tell him all about it. They never offered me a bit
+or a sup—I think they might have done that, don’t you, Mrs. Bunting?”
+
+“Yes,” she said absently. “Yes, I do think so.”
+
+“But, there, I don’t know that I ought to say that,” went on Chandler.
+“He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like to me
+while I was telling him.”
+
+“Have a bit of something now?” she said suddenly.
+
+“Oh, no, I couldn’t eat anything,” he said hastily. “I don’t feel as if
+I could ever eat anything any more.”
+
+“That’ll only make you ill.” Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly, for she
+was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a bite out of the slice
+of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
+
+“I expect you’re right,” he said. “And I’ve a goodish heavy day in
+front of me. Been up since four, too—”
+
+“Four?” she said. “Was it then they found—” she hesitated a moment, and
+then said, “it?”
+
+He nodded. “It was just a chance I was near by. If I’d been half a
+minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have knocked
+up against that—that monster. But two or three people do think they saw
+him slinking away.”
+
+“What was he like?” she asked curiously.
+
+“Well, that’s hard to answer. You see, there was such an awful fog. But
+there’s one thing they all agree about. He was carrying a bag—”
+
+“A bag?” repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice. “Whatever sort of bag
+might it have been, Joe?”
+
+There had come across her—just right in her middle, like—such a strange
+sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.
+
+She was at a loss to account for it.
+
+“Just a hand-bag,” said Joe Chandler vaguely. “A woman I spoke
+to—cross-examining her, like—who was positive she had seen him, said,
+‘Just a tall, thin shadow—that’s what he was, a tall, thin shadow of a
+man—with a bag.’”
+
+“With a bag?” repeated Mrs. Bunting absently. “How very strange and
+peculiar—”
+
+“Why, no, not strange at all. He has to carry the thing he does the
+deed with in something, Mrs. Bunting. We’ve always wondered how he hid
+it. They generally throws the knife or fire-arms away, you know.”
+
+“Do they, indeed?” Mrs. Bunting still spoke in that absent, wondering
+way. She was thinking that she really must try and see what the lodger
+had done with his bag. It was possible—in fact, when one came to think
+of it, it was very probable—that he had just lost it, being so
+forgetful a gentleman, on one of the days he had gone out, as she knew
+he was fond of doing, into the Regent’s Park.
+
+“There’ll be a description circulated in an hour or two,” went on
+Chandler. “Perhaps that’ll help catch him. There isn’t a London man or
+woman, I don’t suppose, who wouldn’t give a good bit to lay that chap
+by the heels. Well, I suppose I must be going now.”
+
+“Won’t you wait a bit longer for Bunting?” she said hesitatingly.
+
+“No, I can’t do that. But I’ll come in, maybe, either this evening or
+to-morrow, and tell you any more that’s happened. Thanks kindly for the
+tea. It’s made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“Well, you’ve had enough to unman you, Joe.”
+
+“Aye, that I have,” he said heavily.
+
+A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife had quite
+a little tiff—the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuth became their
+lodger.
+
+It fell out this way. When he heard who had been there, Bunting was
+angry that Mrs. Bunting hadn’t got more details of the horrible
+occurrence which had taken place that morning, out of Chandler.
+
+“You don’t mean to say, Ellen, that you can’t even tell me where it
+happened?” he said indignantly. “I suppose you put Chandler off—that’s
+what you did! Why, whatever did he come here for, excepting to tell us
+all about it?”
+
+“He came to have something to eat and drink,” snapped out Mrs. Bunting.
+“That’s what the poor lad came for, if you wants to know. He could
+hardly speak of it at all—he felt so bad. In fact, he didn’t say a word
+about it until he’d come right into the room and sat down. He told me
+quite enough!”
+
+“Didn’t he tell you if the piece of paper on which the murderer had
+written his name was square or three-cornered?” demanded Bunting.
+
+“No; he did not. And that isn’t the sort of thing I should have cared
+to ask him.”
+
+“The more fool you!” And then he stopped abruptly. The newsboys were
+coming down the Marylebone Road, shouting out the awful discovery which
+had been made that morning—that of The Avenger’s fifth murder. Bunting
+went out to buy a paper, and his wife took the things he had brought in
+down to the kitchen.
+
+The noise the newspaper-sellers made outside had evidently wakened Mr.
+Sleuth, for his landlady hadn’t been in the kitchen ten minutes before
+his bell rang.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+Mr. Sleuth’s bell rang again.
+
+Mr. Sleuth’s breakfast was quite ready, but for the first time since he
+had been her lodger Mrs. Bunting did not answer the summons at once.
+But when there came the second imperative tinkle—for electric bells had
+not been fitted into that old-fashioned house—she made up her mind to
+go upstairs.
+
+As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting,
+sitting comfortably in their parlour, heard his wife stepping heavily
+under the load of the well-laden tray.
+
+“Wait a minute!” he called out. “I’ll help you, Ellen,” and he came out
+and took the tray from her.
+
+She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-room
+floor landing.
+
+There she stopped him. “Here,” she whispered quickly, “you give me
+that, Bunting. The lodger won’t like your going in to him.” And then,
+as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, she added in
+a rather acid tone, “You might open the door for me, at any rate! How
+can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray on my hands?”
+
+She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised—rather put
+out. Ellen wasn’t exactly what you’d call a lively, jolly woman, but
+when things were going well—as now—she was generally equable enough. He
+supposed she was still resentful of the way he had spoken to her about
+young Chandler and the new Avenger murder.
+
+However, he was always for peace, so he opened the drawing-room door,
+and as soon as he had started going downstairs Mrs. Bunting walked into
+the room.
+
+And then at once there came over her the queerest feeling of relief, of
+lightness of heart.
+
+As usual, the lodger was sitting at his old place, reading the Bible.
+
+Somehow—she could not have told you why, she would not willingly have
+told herself—she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth _looking different_.
+But no, he appeared to be exactly the same—in fact, as he glanced up at
+her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted up his thin, pallid face.
+
+“Well, Mrs. Bunting,” he said genially, “I overslept myself this
+morning, but I feel all the better for the rest.”
+
+“I’m glad of that, sir,” she answered, in a low voice. “One of the
+ladies I once lived with used to say, ‘Rest is an old-fashioned remedy,
+but it’s the best remedy of all.’”
+
+Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden’s Concordance off the
+table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady laying
+the cloth.
+
+Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in the morning.
+“I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you outside the
+door just now?”
+
+“Yes, sir. Bunting helped me up with the tray.”
+
+“I’m afraid I give you a good deal of trouble,” he said hesitatingly.
+
+But she answered quickly, “Oh, no, sir! Not at all, sir! I was only
+saying yesterday that we’ve never had a lodger that gave us as little
+trouble as you do, sir.”
+
+“I’m glad of that. I am aware that my habits are somewhat peculiar.”
+
+He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of
+denial to this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and truthful
+woman. It never occurred to her to question his statement. Mr. Sleuth’s
+habits were somewhat peculiar. Take that going out at night, or rather
+in the early morning, for instance? So she remained silent.
+
+After she had laid the lodger’s breakfast on the table she prepared to
+leave the room. “I suppose I’m not to do your room till you goes out,
+sir?”
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply. “No, no!” he said. “I never want my
+room done when I am engaged in studying the Scriptures, Mrs. Bunting.
+But I am not going out to-day. I shall be carrying out a somewhat
+elaborate experiment—upstairs. If I go out at all” he waited a moment,
+and again he looked at her fixedly “—I shall wait till night-time to do
+so.” And then, coming back to the matter in hand, he added hastily,
+“Perhaps you could do my room when I go upstairs, about five o’clock—if
+that time is convenient to you, that is?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir! That’ll do nicely!”
+
+Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she did so she took herself
+wordlessly, ruthlessly to task, but she did not face—even in her inmost
+heart—the strange tenors and tremors which had so shaken her. She only
+repeated to herself again and again, “I’ve got upset—that’s what I’ve
+done,” and then she spoke aloud, “I must get myself a dose at the
+chemist’s next time I’m out. That’s what I must do.”
+
+And just as she murmured the word “do,” there came a loud double knock
+on the front door.
+
+It was only the postman’s knock, but the postman was an unfamiliar
+visitor in that house, and Mrs. Bunting started violently. She was
+nervous, that’s what was the matter with her,—so she told herself
+angrily. No doubt this was a letter for Mr. Sleuth; the lodger must
+have relations and acquaintances somewhere in the world. All gentlefolk
+have. But when she picked the small envelope off the hall floor, she
+saw it was a letter from Daisy, her husband’s daughter.
+
+“Bunting!” she called out sharply. “Here’s a letter for you.”
+
+She opened the door of their sitting-room and looked in. Yes, there was
+her husband, sitting back comfortably in his easy chair, reading a
+paper. And as she saw his broad, rather rounded back, Mrs. Bunting felt
+a sudden thrill of sharp irritation. There he was, doing nothing—in
+fact, doing worse than nothing—wasting his time reading all about those
+horrid crimes.
+
+She sighed—a long, unconscious sigh. Bunting was getting into idle
+ways, bad ways for a man of his years. But how could she prevent it? He
+had been such an active, conscientious sort of man when they had first
+made acquaintance. . .
+
+She also could remember, even more clearly than Bunting did himself,
+that first meeting of theirs in the dining-room of No. 90 Cumberland
+Terrace. As she had stood there, pouring out her mistress’s glass of
+port wine, she had not been too much absorbed in her task to have a
+good out-of-her-eye look at the spruce, nice, respectable-looking
+fellow who was standing over by the window. How superior he had
+appeared even then to the man she already hoped he would succeed as
+butler!
+
+To-day, perhaps because she was not feeling quite herself, the past
+rose before her very vividly, and a lump came into her throat.
+
+Putting the letter addressed to her husband on the table, she closed
+the door softly, and went down into the kitchen; there were various
+little things to put away and clean up, as well as their dinner to
+cook. And all the time she was down there she fixed her mind
+obstinately, determinedly on Bunting and on the problem of Bunting. She
+wondered what she’d better do to get him into good ways again.
+
+Thanks to Mr. Sleuth, their outlook was now moderately bright. A week
+ago everything had seemed utterly hopeless. It seemed as if nothing
+could save them from disaster. But everything was now changed!
+
+Perhaps it would be well for her to go and see the new proprietor of
+that registry office, in Baker Street, which had lately changed hands.
+It would be a good thing for Bunting to get even an occasional job—for
+the matter of that he could now take up a fairly regular thing in the
+way of waiting. Mrs. Bunting knew that it isn’t easy to get a man out
+of idle ways once he has acquired those ways.
+
+When, at last, she went upstairs again she felt a little ashamed of
+what she had been thinking, for Bunting had laid the cloth, and laid it
+very nicely, too, and brought up the two chairs to the table.
+
+“Ellen?” he cried eagerly, “here’s news! Daisy’s coming to-morrow!
+There’s scarlet fever in their house. Old Aunt thinks she’d better come
+away for a few days. So, you see, she’ll be here for her birthday.
+Eighteen, that’s what she be on the nineteenth! It do make me feel
+old—that it do!”
+
+Mrs. Bunting put down the tray. “I can’t have the girl here just now,”
+she said shortly. “I’ve just as much to do as I can manage. The lodger
+gives me more trouble than you seem to think for.”
+
+“Rubbish!” he said sharply. “I’ll help you with the lodger. It’s your
+own fault you haven’t had help with him before. Of course, Daisy must
+come here. Whatever other place could the girl go to?”
+
+Bunting felt pugnacious—so cheerful as to be almost light-hearted. But
+as he looked across at his wife his feeling of satisfaction vanished.
+Ellen’s face was pinched and drawn to-day; she looked ill—ill and
+horribly tired. It was very aggravating of her to go and behave like
+this—just when they were beginning to get on nicely again.
+
+“For the matter of that,” he said suddenly, “Daisy’ll be able to help
+you with the work, Ellen, and she’ll brisk us both up a bit.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer. She sat down heavily at the table. And
+then she said languidly, “You might as well show me the girl’s letter.”
+
+He handed it across to her, and she read it slowly to herself.
+
+“DEAR FATHER (it ran)—I hope this finds you as well at it leaves me.
+Mrs. Puddle’s youngest has got scarlet fever, and Aunt thinks I had
+better come away at once, just to stay with you for a few days. Please
+tell Ellen I won’t give her no trouble. I’ll start at ten if I don’t
+hear nothing.—Your loving daughter,
+
+
+“DAISY.”
+
+
+“Yes, I suppose Daisy will have to come here,” Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+“It’ll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her life.”
+
+And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to content
+himself.
+
+Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by. When dusk fell Mr.
+Sleuth’s landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor. She
+remembered that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
+
+He was a tidy man, was the lodger; he did not throw his things about as
+so many gentlemen do, leaving them all over the place. No, he kept
+everything scrupulously tidy. His clothes, and the various articles
+Mrs. Bunting had bought for him during the first two days he had been
+there, were carefully arranged in the chest of drawers. He had lately
+purchased a pair of boots. Those he had arrived in were
+peculiar-looking footgear, buff leather shoes with rubber soles, and he
+had told his landlady on that very first day that he never wished them
+to go down to be cleaned.
+
+A funny idea—a funny habit that, of going out for a walk after midnight
+in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk were glad to be at
+home, snug in bed. But then Mr. Sleuth himself admitted that he was a
+funny sort of gentleman.
+
+After she had done his bedroom the landlady went into the sitting-room
+and gave it a good dusting. This room was not kept quite as nice as she
+would have liked it to be. Mrs. Bunting longed to give the drawing-room
+something of a good turn out; but Mr. Sleuth disliked her to be moving
+about in it when he himself was in his bedroom; and when up he sat
+there almost all the time. Delighted as he had seemed to be with the
+top room, he only used it when making his mysterious experiments, and
+never during the day-time.
+
+And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier with
+longing eyes—she even gave that pretty little piece of furniture a
+slight shake. If only the doors would fly open, as the locked doors of
+old cupboards sometimes do, even after they have been securely
+fastened, how pleased she would be, how much more comfortable somehow
+she would feel!
+
+But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret.
+
+About eight o’clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, just for
+a few minutes’ chat. He had recovered from his agitation of the
+morning, but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Bunting listened
+in silence, intensely interested in spite of herself, while he and
+Bunting talked.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “I’m as right as a trivet now! I’ve had a good
+rest—laid down all this afternoon. You see, the Yard thinks there’s
+going to be something on to-night. He’s always done them in pairs.”
+
+“So he has,” exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. “So he has! Now, I never
+thought o’ that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster’ll be on the job
+again to-night?”
+
+Chandler nodded. “Yes. And I think there’s a very good chance of his
+being caught too—”
+
+“I suppose there’ll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?”
+
+“I should think there will be! How many of our men d’you think there’ll
+be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?”
+
+Bunting shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said helplessly.
+
+“I mean extra,” suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice.
+
+“A thousand?” ventured Bunting.
+
+“Five thousand, Mr. Bunting.”
+
+“Never!” exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
+
+And even Mrs. Bunting echoed “Never!” incredulously.
+
+“Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!”
+Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. “Just
+listen to this:
+
+“‘The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to the
+perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any surprise
+at the information that a popular attack has been organised on the
+Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is even talk of an
+indignation mass meeting.’
+
+
+“What d’you think of that? That’s not a pleasant thing for a gentleman
+as is doing his best to read, eh?”
+
+“Well, it does seem queer that the police can’t catch him, now doesn’t
+it?” said Bunting argumentatively.
+
+“I don’t think it’s queer at all,” said young Chandler crossly. “Now
+you just listen again! Here’s a bit of the truth for once—in a
+newspaper.” And slowly he read out:
+
+“‘The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind man’s
+buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes bandaged.
+Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through the slums of a
+great city.’”
+
+
+“Whatever does that mean?” said Bunting. “Your hands aren’t tied, and
+your eyes aren’t bandaged, Joe?”
+
+“It’s metaphorical-like that it’s intended, Mr. Bunting. We haven’t got
+the same facilities—no, not a quarter of them—that the French ’tecs
+have.”
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: “What was that word,
+Joe—‘perpetrators’? I mean that first bit you read out.”
+
+“Yes,” he said, turning to her eagerly.
+
+“Then do they think there’s more than one of them?” she said, and a
+look of relief came over her thin face.
+
+“There’s some of our chaps thinks it’s a gang,” said Chandler. “They
+say it can’t be the work of one man.”
+
+“What do _you_ think, Joe?”
+
+“Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don’t know what to think. I’m fair puzzled.”
+
+He got up. “Don’t you come to the door. I’ll shut it all right. So
+long! See you to-morrow, perhaps.” As he had done the other evening,
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting’s visitor stopped at the door. “Any news of Miss
+Daisy?” he asked casually.
+
+“Yes; she’s coming to-morrow,” said her father. “They’ve got scarlet
+fever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks she’d better clear out.”
+
+The husband and wife went to bed early that night, but Mrs. Bunting
+found she could not sleep. She lay wide awake, hearing the hours, the
+half-hours, the quarters chime out from the belfry of the old church
+close by.
+
+And then, just as she was dozing off—it must have been about one
+o’clock—she heard the sound she had half unconsciously been expecting
+to hear, that of the lodger’s stealthy footsteps coming down the stairs
+just outside her room.
+
+He crept along the passage and let himself out very, very quietly.
+
+But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did not hear him come
+in again, for she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
+
+Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next morning; odder still,
+it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of bed, and going out into the
+passage, picked up the newspaper which had just been pushed through the
+letter-box.
+
+But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go back at once into her
+bedroom. Instead she lit the gas in the passage, and leaning up against
+the wall to steady herself, for she was trembling with cold and
+fatigue, she opened the paper.
+
+Yes, there was the heading she sought:
+
+“THE AVENGER MURDERS”
+
+
+But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that followed:
+
+“Up to the time of going to press there is little new to report
+concerning the extraordinary series of crimes which are amazing, and,
+indeed, staggering not only London, but the whole civilised world, and
+which would seem to be the work of some woman-hating teetotal fanatic.
+Since yesterday morning, when the last of these dastardly murders was
+committed, no reliable clue to the perpetrator, or perpetrators, has
+been obtained, though several arrests were made in the course of the
+day. In every case, however, those arrested were able to prove a
+satisfactory alibi.”
+
+
+And then, a little lower down:
+
+“The excitement grows and grows. It is not too much to say that even a
+stranger to London would know that something very unusual was in the
+air. As for the place where the murder was committed last night—”
+
+
+“Last night!” thought Mrs. Bunting, startled; and then she realised
+that “last night,” in this connection, meant the night before last.
+
+She began the sentence again:
+
+“As for the place where the murder was committed last night, all
+approaches to it were still blocked up to a late hour by hundreds of
+onlookers, though, of course, nothing now remains in the way of traces
+of the tragedy.”
+
+
+Slowly and carefully Mrs. Bunting folded the paper up again in its
+original creases, and then she stooped and put it back down on the mat
+where she had found it. She then turned out the gas, and going back
+into bed she lay down by her still sleeping husband.
+
+“Anything the matter?” Bunting murmured, and stirred uneasily.
+“Anything the matter, Ellen?”
+
+She answered in a whisper, a whisper thrilling with a strange gladness,
+“No, nothing, Bunting—nothing the matter! Go to sleep again, my dear.”
+
+They got up an hour later, both in a happy, cheerful mood. Bunting
+rejoiced at the thought of his daughter’s coming, and even Daisy’s
+stepmother told herself that it would be pleasant having the girl about
+the house to help her a bit.
+
+About ten o’clock Bunting went out to do some shopping. He brought back
+with him a nice little bit of pork for Daisy’s dinner, and three
+mince-pies. He even remembered to get some apples for the sauce.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+Just as twelve was striking a four-wheeler drew up to the gate.
+
+It brought Daisy—pink-cheeked, excited, laughing-eyed Daisy—a sight to
+gladden any father’s heart.
+
+“Old Aunt said I was to have a cab if the weather was bad,” she cried
+out joyously.
+
+There was a bit of a wrangle over the fare. King’s Cross, as all the
+world knows, is nothing like two miles from the Marylebone Road, but
+the man clamoured for one and sixpence, and hinted darkly that he had
+done the young lady a favour in bringing her at all.
+
+While he and Bunting were having words, Daisy, leaving them to it,
+walked up the flagged path to the door where her stepmother was
+awaiting her.
+
+As they were exchanging a rather frigid kiss, indeed, ’twas a mere peck
+on Mrs. Bunting’s part, there fell, with startling suddenness, loud
+cries on the still, cold air. Long-drawn and wailing, they sounded
+strangely sad as they rose and fell across the distant roar of traffic
+in the Edgware Road.
+
+“What’s that?” exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. “Why, whatever’s that?”
+
+The cabman lowered his voice. “Them’s ’a-crying out that ’orrible
+affair at King’s Cross. He’s done for two of ’em this time! That’s what
+I meant when I said I might ’a got a better fare. I wouldn’t say
+nothink before little missy there, but folk ’ave been coming from all
+over London the last five or six hours; plenty of toffs, too—but there,
+there’s nothing to see now!”
+
+“What? Another woman murdered last night?”
+
+Bunting felt tremendously thrilled. What had the five thousand
+constables been about to let such a dreadful thing happen?
+
+The cabman stared at him, surprised. “Two of ’em, I tell yer—within a
+few yards of one another. He ’ave—got a nerve—But, of course, they was
+drunk. He are got a down on the drink!”
+
+“Have they caught him?” asked Bunting perfunctorily.
+
+“Lord, no! They’ll never catch ’im! It must ’ave happened hours and
+hours ago—they was both stone cold. One each end of a little passage
+what ain’t used no more. That’s why they didn’t find ’em before.”
+
+The hoarse cries were coming nearer and nearer—two news vendors trying
+to outshout each other.
+
+“’Orrible discovery near King’s Cross!” they yelled exultingly. “The
+Avenger again!”
+
+And Bunting, with his daughter’s large straw hold-all in his hand, ran
+forward into the roadway and recklessly gave a boy a penny for a
+halfpenny paper.
+
+He felt very much moved and excited. Somehow his acquaintance with
+young Joe Chandler made these murders seem a personal affair. He hoped
+that Chandler would come in soon and tell them all about it, as he had
+done yesterday morning when he, Bunting, had unluckily been out.
+
+As he walked back into the little hall, he heard Daisy’s voice—high,
+voluble, excited—giving her stepmother a long account of the scarlet
+fever case, and how at first Old Aunt’s neighbours had thought it was
+not scarlet fever at all, but just nettlerash.
+
+But as Bunting pushed open the door of the sitting-room, there came a
+note of sharp alarm in his daughter’s voice, and he heard her cry,
+“Why, Ellen, whatever is the matter? You _do_ look bad!” and his wife’s
+muffled answer, “Open the window—do.”
+
+“’Orrible discovery near King’s Cross—a clue at last!” yelled the
+newspaper-boys triumphantly.
+
+And then, helplessly, Mrs. Bunting began to laugh. She laughed, and
+laughed, and laughed, rocking herself to and fro as if in an ecstasy of
+mirth.
+
+“Why, father, whatever’s the matter with her?”
+
+Daisy looked quite scared.
+
+“She’s in ’sterics—that’s what it is,” he said shortly. “I’ll just get
+the water-jug. Wait a minute!”
+
+Bunting felt very put out. Ellen was ridiculous—that’s what she was, to
+be so easily upset.
+
+The lodger’s bell suddenly pealed through the quiet house. Either that
+sound, or maybe the threat of the water-jug, had a magical effect on
+Mrs. Bunting. She rose to her feet, still shaking all over, but
+mentally composed.
+
+“I’ll go up,” she said a little chokingly. “As for you, child, just run
+down into the kitchen. You’ll find a piece of pork roasting in the
+oven. You might start paring the apples for the sauce.”
+
+As Mrs. Bunting went upstairs her legs felt as if they were made of
+cotton wool. She put out a trembling hand, and clutched at the banister
+for support. But soon, making a great effort over herself, she began to
+feel more steady; and after waiting for a few moments on the landing,
+she knocked at the door of the drawing-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth’s voice answered her from the bedroom. “I’m not well,” he
+called out querulously; “I think I’ve caught a chill. I should be
+obliged if you would kindly bring me up a cup of tea, and put it
+outside my door, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“Very well, sir.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting turned and went downstairs. She still felt queer and
+giddy, so instead of going into the kitchen, she made the lodger his
+cup of tea over her sitting-room gas-ring.
+
+During their midday dinner the husband and wife had a little discussion
+as to where Daisy should sleep. It had been settled that a bed should
+be made up for her in the top back room, but Mrs. Bunting saw reason to
+change this plan. “I think ’twould be better if Daisy were to sleep
+with me, Bunting, and you was to sleep upstairs.”
+
+Bunting felt and looked rather surprised, but he acquiesced. Ellen was
+probably right; the girl would be rather lonely up there, and, after
+all, they didn’t know much about the lodger, though he seemed a
+respectable gentleman enough.
+
+Daisy was a good-natured girl; she liked London, and wanted to make
+herself useful to her stepmother. “I’ll wash up; don’t you bother to
+come downstairs,” she said cheerfully.
+
+Bunting began to walk up and down the room. His wife gave him a furtive
+glance; she wondered what he was thinking about.
+
+“Didn’t you get a paper?” she said at last.
+
+“Yes, of course I did,” he answered hastily. “But I’ve put it away. I
+thought you’d rather not look at it, as you’re that nervous.”
+
+Again she glanced at him quickly, furtively, but he seemed just as
+usual—he evidently meant just what he said and no more.
+
+“I thought they was shouting something in the street—I mean just before
+I was took bad.”
+
+It was now Bunting’s turn to stare at his wife quickly and rather
+furtively. He had felt sure that her sudden attack of queerness, of
+hysterics—call it what you might—had been due to the shouting outside.
+She was not the only woman in London who had got the Avenger murders on
+her nerves. His morning paper said quite a lot of women were afraid to
+go out alone. Was it possible that the curious way she had been taken
+just now had had nothing to do with the shouts and excitement outside?
+
+“Don’t you know what it was they were calling out?” he asked slowly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked across at him. She would have given a very great
+deal to be able to lie, to pretend that she did not know what those
+dreadful cries had portended. But when it came to the point she found
+she could not do so.
+
+“Yes,” she said dully. “I heard a word here and there. There’s been
+another murder, hasn’t there?”
+
+“Two other murders,” he said soberly.
+
+“Two? That’s worse news!” She turned so pale—a sallow
+greenish-white—that Bunting thought she was again going queer.
+
+“Ellen?” he said warningly, “Ellen, now do have a care! I can’t think
+what’s come over you about these murders. Turn your mind away from
+them, do! We needn’t talk about them—not so much, that is—”
+
+“But I wants to talk about them,” cried Mrs. Bunting hysterically.
+
+The husband and wife were standing, one each side of the table, the man
+with his back to the fire, the woman with her back to the door.
+
+Bunting, staring across at his wife, felt sadly perplexed and
+disturbed. She really did seem ill; even her slight, spare figure
+looked shrunk. For the first time, so he told himself ruefully, Ellen
+was beginning to look her full age. Her slender hands—she had kept the
+pretty, soft white hands of the woman who has never done rough
+work—grasped the edge of the table with a convulsive movement.
+
+Bunting didn’t at all like the look of her. “Oh, dear,” he said to
+himself, “I do hope Ellen isn’t going to be ill! That would be a to-do
+just now.”
+
+“Tell me about it,” she commanded, in a low voice. “Can’t you see I’m
+waiting to hear? Be quick now, Bunting!”
+
+“There isn’t very much to tell,” he said reluctantly. “There’s precious
+little in this paper, anyway. But the cabman what brought Daisy told
+me—”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“What I said just now. There’s two of ’em this time, and they’d both
+been drinking heavily, poor creatures.”
+
+“Was it where the others was done?” she asked looking at her husband
+fearfully.
+
+“No,” he said awkwardly. “No, it wasn’t, Ellen. It was a good bit
+farther West—in fact, not so very far from here. Near King’s
+Cross—that’s how the cabman knew about it, you see. They seems to have
+been done in a passage which isn’t used no more.” And then, as he
+thought his wife’s eyes were beginning to look rather funny, he added
+hastily. “There, that’s enough for the present! We shall soon be
+hearing a lot more about it from Joe Chandler. He’s pretty sure to come
+in some time to-day.”
+
+“Then the five thousand constables weren’t no use?” said Mrs. Bunting
+slowly.
+
+She had relaxed her grip of the table, and was standing more upright.
+
+“No use at all,” said Bunting briefly. “He is artful and no mistake
+about it. But wait a minute—” he turned and took up the paper which he
+had laid aside, on a chair. “Yes they says here that they has a clue.”
+
+“A clue, Bunting?” Mrs. Bunting spoke in a soft, weak, die-away voice,
+and again, stooping somewhat, she grasped the edge of the table.
+
+But her husband was not noticing her now. He was holding the paper
+close up to his eyes, and he read from it, in a tone of considerable
+satisfaction:
+
+“‘It is gratifying to be able to state that the police at last believe
+they are in possession of a clue which will lead to the arrest of
+the—’”
+
+
+and then Bunting dropped the paper and rushed round the table.
+
+His wife, with a curious sighing moan, had slipped down on to the
+floor, taking with her the tablecloth as she went. She lay there in
+what appeared to be a dead faint. And Bunting, scared out of his wits,
+opened the door and screamed out, “Daisy! Daisy! Come up, child.
+Ellen’s took bad again.”
+
+And Daisy, hurrying in, showed an amount of sense and resource which
+even at this anxious moment roused her fond father’s admiration.
+
+“Get a wet sponge, Dad—quick!” she cried, “a sponge,—and, if you’ve got
+such a thing, a drop o’ brandy. I’ll see after her!” And then, after he
+had got the little medicine flask, “I can’t think what’s wrong with
+Ellen,” said Daisy wonderingly. “She seemed quite all right when I
+first came in. She was listening, interested-like, to what I was
+telling her, and then, suddenly—well, you saw how she was took, father?
+’Tain’t like Ellen this, is it now?”
+
+“No,” he whispered. “No, ’tain’t. But you see, child, we’ve been going
+through a pretty bad time—worse nor I should ever have let you know of,
+my dear. Ellen’s just feeling it now—that’s what it is. She didn’t say
+nothing, for Ellen’s a good plucked one, but it’s told on her—it’s told
+on her!”
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting, sitting up, slowly opened her eyes, and
+instinctively put her hand up to her head to see if her hair was all
+right.
+
+She hadn’t really been quite “off.” It would have been better for her
+if she had. She had simply had an awful feeling that she couldn’t stand
+up—more, that she must fall down. Bunting’s words touched a most
+unwonted chord in the poor woman’s heart, and the eyes which she opened
+were full of tears. She had not thought her husband knew how she had
+suffered during those weeks of starving and waiting.
+
+But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment. To her such
+betrayal betokened “foolishness,” and so all she said was, “There’s no
+need to make a fuss! I only turned over a little queer. I never was
+right off, Daisy.”
+
+Pettishly she pushed away the glass in which Bunting had hurriedly
+poured a little brandy. “I wouldn’t touch such stuff—no, not if I was
+dying!” she exclaimed.
+
+Putting out a languid hand, she pulled herself up, with the help of the
+table, on to her feet. “Go down again to the kitchen, child”; but there
+was a sob, a kind of tremor in her voice.
+
+“You haven’t been eating properly, Ellen—that’s what’s the matter with
+you,” said Bunting suddenly. “Now I come to think of it, you haven’t
+eat half enough these last two days. I always did say—in old days many
+a time I telled you—that a woman couldn’t live on air. But there, you
+never believed me!”
+
+Daisy stood looking from one to the other, a shadow over her bright,
+pretty face. “I’d no idea you’d had such a bad time, father,” she said
+feelingly. “Why didn’t you let me know about it? I might have got
+something out of Old Aunt.”
+
+“We didn’t want anything of that sort,” said her stepmother hastily.
+“But of course—well, I expect I’m still feeling the worry now. I don’t
+seem able to forget it. Those days of waiting, of—of—” she restrained
+herself; another moment and the word “starving” would have left her
+lips.
+
+“But everything’s all right now,” said Bunting eagerly, “all right,
+thanks to Mr. Sleuth, that is.”
+
+“Yes,” repeated his wife, in a low, strange tone of voice. “Yes, we’re
+all right now, and as you say, Bunting, it’s all along of Mr. Sleuth.”
+
+She walked across to a chair and sat down on it. “I’m just a little
+tottery still,” she muttered.
+
+And Daisy, looking at her, turned to her father and said in a whisper,
+but not so low but that Mrs. Bunting heard her, “Don’t you think Ellen
+ought to see a doctor, father? He might give her something that would
+pull her round.”
+
+“I won’t see no doctor!” said Mrs. Bunting with sudden emphasis. “I saw
+enough of doctors in my last place. Thirty-eight doctors in ten months
+did my poor missis have. Just determined on having ’em she was! Did
+they save her? No! She died just the same! Maybe a bit sooner.”
+
+“She was a freak, was your last mistress, Ellen,” began Bunting
+aggressively.
+
+Ellen had insisted on staying on in that place till her poor mistress
+died. They might have been married some months before they were married
+but for that fact. Bunting had always resented it.
+
+His wife smile wanly. “We won’t have no words about that,” she said,
+and again she spoke in a softer, kindlier tone than usual. “Daisy? If
+you won’t go down to the kitchen again, then I must”—she turned to her
+stepdaughter, and the girl flew out of the room.
+
+“I think the child grows prettier every minute,” said Bunting fondly.
+
+“Folks are too apt to forget that beauty is but skin deep,” said his
+wife. She was beginning to feel better. “But still, I do agree,
+Bunting, that Daisy’s well enough. And she seems more willing, too.”
+
+“I say, we mustn’t forget the lodger’s dinner,” Bunting spoke uneasily.
+“It’s a bit of fish to-day, isn’t it? Hadn’t I better just tell Daisy
+to see to it, and then I can take it up to him, as you’re not feeling
+quite the thing, Ellen?”
+
+“I’m quite well enough to take up Mr. Sleuth’s luncheon,” she said
+quickly. It irritated her to hear her husband speak of the lodger’s
+dinner. They had dinner in the middle of the day, but Mr. Sleuth had
+luncheon. However odd he might be, Mrs. Bunting never forgot her lodger
+was a gentleman.
+
+“After all, he likes me to wait on him, doesn’t he? I can manage all
+right. Don’t you worry,” she added after a long pause.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+Perhaps because his luncheon was served to him a good deal later than
+usual, Mr. Sleuth ate his nice piece of steamed sole upstairs with far
+heartier an appetite than his landlady had eaten her nice slice of
+roast pork downstairs.
+
+“I hope you’re feeling a little better, sir,” Mrs. Bunting had forced
+herself to say when she first took in his tray.
+
+And he had answered plaintively, querulously, “No, I can’t say I feel
+well to-day, Mrs. Bunting. I am tired—very tired. And as I lay in bed I
+seemed to hear so many sounds—so much crying and shouting. I trust the
+Marylebone Road is not going to become a noisy thoroughfare, Mrs.
+Bunting?”
+
+“Oh, no, sir, I don’t think that. We’re generally reckoned very quiet
+indeed, sir.”
+
+She waited a moment—try as she would, she could not allude to what
+those unwonted shouts and noises had betokened. “I expect you’ve got a
+chill, sir,” she said suddenly. “If I was you, I shouldn’t go out this
+afternoon; I’d just stay quietly indoors. There’s a lot of rough people
+about—” Perhaps there was an undercurrent of warning, of painful
+pleading, in her toneless voice which penetrated in some way to the
+brain of the lodger, for Mr. Sleuth looked up, and an uneasy, watchful
+look came into his luminous grey eyes.
+
+“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bunting. But I think I’ll take your
+advice. That is, I will stay quietly at home, I am never at a loss to
+know what to do with myself so long as I can study the Book of Books.”
+
+“Then you’re not afraid about your eyes, sir?” said Mrs. Bunting
+curiously. Somehow she was beginning to feel better. It comforted her
+to be up here, talking to Mr. Sleuth, instead of thinking about him
+downstairs. It seemed to banish the terror which filled her soul—aye,
+and her body, too—at other times. When she was with him Mr. Sleuth was
+so gentle, so reasonable, so—so grateful.
+
+Poor kindly, solitary Mr. Sleuth! This kind of gentleman surely
+wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a human being. Eccentric—so much must be
+admitted. But Mrs. Bunting had seen a good deal of eccentric folk,
+eccentric women rather than eccentric men, in her long career as useful
+maid.
+
+Being at ordinary times an exceptionally sensible, well-balanced woman,
+she had never, in old days, allowed her mind to dwell on certain things
+she had learnt as to the aberrations of which human nature is
+capable—even well-born, well-nurtured, gentle human nature—as
+exemplified in some of the households where she had served. It would,
+indeed, be unfortunate if she now became morbid or—or hysterical.
+
+So it was in a sharp, cheerful voice, almost the voice in which she had
+talked during the first few days of Mr. Sleuth’s stay in her house,
+that she exclaimed, “Well, sir, I’ll be up again to clear away in about
+half an hour. And if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I hope you will
+stay in and have a rest to-day. Nasty, muggy weather—that’s what it is!
+If there’s any little thing you want, me or Bunting can go out and get
+it.”
+
+It must have been about four o’clock when there came a ring at the
+front door.
+
+The three were sitting chatting together, for Daisy had washed up—she
+really was saving her stepmother a good bit of trouble—and the girl was
+now amusing her elders by a funny account of Old Aunt’s pernickety
+ways.
+
+“Whoever can that be?” said Bunting, looking up. “It’s too early for
+Joe Chandler, surely.”
+
+“I’ll go,” said his wife, hurriedly jumping up from her chair. “I’ll
+go! We don’t want no strangers in here.”
+
+And as she stepped down the short bit of passage she said to herself,
+“A clue? What clue?”
+
+But when she opened the front door a glad sigh of relief broke from
+her. “Why, Joe? We never thought ’twas you! But you’re very welcome,
+I’m sure. Come in.”
+
+And Chandler came in, a rather sheepish look on his good-looking, fair
+young face.
+
+“I thought maybe that Mr. Bunting would like to know—” he began, in a
+loud, cheerful voice, and Mrs. Bunting hurriedly checked him. She
+didn’t want the lodger upstairs to hear what young Chandler might be
+going to say.
+
+“Don’t talk so loud,” she said a little sharply. “The lodger is not
+very well to-day. He’s had a cold,” she added hastily, “and during the
+last two or three days he hasn’t been able to go out.”
+
+She wondered at her temerity, her—her hypocrisy, and that moment, those
+few words, marked an epoch in Ellen Bunting’s life. It was the first
+time she had told a bold and deliberate lie. She was one of those
+women—there are many, many such—to whom there is a whole world of
+difference between the suppression of the truth and the utterance of an
+untruth.
+
+But Chandler paid no heed to her remarks. “Has Miss Daisy arrived?” he
+asked, in a lower voice.
+
+She nodded. And then he went through into the room where the father and
+daughter were sitting.
+
+“Well?” said Bunting, starting up. “Well, Joe? Now you can tell us all
+about that mysterious clue. I suppose it’d be too good news to expect
+you to tell us they’ve caught him?”
+
+“No fear of such good news as that yet awhile. If they’d caught him,”
+said Joe ruefully, “well, I don’t suppose I should be here, Mr.
+Bunting. But the Yard are circulating a description at last. And—well,
+they’ve found his weapon!”
+
+“No?” cried Bunting excitedly. “You don’t say so! Whatever sort of a
+thing is it? And are they sure ’tis his?”
+
+“Well, ’tain’t sure, but it seems to be likely.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting had slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.
+But she was still standing with her back against the door, looking at
+the group in front of her. None of them were thinking of her—she
+thanked God for that! She could hear everything that was said without
+joining in the talk and excitement.
+
+“Listen to this!” cried Joe Chandler exultantly. “’Tain’t given out
+yet—not for the public, that is—but we was all given it by eight
+o’clock this morning. Quick work that, eh?” He read out:
+
+“WANTED
+
+
+“A man, of age approximately 28, slight in figure, height approximately
+5 ft. 8 in. Complexion dark. No beard or whiskers. Wearing a black
+diagonal coat, hard felt hat, high white collar, and tie. Carried a
+newspaper parcel. Very respectable appearance.”
+
+
+Mrs. Bunting walked forward. She gave a long, fluttering sigh of
+unutterable relief.
+
+“There’s the chap!” said Joe Chandler triumphantly. “And now, Miss
+Daisy”—he turned to her jokingly, but there was a funny little tremor
+in his frank, cheerful-sounding voice—“if you knows of any nice, likely
+young fellow that answers to that description—well, you’ve only got to
+walk in and earn your reward of five hundred pounds.”
+
+“Five hundred pounds!” cried Daisy and her father simultaneously.
+
+“Yes. That’s what the Lord Mayor offered yesterday. Some private
+bloke—nothing official about it. But we of the Yard is barred from
+taking that reward, worse luck. And it’s too bad, for we has all the
+trouble, after all.”
+
+“Just hand that bit of paper over, will you?” said Bunting. “I’d like
+to con it over to myself.”
+
+Chandler threw over the bit of flimsy.
+
+A moment later Bunting looked up and handed it back. “Well, it’s clear
+enough, isn’t it?”
+
+“Yes. And there’s hundreds—nay, thousands—of young fellows that might
+be a description of,” said Chandler sarcastically. “As a pal of mine
+said this morning, ‘There isn’t a chap will like to carry a newspaper
+parcel after this.’ And it won’t do to have a respectable
+appearance—eh?”
+
+Daisy’s voice rang out in merry, pealing laughter. She greatly
+appreciated Mr. Chandler’s witticism.
+
+“Why on earth didn’t the people who saw him try and catch him?” asked
+Bunting suddenly.
+
+And Mrs. Bunting broke in, in a lower voice, “Yes, Joe—that seems odd,
+don’t it?”
+
+Joe Chandler coughed. “Well, it’s this way,” he said. “No one person
+did see all that. The man who’s described here is just made up from the
+description of two different folk who _think_ they saw him. You see,
+the murders must have taken place—well, now, let me see—perhaps at two
+o’clock this last time. Two o’clock—that’s the idea. Well, at such a
+time as that not many people are about, especially on a foggy night.
+Yes, one woman declares she saw a young chap walking away from the spot
+where ’twas done; and another one—but that was a good bit later—says
+The Avenger passed by her. It’s mostly her they’re following in this
+’ere description. And then the boss who has charge of that sort of
+thing looked up what other people had said—I mean when the other crimes
+was committed. That’s how he made up this ‘Wanted.’”
+
+“Then The Avenger may be quite a different sort of man?” said Bunting
+slowly, disappointedly.
+
+“Well, of course he may be. But, no; I think that description fits him
+all right,” said Chandler; but he also spoke in a hesitating voice.
+
+“You was saying, Joe, that they found a weapon?” observed Bunting
+insinuatingly.
+
+He was glad that Ellen allowed the discussion to go on—in fact, that
+she even seemed to take an intelligent interest in it. She had come up
+close to them, and now looked quite her old self again.
+
+“Yes. They believe they’ve found the weapon what he does his awful
+deeds with,” said Chandler. “At any rate, within a hundred yards of
+that little dark passage where they found the bodies—one at each end,
+that was—there was discovered this morning a very peculiar kind o’
+knife—‘keen as a razor, pointed as a dagger’—that’s the exact words the
+boss used when he was describing it to a lot of us. He seemed to think
+a lot more of that clue than of the other—I mean than of the
+description people gave of the chap who walked quickly by with a
+newspaper parcel. But now there’s a pretty job in front of us. Every
+shop where they sell or might a’ sold, such a thing as that knife,
+including every eating-house in the East End, has got to be called at!”
+
+“Whatever for?” asked Daisy.
+
+“Why, with an idea of finding out if anyone saw such a knife fooling
+about there any time, and, if so, in whose possession it was at the
+time. But, Mr. Bunting”—Chandler’s voice changed; it became
+businesslike, official—“they’re not going to say anything about
+that—not in newspapers—till to-morrow, so don’t you go and tell
+anybody. You see, we don’t want to frighten the fellow off. If he knew
+they’d got his knife—well, he might just make himself scarce, and they
+don’t want that! If it’s discovered that any knife of that kind was
+sold, say a month ago, to some customer whose ways are known,
+then—then—”
+
+“What’ll happen then?” said Mrs. Bunting, coming nearer.
+
+“Well, then, nothing’ll be put about it in the papers at all,” said
+Chandler deliberately. “The only objec’ of letting the public know
+about it would be if nothink was found—I mean if the search of the
+shops, and so on, was no good. Then, of course, we must try and find
+out someone—some private person-like, who’s watched that knife in the
+criminal’s possession. It’s there the reward—the five hundred pounds
+will come in.”
+
+“Oh, I’d give anything to see that knife!” exclaimed Daisy, clasping
+her hands together.
+
+“You cruel, bloodthirsty, girl!” cried her stepmother passionately.
+
+They all looked round at her, surprised.
+
+“Come, come, Ellen!” said Bunting reprovingly.
+
+“Well, it _is_ a horrible idea!” said his wife sullenly. “To go and
+sell a fellow-being for five hundred pounds.”
+
+But Daisy was offended. “Of course I’d like to see it!” she cried
+defiantly. “I never said nothing about the reward. That was Mr.
+Chandler said that! I only said I’d like to see the knife.”
+
+Chandler looked at her soothingly. “Well, the day may come when you
+_will_ see it,” he said slowly.
+
+A great idea had come into his mind.
+
+“No! What makes you think that?”
+
+“If they catches him, and if you comes along with me to see our Black
+Museum at the Yard, you’ll certainly see the knife, Miss Daisy. They
+keeps all them kind of things there. So if, as I say, this weapon
+_should_ lead to the conviction of The Avenger—well, then, that knife
+’ull be there, and you’ll see it!”
+
+“The Black Museum? Why, whatever do they have a museum in your place
+for?” asked Daisy wonderingly. “I thought there was only the British
+Museum—”
+
+And then even Mrs. Bunting, as well as Bunting and Chandler, laughed
+aloud.
+
+“You are a goosey girl!” said her father fondly. “Why, there’s a lot of
+museums in London; the town’s thick with ’em. Ask Ellen there. She and
+me used to go to them kind of places when we was courting—if the
+weather was bad.”
+
+“But our museum’s the one that would interest Miss Daisy,” broke in
+Chandler eagerly. “It’s a regular Chamber of ’Orrors!”
+
+“Why, Joe, you never told us about that place before,” said Bunting
+excitedly. “D’you really mean that there’s a museum where they keeps
+all sorts of things connected with crimes? Things like knives murders
+have been committed with?”
+
+“Knives?” cried Joe, pleased at having become the centre of attention,
+for Daisy had also fixed her blue eyes on him, and even Mrs. Bunting
+looked at him expectantly. “Much more than knives, Mr. Bunting! Why,
+they’ve got there, in little bottles, the real poison what people have
+been done away with.”
+
+“And can you go there whenever you like?” asked Daisy wonderingly. She
+had not realised before what extraordinary and agreeable privileges are
+attached to the position of a detective member of the London Police
+Force.
+
+“Well, I suppose I _could_—” Joe smiled. “Anyway I can certainly get
+leave to take a friend there.” He looked meaningly at Daisy, and Daisy
+looked eagerly at him.
+
+But would Ellen ever let her go out by herself with Mr. Chandler? Ellen
+was so prim, so—so irritatingly proper. But what was this father was
+saying? “D’you really mean that, Joe?”
+
+“Yes, of course I do!”
+
+“Well, then, look here! If it isn’t asking too much of a favour, I
+should like to go along there with you very much one day. I don’t want
+to wait till The Avenger’s caught”—Bunting smiled broadly. “I’d be
+quite content as it is with what there is in that museum o’ yours.
+Ellen, there,”—he looked across at his wife—“don’t agree with me about
+such things. Yet I don’t think I’m a bloodthirsty man! But I’m just
+terribly interested in all that sort of thing—always have been. I used
+to positively envy the butler in that Balham Mystery!”
+
+Again a look passed between Daisy and the young man—it was a look which
+contained and carried a great many things backwards and forwards, such
+as—“Now, isn’t it funny that your father should want to go to such a
+place? But still, I can’t help it if he does want to go, so we must put
+up with his company, though it would have been much nicer for us to go
+just by our two selves.” And then Daisy’s look answered quite as
+plainly, though perhaps Joe didn’t read her glance quite as clearly as
+she had read his: “Yes, it is tiresome. But father means well; and
+’twill be very pleasant going there, even if he does come too.”
+
+“Well, what d’you say to the day after to-morrow, Mr. Bunting? I’d call
+for you here about—shall we say half-past two?—and just take you and
+Miss Daisy down to the Yard. ’Twouldn’t take very long; we could go all
+the way by bus, right down to Westminster Bridge.” He looked round at
+his hostess: “Wouldn’t you join us, Mrs. Bunting? ’Tis truly a
+wonderful interesting place.”
+
+But his hostess shook her head decidedly. “’Twould turn me sick,” she
+exclaimed, “to see the bottle of poison what had done away with the
+life of some poor creature!
+
+“And as for knives—!” a look of real horror, of startled fear, crept
+over her pale face.
+
+“There, there!” said Bunting hastily. “Live and let live—that’s what I
+always say. Ellen ain’t on in this turn. She can just stay at home and
+mind the cat—I beg his pardon, I mean the lodger!”
+
+“I won’t have Mr. Sleuth laughed at,” said Mrs. Bunting darkly. “But
+there! I’m sure it’s very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving Bunting
+and Daisy such a rare treat”—she spoke sarcastically, but none of the
+three who heard her understood that.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+The moment she passed though the great arched door which admits the
+stranger to that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart of
+that great organism which fights the forces of civilised crime, Daisy
+Bunting felt that she had indeed become free of the Kingdom of Romance.
+Even the lift in which the three of them were whirled up to one of the
+upper floors of the huge building was to the girl a new and delightful
+experience. Daisy had always lived a simple, quiet life in the little
+country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this was the first time a lift
+had come her way.
+
+With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler
+marched his friends down a wide, airy corridor.
+
+Daisy clung to her father’s arm, a little bewildered, a little
+oppressed by her good fortune. Her happy young voice was stilled by the
+awe she felt at the wonderful place where she found herself, and by the
+glimpses she caught of great rooms full of busy, silent men engaged in
+unravelling—or so she supposed—the mysteries of crime.
+
+They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped
+short. “Look in there,” he said, in a low voice, addressing the father
+rather than the daughter, “that’s the Finger-Print Room. We’ve records
+here of over two hundred thousand men’s and women’s finger-tips! I
+expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once we’ve got the print of a
+man’s five finger-tips, well, he’s done for—if he ever does anything
+else, that is. Once we’ve got that bit of him registered he can’t never
+escape us—no, not if he tries ever so. But though there’s nigh on a
+quarter of a million records in there, yet it don’t take—well, not half
+an hour, for them to tell whether any particular man has ever been
+convicted before! Wonderful thought, ain’t it?”
+
+“Wonderful!” said Bunting, drawing a deep breath. And then a troubled
+look came over his stolid face. “Wonderful, but also a very fearful
+thought for the poor wretches as has got their finger-prints in, Joe.”
+
+Joe laughed. “Agreed!” he said. “And the cleverer ones knows that only
+too well. Why, not long ago, one man who knew his record was here safe,
+managed to slash about his fingers something awful, just so as to make
+a blurred impression—you takes my meaning? But there, at the end of six
+weeks the skin grew all right again, and in exactly the same little
+creases as before!”
+
+“Poor devil!” said Bunting under his breath, and a cloud even came over
+Daisy’s bright eager face.
+
+They were now going along a narrower passage, and then again they came
+to a half-open door, leading into a room far smaller than that of the
+Finger-Print Identification Room.
+
+“If you’ll glance in there,” said Joe briefly, “you’ll see how we finds
+out all about any man whose finger-tips has given him away, so to
+speak. It’s here we keeps an account of what he’s done, his previous
+convictions, and so on. His finger-tips are where I told you, and his
+record in there—just connected by a number.”
+
+“Wonderful!” said Bunting, drawing in his breath. But Daisy was longing
+to get on—to get to the Black Museum. All this that Joe and her father
+were saying was quite unreal to her, and, for the matter of that not
+worth taking the trouble to understand. However, she had not long to
+wait.
+
+A broad-shouldered, pleasant-looking young fellow, who seemed on very
+friendly terms with Joe Chandler, came forward suddenly, and, unlocking
+a common-place-looking door, ushered the little party of three through
+into the Black Museum.
+
+For a moment there came across Daisy a feeling of keen disappointment
+and surprise. This big, light room simply reminded her of what they
+called the Science Room in the public library of the town where she
+lived with Old Aunt. Here, as there, the centre was taken up with plain
+glass cases fixed at a height from the floor which enabled their
+contents to be looked at closely.
+
+She walked forward and peered into the case nearest the door. The
+exhibits shown there were mostly small, shabby-looking little things,
+the sort of things one might turn out of an old rubbish cupboard in an
+untidy house—old medicine bottles, a soiled neckerchief, what looked
+like a child’s broken lantern, even a box of pills. . .
+
+As for the walls, they were covered with the queerest-looking objects;
+bits of old iron, odd-looking things made of wood and leather, and so
+on.
+
+It was really rather disappointing.
+
+Then Daisy Bunting gradually became aware that standing on a shelf just
+below the first of the broad, spacious windows which made the great
+room look so light and shadowless, was a row of life-size white plaster
+heads, each head slightly inclined to the right. There were about a
+dozen of these, not more—and they had such odd, staring, helpless,
+_real_-looking faces.
+
+“Whatever’s those?” asked Bunting in a low voice.
+
+Daisy clung a thought closer to her father’s arm. Even she guessed that
+these strange, pathetic, staring faces were the death-masks of those
+men and women who had fulfilled the awful law which ordains that the
+murderer shall be, in his turn, done to death.
+
+“All hanged!” said the guardian of the Black Museum briefly. “Casts
+taken after death.”
+
+Bunting smiled nervously. “They don’t look dead somehow. They looks
+more as if they were listening,” he said.
+
+“That’s the fault of Jack Ketch,” said the man facetiously. “It’s his
+idea—that of knotting his patient’s necktie under the left ear! That’s
+what he does to each of the gentlemen to whom he has to act valet on
+just one occasion only. It makes them lean just a bit to one side. You
+look here—?”
+
+Daisy and her father came a little closer, and the speaker pointed with
+his finger to a little dent imprinted on the left side of each neck;
+running from this indentation was a curious little furrow, well ridged
+above, showing how tightly Jack Ketch’s necktie had been drawn when its
+wearer was hurried through the gates of eternity.
+
+“They looks foolish-like, rather than terrified, or—or hurt,” said
+Bunting wonderingly.
+
+He was extraordinarily moved and fascinated by those dumb, staring
+faces.
+
+But young Chandler exclaimed in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice,
+“Well, a man would look foolish at such a time as that, with all his
+plans brought to naught—and knowing he’s only got a second to live—now
+wouldn’t he?”
+
+“Yes, I suppose he would,” said Bunting slowly.
+
+Daisy had gone a little pale. The sinister, breathless atmosphere of
+the place was beginning to tell on her. She now began to understand
+that the shabby little objects lying there in the glass case close to
+her were each and all links in the chain of evidence which, in almost
+every case, had brought some guilty man or woman to the gallows.
+
+“We had a yellow gentleman here the other day,” observed the guardian
+suddenly; “one of those Brahmins—so they calls themselves. Well, you’d
+a been quite surprised to see how that heathen took on! He
+declared—what was the word he used?”—he turned to Chandler.
+
+“He said that each of these things, with the exception of the casts,
+mind you—queer to say, he left them out—exuded evil, that was the word
+he used! Exuded—squeezed out it means. He said that being here made him
+feel very bad. And twasn’t all nonsense either. He turned quite green
+under his yellow skin, and we had to shove him out quick. He didn’t
+feel better till he’d got right to the other end of the passage!”
+
+“There now! Who’d ever think of that?” said Bunting. “I should say that
+man ’ud got something on his conscience, wouldn’t you?”
+
+“Well, I needn’t stay now,” said Joe’s good-natured friend. “You show
+your friends round, Chandler. You knows the place nearly as well as I
+do, don’t you?”
+
+He smiled at Joe’s visitors, as if to say good-bye, but it seemed that
+he could not tear himself away after all.
+
+“Look here,” he said to Bunting. “In this here little case are the
+tools of Charles Peace. I expect you’ve heard of him.”
+
+“I should think I have!” cried Bunting eagerly.
+
+“Many gents as comes here thinks this case the most interesting of all.
+Peace was such a wonderful man! A great inventor they say he would have
+been, had he been put in the way of it. Here’s his ladder; you see it
+folds up quite compactly, and makes a nice little bundle—just like a
+bundle of old sticks any man might have been seen carrying about London
+in those days without attracting any attention. Why, it probably helped
+him to look like an honest working man time and time again, for on
+being arrested he declared most solemnly he’d always carried that
+ladder openly under his arm.”
+
+“The daring of that!” cried Bunting.
+
+“Yes, and when the ladder was opened out it could reach from the ground
+to the second storey of any old house. And, oh! how clever he was! Just
+open one section, and you see the other sections open automatically; so
+Peace could stand on the ground and force the thing quietly up to any
+window he wished to reach. Then he’d go away again, having done his
+job, with a mere bundle of old wood under his arm! My word, he was
+artful! I wonder if you’ve heard the tale of how Peace once lost a
+finger. Well, he guessed the constables were instructed to look out for
+a man missing a finger; so what did he do?”
+
+“Put on a false finger,” suggested Bunting.
+
+“No, indeed! Peace made up his mind just to do without a hand
+altogether. Here’s his false stump: you see, it’s made of wood—wood and
+black felt? Well, that just held his hand nicely. Why, we considers
+that one of the most ingenious contrivances in the whole museum.”
+
+Meanwhile, Daisy had let go her hold of her father. With Chandler in
+delighted attendance, she had moved away to the farther end of the
+great room, and now she was bending over yet another glass case.
+“Whatever are those little bottles for?” she asked wonderingly.
+
+There were five small phials, filled with varying quantities of cloudy
+liquids.
+
+“They’re full of poison, Miss Daisy, that’s what they are. There’s
+enough arsenic in that little whack o’ brandy to do for you and me—aye,
+and for your father as well, I should say.”
+
+“Then chemists shouldn’t sell such stuff,” said Daisy, smiling. Poison
+was so remote from herself, that the sight of these little bottles only
+brought a pleasant thrill.
+
+“No more they don’t. That was sneaked out of a flypaper, that was. Lady
+said she wanted a cosmetic for her complexion, but what she was really
+going for was flypapers for to do away with her husband. She’d got a
+bit tired of him, I suspect.”
+
+“Perhaps he was a horrid man, and deserved to be done away with,” said
+Daisy. The idea struck them both as so very comic that they began to
+laugh aloud in unison.
+
+“Did you ever hear what a certain Mrs. Pearce did?” asked Chandler,
+becoming suddenly serious.
+
+“Oh, yes,” said Daisy, and she shuddered a little. “That was the
+wicked, wicked woman what killed a pretty little baby and its mother.
+They’ve got her in Madame Tussaud’s. But Ellen, she won’t let me go to
+the Chamber of Horrors. She wouldn’t let father take me there last time
+I was in London. Cruel of her, I called it. But somehow I don’t feel as
+if I wanted to go there now, after having been here!”
+
+“Well,” said Chandler slowly, “we’ve a case full of relics of Mrs.
+Pearce. But the pram the bodies were found in, that’s at Madame
+Tussaud’s—at least so they claim, I can’t say. Now here’s something
+just as curious, and not near so dreadful. See that man’s jacket
+there?”
+
+“Yes,” said Daisy falteringly. She was beginning to feel oppressed,
+frightened. She no longer wondered that the Indian gentleman had been
+taken queer.
+
+“A burglar shot a man dead who’d disturbed him, and by mistake he went
+and left that jacket behind him. Our people noticed that one of the
+buttons was broken in two. Well, that don’t seem much of a clue, does
+it, Miss Daisy? Will you believe me when I tells you that that other
+bit of button was discovered, and that it hanged the fellow? And ’twas
+the more wonderful because all three buttons was different!”
+
+Daisy stared wonderingly, down at the little broken button which had
+hung a man. “And whatever’s that!” she asked, pointing to a piece of
+dirty-looking stuff.
+
+“Well,” said Chandler reluctantly, “that’s rather a horrible thing—that
+is. That’s a bit o’ shirt that was buried with a woman—buried in the
+ground, I mean—after her husband had cut her up and tried to burn her.
+’Twas that bit o’ shirt that brought him to the gallows.”
+
+“I considers your museum’s a very horrid place!” said Daisy pettishly,
+turning away.
+
+She longed to be out in the passage again, away from this brightly
+lighted, cheerful-looking, sinister room.
+
+But her father was now absorbed in the case containing various types of
+infernal machines. “Beautiful little works of art some of them are,”
+said his guide eagerly, and Bunting could not but agree.
+
+“Come along—do, father!” said Daisy quickly. “I’ve seen about enough
+now. If I was to stay in here much longer it ’ud give me the horrors. I
+don’t want to have no nightmares to-night. It’s dreadful to think there
+are so many wicked people in the world. Why, we might knock up against
+some murderer any minute without knowing it, mightn’t we?”
+
+“Not you, Miss Daisy,” said Chandler smilingly. “I don’t suppose you’ll
+ever come across even a common swindler, let alone anyone who’s
+committed a murder—not one in a million does that. Why, even I have
+never had anything to do with a proper murder case!”
+
+But Bunting was in no hurry. He was thoroughly enjoying every moment of
+the time. Just now he was studying intently the various photographs
+which hung on the walls of the Black Museum; especially was he pleased
+to see those connected with a famous and still mysterious case which
+had taken place not long before in Scotland, and in which the servant
+of the man who died had played a considerable part—not in elucidating,
+but in obscuring, the mystery.
+
+“I suppose a good many murderers get off?” he said musingly.
+
+And Joe Chandler’s friend nodded. “I should think they did!” he
+exclaimed. “There’s no such thing as justice here in England. ’Tis odds
+on the murderer every time. ’Tisn’t one in ten that come to the end he
+should do—to the gallows, that is.”
+
+“And what d’you think about what’s going on now—I mean about those
+Avenger murders?”
+
+Bunting lowered his voice, but Daisy and Chandler were already moving
+towards the door.
+
+“I don’t believe he’ll ever be caught,” said the other confidentially.
+“In some ways ’tis a lot more of a job to catch a madman than ’tis to
+run down just an ordinary criminal. And, of course—leastways to my
+thinking—The Avenger _is_ a madman—one of the cunning, quiet sort. Have
+you heard about the letter?” his voice dropped lower.
+
+“No,” said Bunting, staring eagerly at him. “What letter d’you mean?”
+
+“Well, there’s a letter—it’ll be in this museum some day—which came
+just before that last double event. ’Twas signed ‘The Avenger,’ in just
+the same printed characters as on that bit of paper he always leaves
+behind him. Mind you, it don’t follow that it actually was The Avenger
+what sent that letter here, but it looks uncommonly like it, and I know
+that the Boss attaches quite a lot of importance to it.”
+
+“And where was it posted?” asked Bunting. “That might be a bit of a
+clue, you know.”
+
+“Oh, no,” said the other. “They always goes a very long way to post
+anything—criminals do. It stands to reason they would. But this
+particular one was put in the Edgware Road Post Office.”
+
+“What? Close to us?” said Bunting. “Goodness! dreadful!”
+
+“Any of us might knock up against him any minute. I don’t suppose The
+Avenger’s in any way peculiar-looking—in fact we know he ain’t.”
+
+“Then you think that woman as says she saw him did see him?” asked
+Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+“Our description was made up from what she said,” answered the other
+cautiously. “But, there, you can’t tell! In a case like that it’s
+groping—groping in the dark all the time—and it’s just a lucky accident
+if it comes out right in the end. Of course, it’s upsetting us all very
+much here. You can’t wonder at that!”
+
+“No, indeed,” said Bunting quickly. “I give you my word, I’ve hardly
+thought of anything else for the last month.”
+
+Daisy had disappeared, and when her father joined her in the passage
+she was listening, with downcast eyes, to what Joe Chandler was saying.
+
+He was telling her about his real home, of the place where his mother
+lived, at Richmond—that it was a nice little house, close to the park.
+He was asking her whether she could manage to come out there one
+afternoon, explaining that his mother would give them tea, and how nice
+it would be.
+
+“I don’t see why Ellen shouldn’t let me,” the girl said rebelliously.
+“But she’s that old-fashioned and pernickety is Ellen—a regular old
+maid! And, you see, Mr. Chandler, when I’m staying with them, father
+don’t like for me to do anything that Ellen don’t approve of. But she’s
+got quite fond of you, so perhaps if you ask her—?” She looked at him,
+and he nodded sagely.
+
+“Don’t you be afraid,” he said confidently. “I’ll get round Mrs.
+Bunting. But, Miss Daisy”—he grew very red—“I’d just like to ask you a
+question—no offence meant—”
+
+“Yes?” said Daisy a little breathlessly. “There’s father close to us,
+Mr. Chandler. Tell me quick; what is it?”
+
+“Well, I take it, by what you said just now, that you’ve never walked
+out with any young fellow?”
+
+Daisy hesitated a moment; then a very pretty dimple came into her
+cheek. “No,” she said sadly. “No, Mr. Chandler, that I have not.” In a
+burst of candour she added, “You see, I never had the chance!”
+
+And Joe Chandler smiled, well pleased.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+By what she regarded as a fortunate chance, Mrs. Bunting found herself
+for close on an hour quite alone in the house during her husband’s and
+Daisy’s jaunt with young Chandler.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not often go out in the daytime, but on this particular
+afternoon, after he had finished his tea, when dusk was falling, he
+suddenly observed that he wanted a new suit of clothes, and his
+landlady eagerly acquiesced in his going out to purchase it.
+
+As soon as he had left the house, she went quickly up to the
+drawing-room floor. Now had come her opportunity of giving the two
+rooms a good dusting; but Mrs. Bunting knew well, deep in her heart,
+that it was not so much the dusting of Mr. Sleuth’s sitting-room she
+wanted to do—as to engage in a vague search for—she hardly knew for
+what.
+
+During the years she had been in service Mrs. Bunting had always had a
+deep, wordless contempt for those of her fellow-servants who read their
+employers’ private letters, and who furtively peeped into desks and
+cupboards in the hope, more vague than positive, of discovering family
+skeletons.
+
+But now, with regard to Mr. Sleuth, she was ready, aye, eager, to do
+herself what she had once so scorned others for doing.
+
+Beginning with the bedroom, she started on a methodical search. He was
+a very tidy gentleman was the lodger, and his few things,
+under-garments, and so on, were in apple-pie order. She had early
+undertaken, much to his satisfaction, to do the very little bit of
+washing he required done, with her own and Bunting’s. Luckily he wore
+soft shirts.
+
+At one time Mrs. Bunting had always had a woman in to help her with
+this tiresome weekly job, but lately she had grown quite clever at it
+herself. The only things she had to send out were Bunting’s shirts.
+Everything else she managed to do herself.
+
+From the chest of drawers she now turned her attention to the
+dressing-table.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not take his money with him when he went out, he
+generally left it in one of the drawers below the old-fashioned
+looking-glass. And now, in a perfunctory way, his landlady pulled out
+the little drawer, but she did not touch what was lying there; she only
+glanced at the heap of sovereigns and a few bits of silver. The lodger
+had taken just enough money with him to buy the clothes he required. He
+had consulted her as to how much they would cost, making no secret of
+why he was going out, and the fact had vaguely comforted Mrs. Bunting.
+
+Now she lifted the toilet-cover, and even rolled up the carpet a little
+way, but no, there was nothing there, not so much as a scrap of paper.
+And at last, when more or less giving up the search, as she came and
+went between the two rooms, leaving the connecting door wide open, her
+mind became full of uneasy speculation and wonder as to the lodger’s
+past life.
+
+Odd Mr. Sleuth must surely always have been, but odd in a sensible sort
+of way, having on the whole the same moral ideals of conduct as have
+other people of his class. He was queer about the drink—one might say
+almost crazy on the subject—but there, as to that, he wasn’t the only
+one! She, Ellen Bunting, had once lived with a lady who was just like
+that, who was quite crazed, that is, on the question of drink and
+drunkards—She looked round the neat drawing-room with vague
+dissatisfaction. There was only one place where anything could be kept
+concealed—that place was the substantial if small mahogany chiffonnier.
+And then an idea suddenly came to Mrs. Bunting, one she had never
+thought of before.
+
+After listening intently for a moment, lest something should suddenly
+bring Mr. Sleuth home earlier than she expected, she went to the corner
+where the chiffonnier stood, and, exerting the whole of her not very
+great physical strength, she tipped forward the heavy piece of
+furniture.
+
+As she did so, she heard a queer rumbling sound,—something rolling
+about on the second shelf, something which had not been there before
+Mr. Sleuth’s arrival. Slowly, laboriously, she tipped the chiffonnier
+backwards and forwards—once, twice, thrice—satisfied, yet strangely
+troubled in her mind, for she now felt sure that the bag of which the
+disappearance had so surprised her was there, safely locked away by its
+owner.
+
+Suddenly a very uncomfortable thought came to Mrs. Bunting’s mind. She
+hoped Mr. Sleuth would not notice that his bag had shifted inside the
+cupboard. A moment later, with sharp dismay, Mr. Sleuth’s landlady
+realised that the fact that she had moved the chiffonnier must become
+known to her lodger, for a thin trickle of some dark-coloured liquid
+was oozing out though the bottom of the little cupboard door.
+
+She stooped down and touched the stuff. It showed red, bright red, on
+her finger.
+
+Mrs. Bunting grew chalky white, then recovered herself quickly. In fact
+the colour rushed into her face, and she grew hot all over.
+
+It was only a bottle of red ink she had upset—that was all! How could
+she have thought it was anything else?
+
+It was the more silly of her—so she told herself in scornful
+condemnation—because she knew that the lodger used red ink. Certain
+pages of Cruden’s Concordance were covered with notes written in Mr.
+Sleuth’s peculiar upright handwriting. In fact in some places you
+couldn’t see the margin, so closely covered was it with remarks and
+notes of interrogation.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had foolishly placed his bottle of red ink in the
+chiffonnier—that was what her poor, foolish gentleman had done; and it
+was owing to her inquisitiveness, her restless wish to know things she
+would be none the better, none the happier, for knowing, that this
+accident had taken place.
+
+She mopped up with her duster the few drops of ink which had fallen on
+the green carpet and then, still feeling, as she angrily told herself,
+foolishly upset she went once more into the back room.
+
+It was curious that Mr. Sleuth possessed no notepaper. She would have
+expected him to have made that one of his first purchases—the more so
+that paper is so very cheap, especially that rather dirty-looking grey
+Silurian paper. Mrs. Bunting had once lived with a lady who always used
+two kinds of notepaper, white for her friends and equals, grey for
+those whom she called “common people.” She, Ellen Green, as she then
+was, had always resented the fact. Strange she should remember it now,
+stranger in a way because that employer of her’s had not been a real
+lady, and Mr. Sleuth, whatever his peculiarities, was, in every sense
+of the word, a real gentleman. Somehow Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if
+he had bought any notepaper it would have been white—white and probably
+cream-laid—not grey and cheap.
+
+Again she opened the drawer of the old-fashioned wardrobe and lifted up
+the few pieces of underclothing Mr. Sleuth now possessed.
+
+But there was nothing there—nothing, that is, hidden away. When one
+came to think of it there seemed something strange in the notion of
+leaving all one’s money where anyone could take it, and in locking up
+such a valueless thing as a cheap sham leather bag, to say nothing of a
+bottle of ink.
+
+Mrs. Bunting once more opened out each of the tiny drawers below the
+looking-glass, each delicately fashioned of fine old mahogany. Mr.
+Sleuth kept his money in the centre drawer.
+
+The glass had only cost seven-and-sixpence, and, after the auction a
+dealer had come and offered her first fifteen shillings, and then a
+guinea for it. Not long ago, in Baker Street, she had seen a
+looking-glass which was the very spit of this one, labeled
+“Chippendale, Antique. £21 5s 0d.”
+
+There lay Mr. Sleuth’s money—the sovereigns, as the landlady well knew,
+would each and all gradually pass into her’s and Bunting’s possession,
+honestly earned by them no doubt but unattainable—in act
+unearnable—excepting in connection with the present owner of those
+dully shining gold sovereigns.
+
+At last she went downstairs to await Mr. Sleuth’s return.
+
+When she heard the key turn in the door, she came out into the passage.
+
+“I’m sorry to say I’ve had an accident, sir,” she said a little
+breathlessly. “Taking advantage of your being out I went up to dust the
+drawing-room, and while I was trying to get behind the chiffonnier it
+tilted. I’m afraid, sir, that a bottle of ink that was inside may have
+got broken, for just a few drops oozed out, sir. But I hope there’s no
+harm done. I wiped it up as well as I could, seeing that the doors of
+the chiffonnier are locked.”
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her with a wild, almost a terrified glance. But
+Mrs. Bunting stood her ground. She felt far less afraid now than she
+had felt before he came in. Then she had been so frightened that she
+had nearly gone out of the house, on to the pavement, for company.
+
+“Of course I had no idea, sir, that you kept any ink in there.”
+
+She spoke as if she were on the defensive, and the lodger’s brow
+cleared.
+
+“I was aware you used ink, sir,” Mrs. Bunting went on, “for I have seen
+you marking that book of yours—I mean the book you read together with
+the Bible. Would you like me to go out and get you another bottle,
+sir?”
+
+“No,” said Mr. Sleuth. “No, I thank you. I will at once proceed
+upstairs and see what damage has been done. When I require you I shall
+ring.”
+
+He shuffled past her, and five minutes later the drawing-room bell did
+ring.
+
+At once, from the door, Mrs. Bunting saw that the chiffonnier was wide
+open, and that the shelves were empty save for the bottle of red ink
+which had turned over and now lay in a red pool of its own making on
+the lower shelf.
+
+“I’m afraid it will have stained the wood, Mrs. Bunting. Perhaps I was
+ill-advised to keep my ink in there.”
+
+“Oh, no, sir! That doesn’t matter at all. Only a drop or two fell out
+on to the carpet, and they don’t show, as you see, sir, for it’s a dark
+corner. Shall I take the bottle away? I may as well.”
+
+Mr. Sleuth hesitated. “No,” he said, after a long pause, “I think not,
+Mrs. Bunting. For the very little I require it the ink remaining in the
+bottle will do quite well, especially if I add a little water, or
+better still, a little tea, to what already remains in the bottle. I
+only require it to mark up passages which happen to be of peculiar
+interest in my Concordance—a work, Mrs. Bunting, which I should have
+taken great pleasure in compiling myself had not this—ah—this gentleman
+called Cruden, been before.”
+
+Not only Bunting, but Daisy also, thought Ellen far pleasanter in her
+manner than usual that evening. She listened to all they had to say
+about their interesting visit to the Black Museum, and did not snub
+either of them—no, not even when Bunting told of the dreadful,
+haunting, silly-looking death-masks taken from the hanged.
+
+But a few minutes after that, when her husband suddenly asked her a
+question, Mrs. Bunting answered at random. It was clear she had not
+heard the last few words he had been saying.
+
+“A penny for your thoughts!” he said jocularly. But she shook her head.
+
+Daisy slipped out of the room, and, five minutes later, came back
+dressed up in a blue-and-white check silk gown.
+
+“My!” said her father. “You do look fine, Daisy. I’ve never seen you
+wearing that before.”
+
+“And a rare figure of fun she looks in it!” observed Mrs. Bunting
+sarcastically. And then, “I suppose this dressing up means that you’re
+expecting someone. I should have thought both of you must have seen
+enough of young Chandler for one day. I wonder when that young chap
+does his work—that I do! He never seems too busy to come and waste an
+hour or two here.”
+
+But that was the only nasty thing Ellen said all that evening. And even
+Daisy noticed that her stepmother seemed dazed and unlike herself. She
+went about her cooking and the various little things she had to do even
+more silently than was her wont.
+
+Yet under that still, almost sullen, manner, how fierce was the storm
+of dread, of sombre anguish, and, yes, of sick suspense, which shook
+her soul, and which so far affected her poor, ailing body that often
+she felt as if she could not force herself to accomplish her simple
+round of daily work.
+
+After they had finished supper Bunting went out and bought a penny
+evening paper, but as he came in he announced, with a rather rueful
+smile, that he had read so much of that nasty little print this last
+week or two that his eyes hurt him.
+
+“Let me read aloud a bit to you, father,” said Daisy eagerly, and he
+handed her the paper.
+
+Scarcely had Daisy opened her lips when a loud ring and a knock echoed
+through the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+It was only Joe. Somehow, even Bunting called him “Joe” now, and no
+longer “Chandler,” as he had mostly used to do.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had opened the front door only a very little way. She
+wasn’t going to have any strangers pushing in past her.
+
+To her sharpened, suffering senses her house had become a citadel which
+must be defended; aye, even if the besiegers were a mighty horde _with
+right on their side_. And she was always expecting that first single
+spy who would herald the battalion against whom her only weapon would
+be her woman’s wit and cunning.
+
+But when she saw who stood there smiling at her, the muscles of her
+face relaxed, and it lost the tense, anxious, almost agonised look it
+assumed the moment she turned her back on her husband and stepdaughter.
+
+“Why, Joe,” she whispered, for she had left the door open behind her,
+and Daisy had already begun to read aloud, as her father had bidden
+her. “Come in, do! It’s fairly cold to-night.”
+
+A glance at his face had shown her that there was no fresh news.
+
+Joe Chandler walked in, past her, into the little hall. Cold? Well, he
+didn’t feel cold, for he had walked quickly to be the sooner where he
+was now.
+
+Nine days had gone by since that last terrible occurrence, the double
+murder which had been committed early in the morning of the day Daisy
+had arrived in London. And though the thousands of men belonging to the
+Metropolitan Police—to say nothing of the smaller, more alert body of
+detectives attached to the Force—were keenly on the alert, not one but
+had begun to feel that there was nothing to be alert about.
+Familiarity, even with horror, breeds contempt.
+
+But with the public it was far otherwise. Each day something happened
+to revive and keep alive the mingled horror and interest this strange,
+enigmatic series of crimes had evoked. Even the more sober organs of
+the Press went on attacking, with gathering severity and indignation,
+the Commissioner of Police; and at the huge demonstration held in
+Victoria Park two days before violent speeches had also been made
+against the Home Secretary.
+
+But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that. The little house
+in the Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isle of dreams,
+to which his thoughts were ever turning when he had a moment to spare
+from what had grown to be a wearisome, because an unsatisfactory, job.
+He secretly agreed with one of his pals who had exclaimed, and that
+within twenty-four hours of the last double crime, “Why, ’twould be
+easier to find a needle in a rick o’ hay than this—bloke!”
+
+And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now—after nine
+long, empty days had gone by?
+
+Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat.
+Then he put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs.
+Bunting to wait a moment. From where he stood in the hall the father
+and daughter made a pleasant little picture of contented domesticity.
+Joe Chandler’s honest heart swelled at the sight.
+
+Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which her
+stepmother and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the left side
+of the fire, while Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortable
+arm-chair, was listening, his hand to his ear, in an attitude—as it was
+the first time she had caught him doing it, the fact brought a pang to
+Mrs. Bunting—which showed that age was beginning to creep over the
+listener.
+
+One of Daisy’s duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of
+reading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her
+accomplishment.
+
+Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy had been asking, “Shall
+I read this, father?” And Bunting had answered quickly, “Aye, do, my
+dear.”
+
+He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the door,
+he had only just nodded his head. The young man was becoming so
+frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.
+
+Daisy read out:
+
+“THE AVENGER: A—”
+
+
+And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly.
+Bravely, however, she went on. “A the-o-ry.”
+
+“Go in—do!” whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. “Why should we stay
+out here in the cold? It’s ridiculous.”
+
+“I don’t want to interrupt Miss Daisy,” whispered Chandler back, rather
+hoarsely.
+
+“Well, you’ll hear it all the better in the room. Don’t think she’ll
+stop because of you, bless you! There’s nothing shy about our Daisy!”
+
+The young man resented the tart, short tone. “Poor little girl!” he
+said to himself tenderly. “That’s what it is having a stepmother,
+instead of a proper mother.” But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and then he
+was pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a bright blush
+came over her pretty face.
+
+“Joe begs you won’t stop yet awhile. Go on with your reading,”
+commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly. “Now, Joe, you can go and sit over
+there, close to Daisy, and then you won’t miss a word.”
+
+There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticed
+that, but he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he went
+and sat on a chair just behind Daisy. From there he could note with
+reverent delight the charming way her fair hair grew upwards from the
+nape of her slender neck.
+
+“THE AVENGER: A THE-O-RY”
+
+
+began Daisy again, clearing her throat.
+
+“DEAR SIR—I have a suggestion to put forward for which I think there is
+a great deal to be said. It seems to me very probable that The
+Avenger—to give him the name by which he apparently wishes to be
+known—comprises in his own person the peculiarities of Jekyll and Hyde,
+Mr. Louis Stevenson’s now famous hero.
+    “The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet,
+    pleasant-looking gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End of
+    London. He has, however, a tragedy in his past life. He is the
+    husband of a dipsomaniac wife. She is, of course, under care, and
+    is never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe with his
+    widowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister. They notice that he has
+    become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life,
+    occupying himself each day with some harmless hobby. On foggy
+    nights, once the quiet household is plunged in sleep, he creeps out
+    of the house, maybe between one and two o’clock, and swiftly makes
+    his way straight to what has become The Avenger’s murder area.
+    Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her with Judas-like
+    gentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly home
+    again. After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, once
+    more the quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother,
+    esteemed and even beloved by a large circle of friends and
+    acquaintances. Meantime, the police are searching about the scene
+    of the tragedy for what they regard as the usual type of criminal
+    lunatic.
+    “I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess that
+    I am amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries to
+    the part of London where these murders have been actually
+    committed. I am quite sure from all that has come out—and we must
+    remember that full information is never given to the newspapers—The
+    Avenger should be sought for in the West and not in the East End of
+    London—Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very truly—”
+
+
+Again Daisy hesitated, and then with an effort she brought out the word
+“Gab-o-ri-you,” said she.
+
+“What a funny name!” said Bunting wonderingly.
+
+And then Joe broke in: “That’s the name of a French chap what wrote
+detective stories,” he said. “Pretty good, some of them are, too!”
+
+“Then this Gaboriyou has come over to study these Avenger murders, I
+take it?” said Bunting.
+
+“Oh, no,” Joe spoke with confidence. “Whoever’s written that silly
+letter just signed that name for fun.”
+
+“It is a silly letter,” Mrs. Bunting had broken in resentfully. “I
+wonder a respectable paper prints such rubbish.”
+
+“Fancy if The Avenger did turn out to be a gentleman!” cried Daisy, in
+an awe-struck voice. “There’d be a how-to-do!”
+
+“There may be something in the notion,” said her father thoughtfully.
+“After all, the monster must be somewhere. This very minute he must be
+somewhere a-hiding of himself.”
+
+“Of course he’s somewhere,” said Mrs. Bunting scornfully.
+
+She had just heard Mr. Sleuth moving overhead. ’Twould soon be time for
+the lodger’s supper.
+
+She hurried on: “But what I do say is that—that—he has nothing to do
+with the West End. Why, they say it’s a sailor from the Docks—that’s a
+good bit more likely, I take it. But there, I’m fair sick of the whole
+subject! We talk of nothing else in this house. The Avenger this—The
+Avenger that—”
+
+“I expect Joe has something to tell us new to-night,” said Bunting
+cheerfully. “Well, Joe, is there anything new?”
+
+“I say, father, just listen to this!” Daisy broke in excitedly. She
+read out:
+
+“BLOODHOUNDS TO BE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERED”
+
+
+“Bloodhounds?” repeated Mrs. Bunting, and there was terror in her tone.
+“Why bloodhounds? That do seem to me a most horrible idea!”
+
+Bunting looked across at her, mildly astonished. “Why, ’twould be a
+very good idea, if ’twas possible to have bloodhounds in a town. But,
+there, how can that be done in London, full of butchers’ shops, to say
+nothing of slaughter-yards and other places o’ that sort?”
+
+But Daisy went on, and to her stepmother’s shrinking ear there seemed a
+horrible thrill of delight; of gloating pleasure, in her fresh young
+voice.
+
+“Hark to this,” she said:
+
+“A man who had committed a murder in a lonely wood near Blackburn was
+traced by the help of a bloodhound, and thanks to the sagacious
+instincts of the animal, the miscreant was finally convicted and
+hanged.”
+
+
+“La, now! Who’d ever have thought of such a thing?” Bunting exclaimed,
+in admiration. “The newspapers do have some useful hints in sometimes,
+Joe.”
+
+But young Chandler shook his head. “Bloodhounds ain’t no use,” he said;
+“no use at all! If the Yard was to listen to all the suggestions that
+the last few days have brought in—well, all I can say is our work would
+be cut out for us—not but what it’s cut out for us now, if it comes to
+that!” He sighed ruefully. He was beginning to feel very tired; if only
+he could stay in this pleasant, cosy room listening to Daisy Bunting
+reading on and on for ever, instead of having to go out, as he would
+presently have to do, into the cold and foggy night!
+
+Joe Chandler was fast becoming very sick of his new job. There was a
+lot of unpleasantness attached to the business, too. Why, even in the
+house where he lived, and in the little cook-shop where he habitually
+took his meals, the people round him had taken to taunt him with the
+remissness of the police. More than that one of his pals, a man he’d
+always looked up to, because the young fellow had the gift of the gab,
+had actually been among those who had spoken at the big demonstration
+in Victoria Park, making a violent speech, not only against the
+Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, but also against the Home
+Secretary.
+
+But Daisy, like most people who believe themselves blessed with the
+possession of an accomplishment, had no mind to leave off reading just
+yet.
+
+“Here’s another notion!” she exclaimed. “Another letter, father!”
+
+“PARDON TO ACCOMPLICES.
+
+
+“DEAR SIR—During the last day or two several of the more Intelligent of
+my acquaintances have suggested that The Avenger, whoever he may be,
+must be known to a certain number of persons. It is impossible that the
+perpetrator of such deeds, however nomad he may be in his habits—”
+
+
+“Now I wonder what ‘nomad’ can be?” Daisy interrupted herself, and
+looked round at her little audience.
+
+“I’ve always declared the fellow had all his senses about him,”
+observed Bunting confidently.
+
+Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
+
+“—however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat where
+his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person who knows the
+terrible secret is evidently withholding information in expectation of
+a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory after the fact, he or
+she is now afraid of the consequences. My suggestion, Sir, is that the
+Home Secretary promise a free pardon. The more so that only thus can
+this miscreant be brought to justice. Unless he was caught red-handed
+in the act, it will be exceedingly difficult to trace the crime
+committed to any individual, for English law looks very askance at
+circumstantial evidence.”
+
+
+“There’s something worth listening to in that letter,” said Joe,
+leaning forward.
+
+Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as she
+turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he was
+saying.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Chandler?” she said interrogatively.
+
+“Well, d’you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in a
+railway carriage? He took refuge with someone—a woman his mother had
+known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time. But at last she
+gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!”
+
+“I don’t think I’d like to give anybody up for a reward,” said Bunting,
+in his slow, dogmatic way.
+
+“Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting,” said Chandler confidently. “You’d
+only be doing what it’s the plain duty of everyone—everyone, that is,
+who’s a good citizen. And you’d be getting something for doing it,
+which is more than most people gets as does their duty.”
+
+“A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common
+informer,” went on Bunting obstinately. “And no man ’ud care to be
+called that! It’s different for you, Joe,” he added hastily. “It’s your
+job to catch those who’ve done anything wrong. And a man’d be a fool
+who’d take refuge—like with you. He’d be walking into the lion’s
+mouth—” Bunting laughed.
+
+And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: “If I’d done anything I wouldn’t
+mind going for help to Mr. Chandler,” she said.
+
+And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, “No. And if you did you needn’t be
+afraid I’d give you up, Miss Daisy!”
+
+And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting,
+sitting with bowed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience
+and anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.
+
+“Why, Ellen, don’t you feel well?” asked Bunting quickly.
+
+“Just a spasm, a sharp stitch in my side, like,” answered the poor
+woman heavily. “It’s over now. Don’t mind me.”
+
+“But I don’t believe—no, that I don’t—that there’s anybody in the world
+who knows who The Avenger is,” went on Chandler quickly. “It stands to
+reason that anybody’d give him up—in their own interest, if not in
+anyone else’s. Who’d shelter such a creature? Why, ’twould be dangerous
+to have him in the house along with one!”
+
+“Then it’s your idea that he’s not responsible for the wicked things he
+does?” Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandler with
+eager, anxious eyes.
+
+“I’d be sorry to think he wasn’t responsible enough to hang!” said
+Chandler deliberately. “After all the trouble he’s been giving us,
+too!”
+
+“Hanging’d be too good for that chap,” said Bunting.
+
+“Not if he’s not responsible,” said his wife sharply. “I never heard of
+anything so cruel—that I never did! If the man’s a madman, he ought to
+be in an asylum—that’s where he ought to be.”
+
+“Hark to her now!” Bunting looked at his Ellen with amusement.
+“Contrary isn’t the word for her! But there, I’ve noticed the last few
+days that she seemed to be taking that monster’s part. That’s what
+comes of being a born total abstainer.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting had got up from her chair. “What nonsense you do talk!”
+she said angrily. “Not but what it’s a good thing if these murders have
+emptied the public-houses of women for a bit. England’s drink is
+England’s shame—I’ll never depart from that! Now, Daisy, child, get up,
+do! Put down that paper. We’ve heard quite enough. You can be laying
+the cloth while I goes down the kitchen.”
+
+“Yes, you mustn’t be forgetting the lodger’s supper,” called out
+Bunting. “Mr. Sleuth don’t always ring—” he turned to Chandler. “For
+one thing, he’s often out about this time.”
+
+“Not often—just now and again, when he wants to buy something,” snapped
+out Mrs. Bunting. “But I hadn’t forgot his supper. He never do want it
+before eight o’clock.”
+
+“Let me take up the lodger’s supper, Ellen,” Daisy’s eager voice broke
+in. She had got up in obedience to her stepmother, and was now laying
+the cloth.
+
+“Certainly not! I told you he only wanted me to wait on him. You have
+your work cut out looking after things down here—that’s where I wants
+you to help me.”
+
+Chandler also got up. Somehow he didn’t like to be doing nothing while
+Daisy was so busy. “Yes,” he said, looking across at Mrs. Bunting, “I’d
+forgotten about your lodger. Going on all right, eh?”
+
+“Never knew so quiet and well-behaved a gentleman,” said Bunting. “He
+turned our luck, did Mr. Sleuth.”
+
+His wife left the room, and after she had gone Daisy laughed. “You’ll
+hardly believe it, Mr. Chandler, but I’ve never seen this wonderful
+lodger. Ellen keeps him to herself, that she does! If I was father I’d
+be jealous!”
+
+Both men laughed. Ellen? No, the idea was too funny.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+“All I can say is, I think Daisy ought to go. One can’t always do just
+what one wants to do—not in this world, at any rate!”
+
+Mrs. Bunting did not seem to be addressing anyone in particular, though
+both her husband and her stepdaughter were in the room. She was
+standing by the table, staring straight before her, and as she spoke
+she avoided looking at either Bunting or Daisy. There was in her voice
+a tone of cross decision, of thin finality, with which they were both
+acquainted, and to which each listener knew the other would have to
+bow.
+
+There was silence for a moment, then Daisy broke out passionately, “I
+don’t see why I should go if I don’t want to!” she cried. “You’ll allow
+I’ve been useful to you, Ellen? ’Tisn’t even as if you was quite well.”
+
+“I am quite well—perfectly well!” snapped out Mrs. Bunting, and she
+turned her pale, drawn face, and looked angrily at her stepdaughter.
+
+“’Tain’t often I has a chance of being with you and father.” There were
+tears in Daisy’s voice, and Bunting glanced deprecatingly at his wife.
+
+An invitation had come to Daisy—an invitation from her own dead
+mother’s sister, who was housekeeper in a big house in Belgrave Square.
+“The family” had gone away for the Christmas holidays, and Aunt
+Margaret—Daisy was her godchild—had begged that her niece might come
+and spend two or three days with her.
+
+But the girl had already had more than one taste of what life was like
+in the great gloomy basement of 100 Belgrave Square. Aunt Margaret was
+one of those old-fashioned servants for whom the modern employer is
+always sighing. While “the family” were away it was her joy—she
+regarded it as a privilege—to wash sixty-seven pieces of very valuable
+china contained in two cabinets in the drawing-room; she also slept in
+every bed by turns, to keep them all well aired. These were the two
+duties with which she intended her young niece to assist her, and
+Daisy’s soul sickened at the prospect.
+
+But the matter had to be settled at once. The letter had come an hour
+ago, containing a stamped telegraph form, and Aunt Margaret was not one
+to be trifled with.
+
+Since breakfast the three had talked of nothing else, and from the very
+first Mrs. Bunting had said that Daisy ought to go—that there was no
+doubt about it, that it did not admit of discussion. But discuss it
+they all did, and for once Bunting stood up to his wife. But that, as
+was natural, only made his Ellen harder and more set on her own view.
+
+“What the child says is true,” he observed. “It isn’t as if you was
+quite well. You’ve been took bad twice in the last few days—you can’t
+deny of it, Ellen. Why shouldn’t I just take a bus and go over and see
+Margaret? I’d tell her just how it is. She’d understand, bless you!”
+
+“I won’t have you doing nothing of the sort!” cried Mrs. Bunting,
+speaking almost as passionately as her stepdaughter had done. “Haven’t
+I a right to be ill, haven’t I a right to be took bad, aye, and to feel
+all right again—same as other people?”
+
+Daisy turned round and clasped her hands. “Oh, Ellen!” she cried; “do
+say that you can’t spare me! I don’t want to go across to that horrid
+old dungeon of a place.”
+
+“Do as you like,” said Mrs. Bunting sullenly. “I’m fair tired of you
+both! There’ll come a day, Daisy, when you’ll know, like me, that money
+is the main thing that matters in this world; and when your Aunt
+Margaret’s left her savings to somebody else just because you wouldn’t
+spend a few days with her this Christmas, then you’ll know what it’s
+like to go without—you’ll know what a fool you were, and that nothing
+can’t alter it any more!”
+
+And then, with victory actually in her grasp, poor Daisy saw it
+snatched from her.
+
+“Ellen is right,” Bunting said heavily. “Money does matter—a terrible
+deal—though I never thought to hear Ellen say ’twas the only thing that
+mattered. But ’twould be foolish—very, very foolish, my girl, to offend
+your Aunt Margaret. It’ll only be two days after all—two days isn’t a
+very long time.”
+
+But Daisy did not hear her father’s last words. She had already rushed
+from the room, and gone down to the kitchen to hide her childish tears
+of disappointment—the childish tears which came because she was
+beginning to be a woman, with a woman’s natural instinct for building
+her own human nest.
+
+Aunt Margaret was not one to tolerate the comings of any strange young
+man, and she had a peculiar dislike to the police.
+
+“Who’d ever have thought she’d have minded as much as that!” Bunting
+looked across at Ellen deprecatingly; already his heart was misgiving
+him.
+
+“It’s plain enough why she’s become so fond of us all of a sudden,”
+said Mrs. Bunting sarcastically. And as her husband stared at her
+uncomprehendingly, she added, in a tantalising tone, “as plain as the
+nose on your face, my man.”
+
+“What d’you mean?” he said. “I daresay I’m a bit slow, Ellen, but I
+really don’t know what you’d be at?”
+
+“Don’t you remember telling me before Daisy came here that Joe Chandler
+had become sweet on her last summer? I thought it only foolishness
+then, but I’ve come round to your view—that’s all.”
+
+Bunting nodded his head slowly. Yes, Joe had got into the way of coming
+very often, and there had been the expedition to that gruesome Scotland
+Yard museum, but somehow he, Bunting, had been so interested in the
+Avenger murders that he hadn’t thought of Joe in any other
+connection—not this time, at any rate.
+
+“And do you think Daisy likes him?” There was an unwonted tone of
+excitement, of tenderness, in Bunting’s voice.
+
+His wife looked over at him; and a thin smile, not an unkindly smile by
+any means, lit up her pale face. “I’ve never been one to prophesy,” she
+answered deliberately. “But this I don’t mind telling you,
+Bunting—Daisy’ll have plenty o’ time to get tired of Joe Chandler
+before they two are dead. Mark my words!”
+
+“Well, she might do worse,” said Bunting ruminatingly. “He’s as steady
+as God makes them, and he’s already earning thirty-two shillings a
+week. But I wonder how Old Aunt’d like the notion? I don’t see her
+parting with Daisy before she must.”
+
+“I wouldn’t let no old aunt interfere with me about such a thing as
+that!” cried Mrs. Bunting. “No, not for millions of gold!” And Bunting
+looked at her in silent wonder. Ellen was singing a very different tune
+now to what she’d sung a few minutes ago, when she was so keen about
+the girl going to Belgrave Square.
+
+“If she still seems upset while she’s having her dinner,” said his wife
+suddenly, “well, you just wait till I’ve gone out for something, and
+then you just say to her, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’—just
+that, and nothing more! She’ll take it from you. And I shouldn’t be
+surprised if it comforted her quite a lot.”
+
+“For the matter of that, there’s no reason why Joe Chandler shouldn’t
+go over and see her there,” said Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+“Oh, yes, there is,” said Mrs. Bunting, smiling shrewdly. “Plenty of
+reason. Daisy’ll be a very foolish girl if she allows her aunt to know
+any of her secrets. I’ve only seen that woman once, but I know exactly
+the sort Margaret is. She’s just waiting for Old Aunt to drop off and
+then she’ll want to have Daisy herself—to wait on her, like. She’d turn
+quite nasty if she thought there was a young fellow what stood in her
+way.”
+
+She glanced at the clock, the pretty little eight-day clock which had
+been a wedding present from a kind friend of her last mistress. It had
+mysteriously disappeared during their time of trouble, and had as
+mysteriously reappeared three or four days after Mr. Sleuth’s arrival.
+
+“I’ve time to go out with that telegram,” she said briskly—somehow she
+felt better, different to what she had done the last few days—“and then
+it’ll be done. It’s no good having more words about it, and I expect we
+should have plenty more words if I wait till the child comes upstairs
+again.”
+
+She did not speak unkindly, and Bunting looked at her rather
+wonderingly. Ellen very seldom spoke of Daisy as “the child”—in fact,
+he could only remember her having done so once before, and that was a
+long time ago. They had been talking over their future life together,
+and she had said, very solemnly, “Bunting, I promise I will do my
+duty—as much as lies in my power, that is—by the child.”
+
+But Ellen had not had much opportunity of doing her duty by Daisy. As
+not infrequently happens with the duties that we are willing to do,
+that particular duty had been taken over by someone else who had no
+mind to let it go.
+
+“What shall I do if Mr. Sleuth rings?” asked Bunting, rather nervously.
+It was the first time since the lodger had come to them that Ellen had
+offered to go out in the morning.
+
+She hesitated. In her anxiety to have the matter of Daisy settled, she
+had forgotten Mr. Sleuth. Strange that she should have done so—strange,
+and, to herself, very comfortable and pleasant.
+
+“Oh, well, you can just go up and knock at the door and say I’ll be
+back in a few minutes—that I had to go out with a message. He’s quite a
+reasonable gentleman.” She went into the back room to put on her bonnet
+and thick jacket for it was very cold—getting colder every minute.
+
+As she stood, buttoning her gloves—she wouldn’t have gone out untidy
+for the world—Bunting suddenly came across to her. “Give us a kiss, old
+girl,” he said. And his wife turned up her face.
+
+“One ’ud think it was catching!” she said, but there was a lilt in her
+voice.
+
+“So it is,” Bunting briefly answered. “Didn’t that old cook get married
+just after us? She’d never ’a thought of it if it hadn’t been for you!”
+
+But once she was out, walking along the damp, uneven pavement, Mr.
+Sleuth revenged himself for his landlady’s temporary forgetfulness.
+
+During the last two days the lodger had been queer, odder than usual,
+unlike himself, or, rather, very much as he had been some ten days ago,
+just before that double murder had taken place.
+
+The night before, while Daisy was telling all about the dreadful place
+to which Joe Chandler had taken her and her father, Mrs. Bunting had
+heard Mr. Sleuth moving about overhead, restlessly walking up and down
+his sitting-room. And later, when she took up his supper, she had
+listened a moment outside the door, while he read aloud some of the
+texts his soul delighted in—terrible texts telling of the grim joys
+attendant on revenge.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was so absorbed in her thoughts, so possessed with the
+curious personality of her lodger, that she did not look where she was
+going, and suddenly a young woman bumped up against her.
+
+She started violently and looked round, dazed, as the young person
+muttered a word of apology;—then she again fell into deep thought.
+
+It was a good thing Daisy was going away for a few days; it made the
+problem of Mr. Sleuth and his queer ways less disturbing. She, Ellen,
+was sorry she had spoken so sharp-like to the girl, but after all it
+wasn’t wonderful that she had been snappy. This last night she had
+hardly slept at all. Instead, she had lain awake listening—and there is
+nothing so tiring as to lie awake listening for a sound that never
+comes.
+
+The house had remained so still you could have heard a pin drop. Mr.
+Sleuth, lying snug in his nice warm bed upstairs, had not stirred. Had
+he stirred his landlady was bound to have heard him, for his bed was,
+as we know, just above hers. No, during those long hours of darkness
+Daisy’s light, regular breathing was all that had fallen on Mrs.
+Bunting’s ears.
+
+And then her mind switched off Mr. Sleuth. She made a determined effort
+to expel him, to toss him, as it were, out of her thoughts.
+
+It seemed strange that The Avenger had stayed his hand, for, as Joe had
+said only last evening, it was full time that he should again turn that
+awful, mysterious searchlight of his on himself. Mrs. Bunting always
+visioned The Avenger as a black shadow in the centre a bright blinding
+light—but the shadow had no form or definite substance. Sometimes he
+looked like one thing, sometimes like another . . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting had now come to the corner which led up the street where
+there was a Post Office. But instead of turning sharp to the left she
+stopped short for a minute.
+
+There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke and
+even self-loathing. It was dreadful that she, of all women, should have
+longed to hear that another murder had been committed last night!
+
+Yet such was the shameful fact. She had listened all through breakfast
+hoping to hear the dread news being shouted outside; yes, and more or
+less during the long discussion which had followed on the receipt of
+Margaret’s letter she had been hoping—hoping against hope—that those
+dreadful triumphant shouts of the newspaper-sellers still might come
+echoing down the Marylebone Road. And yet hypocrite that she was, she
+had reproved Bunting when he had expressed, not disappointment
+exactly—but, well, surprise, that nothing had happened last night.
+
+Now her mind switched off to Joe Chandler. Strange to think how afraid
+she had been of that young man! She was no longer afraid of him, or
+hardly at all. He was dotty—that’s what was the matter with him, dotty
+with love for rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little Daisy. Anything might now
+go on, right under Joe Chandler’s very nose—but, bless you, he’d never
+see it! Last summer, when this affair, this nonsense of young Chandler
+and Daisy had begun, she had had very little patience with it all. In
+fact, the memory of the way Joe had gone on then, the tiresome way he
+would be always dropping in, had been one reason (though not the most
+important reason of all) why she had felt so terribly put about at the
+idea of the girl coming again. But now? Well, now she had become quite
+tolerant, quite kindly—at any rate as far as Joe Chandler was
+concerned.
+
+She wondered why.
+
+Still, ’twouldn’t do Joe a bit of harm not to see the girl for a couple
+of days. In fact ’twould be a very good thing, for then he’d think of
+Daisy—think of her to the exclusion of all else. Absence does make the
+heart grow fonder—at first, at any rate. Mrs. Bunting was well aware of
+that. During the long course of hers and Bunting’s mild courting,
+they’d been separated for about three months, and it was that three
+months which had made up her mind for her. She had got so used to
+Bunting that she couldn’t do without him, and she had felt—oddest fact
+of all—acutely, miserably jealous. But she hadn’t let him know that—no
+fear!
+
+Of course, Joe mustn’t neglect his job—that would never do. But what a
+good thing it was, after all, that he wasn’t like some of those
+detective chaps that are written about in stories—the sort of chaps
+that know everything, see everything, guess everything—even where there
+isn’t anything to see, or know, or guess!
+
+Why, to take only one little fact—Joe Chandler had never shown the
+slightest curiosity about their lodger. . . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting pulled herself together with a start, and hurried quickly
+on. Bunting would begin to wonder what had happened to her.
+
+She went into the Post Office and handed the form to the young woman
+without a word. Margaret, a sensible woman, who was accustomed to
+manage other people’s affairs, had even written out the words: “Will be
+with you to tea.—DAISY.”
+
+It was a comfort to have the thing settled once for all. If anything
+horrible was going to happen in the next two or three days—it was just
+as well Daisy shouldn’t be at home. Not that there was any _real_
+danger that anything would happen,—Mrs. Bunting felt sure of that.
+
+By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally
+counting up the number of murders The Avenger had committed. Nine, or
+was it ten? Surely by now The Avenger must be avenged? Surely by now,
+if—as that writer in the newspaper had suggested—he was a quiet,
+blameless gentleman living in the West End, whatever vengeance he had
+to wreak, must be satisfied?
+
+She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn’t do for the lodger to ring
+before she had got back. Bunting would never know how to manage Mr.
+Sleuth, especially if Mr. Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
+
+Mrs. Bunting put the key into the front door lock and passed into the
+house. Then her heart stood still with fear and terror. There came the
+sound of voices—of voices she thought she did not know—in the
+sitting-room.
+
+She opened the door, and then drew a long breath. It was only Joe
+Chandler—Joe, Daisy, and Bunting, talking together. They stopped rather
+guiltily as she came in, but not before she had heard Chandler utter
+the words: “That don’t mean nothing! I’ll just run out and send another
+saying you won’t come, Miss Daisy.”
+
+And then the strangest smile came over Mrs. Bunting’s face. There had
+fallen on her ear the still distant, but unmistakable, shouts which
+betokened that something _had_ happened last night—something which made
+it worth while for the newspaper-sellers to come crying down the
+Marylebone Road.
+
+“Well?” she said a little breathlessly. “Well, Joe? I suppose you’ve
+brought us news? I suppose there’s been another?”
+
+He looked at her, surprised. “No, that there hasn’t, Mrs. Bunting—not
+as far as I know, that is. Oh, you’re thinking of those newspaper
+chaps? They’ve got to cry out something,” he grinned. “You wouldn’t ’a
+thought folk was so bloodthirsty. They’re just shouting out that
+there’s been an arrest; but we don’t take no stock of that. It’s a
+Scotchman what gave himself up last night at Dorking. He’d been
+drinking, and was a-pitying of himself. Why, since this business began,
+there’s been about twenty arrests, but they’ve all come to nothing.”
+
+“Why, Ellen, you looks quite sad, quite disappointed,” said Bunting
+jokingly. “Come to think of it, it’s high time The Avenger was at work
+again.” He laughed as he made his grim joke. Then turned to young
+Chandler: “Well, _you’ll_ be glad when its all over, my lad.”
+
+“Glad in a way,” said Chandler unwillingly. “But one ’ud have liked to
+have caught him. One doesn’t like to know such a creature’s at large,
+now, does one?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting had taken off her bonnet and jacket. “I must just go and
+see about Mr. Sleuth’s breakfast,” she said in a weary, dispirited
+voice, and left them there.
+
+She felt disappointed, and very, very depressed. As to the plot which
+had been hatching when she came in, that had no chance of success;
+Bunting would never dare let Daisy send out another telegram
+contradicting the first. Besides, Daisy’s stepmother shrewdly suspected
+that by now the girl herself wouldn’t care to do such a thing. Daisy
+had plenty of sense tucked away somewhere in her pretty little head. If
+it ever became her fate to live as a married woman in London, it would
+be best to stay on the right side of Aunt Margaret.
+
+And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother’s heart became very
+soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready. In fact, there
+was nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth’s two eggs. Feeling suddenly
+more cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took the tray
+upstairs.
+
+“As it was rather late, I didn’t wait for you to ring, sir,” she said.
+
+And the lodger looked up from the table where, as usual, he was
+studying with painful, almost agonising intentness, the Book. “Quite
+right, Mrs. Bunting—quite right! I have been pondering over the
+command, ‘Work while it is yet light.’”
+
+“Yes, sir?” she said, and a queer, cold feeling stole over her heart.
+“Yes, sir?”
+
+“‘The spirit is willing, but the flesh—the flesh is weak,’” said Mr.
+Sleuth, with a heavy sigh.
+
+“You studies too hard, and too long—that’s what’s ailing you, sir,”
+said Mr. Sleuth’s landlady suddenly.
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down again she found that a great deal had been
+settled in her absence; among other things, that Joe Chandler was going
+to escort Miss Daisy across to Belgrave Square. He could carry Daisy’s
+modest bag, and if they wanted to ride instead of walk, why, they could
+take the bus from Baker Street Station to Victoria—that would land them
+very near Belgrave Square.
+
+But Daisy seemed quite willing to walk; she hadn’t had a walk, she
+declared, for a long, long time—and then she blushed rosy red, and even
+her stepmother had to admit to herself that Daisy was very nice
+looking, not at all the sort of girl who ought to be allowed to go
+about the London streets by herself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+Daisy’s father and stepmother stood side by side at the front door,
+watching the girl and young Chandler walk off into the darkness.
+
+A yellow pall of fog had suddenly descended on London, and Joe had come
+a full half-hour before they expected him, explaining, rather lamely,
+that it was the fog which had brought him so soon.
+
+“If we was to have waited much longer, perhaps, ’twouldn’t have been
+possible to walk a yard,” he explained, and they had accepted,
+silently, his explanation.
+
+“I hope it’s quite safe sending her off like that?” Bunting looked
+deprecatingly at his wife. She had already told him more than once that
+he was too fussy about Daisy, that about his daughter he was like an
+old hen with her last chicken.
+
+“She’s safer than she would be, with you or me. She couldn’t have a
+smarter young fellow to look after her.”
+
+“It’ll be awful thick at Hyde Park Corner,” said Bunting. “It’s always
+worse there than anywhere else. If I was Joe I’d ’a taken her by the
+Underground Railway to Victoria—that ’ud been the best way, considering
+the weather ’tis.”
+
+“They don’t think anything of the weather, bless you!” said his wife.
+“They’ll walk and walk as long as there’s a glimmer left for ’em to
+steer by. Daisy’s just been pining to have a walk with that young chap.
+I wonder you didn’t notice how disappointed they both were when you was
+so set on going along with them to that horrid place.”
+
+“D’you really mean that, Ellen?” Bunting looked upset. “I understood
+Joe to say he liked my company.”
+
+“Oh, did you?” said Mrs. Bunting dryly. “I expect he liked it just
+about as much as we liked the company of that old cook who would go out
+with us when we was courting. It always was a wonder to me how the
+woman could force herself upon two people who didn’t want her.”
+
+“But I’m Daisy’s father; and an old friend of Chandler,” said Bunting
+remonstratingly. “I’m quite different from that cook. She was nothing
+to us, and we was nothing to her.”
+
+“She’d have liked to be something to you, I make no doubt,” observed
+his Ellen, shaking her head, and her husband smiled, a little
+foolishly.
+
+By this time they were back in their nice, cosy sitting-room, and a
+feeling of not altogether unpleasant lassitude stole over Mrs. Bunting.
+It was a comfort to have Daisy out of her way for a bit. The girl, in
+some ways, was very wide awake and inquisitive, and she had early
+betrayed what her stepmother thought to be a very unseemly and silly
+curiosity concerning the lodger. “You might just let me have one peep
+at him, Ellen?” she had pleaded, only that morning. But Ellen had
+shaken her head. “No, that I won’t! He’s a very quiet gentleman; but he
+knows exactly what he likes, and he don’t like anyone but me waiting on
+him. Why, even your father’s hardly seen him.”
+
+But that, naturally, had only increased Daisy’s desire to view Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+There was another reason why Mrs. Bunting was glad that her
+stepdaughter had gone away for two days. During her absence young
+Chandler was far less likely to haunt them in the way he had taken to
+doing lately, the more so that, in spite of what she had said to her
+husband, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that Daisy would ask Joe Chandler to
+call at Belgrave Square. ’Twouldn’t be human nature—at any rate, not
+girlish human nature—not to do so, even if Joe’s coming did anger Aunt
+Margaret.
+
+Yes, it was pretty safe that with Daisy away they, the Buntings, would
+be rid of that young chap for a bit, and that would be a good thing.
+
+When Daisy wasn’t there to occupy the whole of his attention, Mrs.
+Bunting felt queerly afraid of Chandler. After all, he was a
+detective—it was his job to be always nosing about, trying to find out
+things. And, though she couldn’t fairly say to herself that he had done
+much of that sort of thing in her house, he might start doing it any
+minute. And then—then—where would she, and—and Mr. Sleuth, be?
+
+She thought of the bottle of red ink—of the leather bag which must be
+hidden somewhere—and her heart almost stopped beating. Those were the
+sort of things which, in the stories Bunting was so fond of reading,
+always led to the detection of famous criminals. . . .
+
+Mr. Sleuth’s bell for tea rang that afternoon far earlier than usual.
+The fog had probably misled him, and made him think it later than it
+was.
+
+When she went up, “I would like a cup of tea now, and just one piece of
+bread-and-butter,” the lodger said wearily. “I don’t feel like having
+anything else this afternoon.”
+
+“It’s a horrible day,” Mrs. Bunting observed, in a cheerier voice than
+usual. “No wonder you don’t feel hungry, sir. And then it isn’t so very
+long since you had your dinner, is it?”
+
+“No,” he said absently. “No, it isn’t, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+She went down, made the tea, and brought it up again. And then, as she
+came into the room, she uttered an exclamation of sharp dismay.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was dressed for going out. He was wearing his long Inverness
+cloak, and his queer old high hat lay on the table, ready for him to
+put on.
+
+“You’re never going out this afternoon, sir?” she asked falteringly.
+“Why, the fog’s awful; you can’t see a yard ahead of you!”
+
+Unknown to herself, Mrs. Bunting’s voice had risen almost to a scream.
+She moved back, still holding the tray, and stood between the door and
+her lodger, as if she meant to bar his way—to erect between Mr. Sleuth
+and the dark, foggy world outside a living barrier.
+
+“The weather never affects me at all,” he said sullenly; and he looked
+at her with so wild and pleading a look in his eyes that, slowly,
+reluctantly, she moved aside. As she did so she noticed for the first
+time that Mr. Sleuth held something in his right hand. It was the key
+of the chiffonnier cupboard. He had been on his way there when her
+coming in had disturbed him.
+
+“It’s very kind of you to be so concerned about me,” he stammered,
+“but—but, Mrs. Bunting, you must excuse me if I say that I do not
+welcome such solicitude. I prefer to be left alone. I—I cannot stay in
+your house if I feel that my comings and goings are watched—spied
+upon.”
+
+She pulled herself together. “No one spies upon you, sir,” she said,
+with considerable dignity. “I’ve done my best to satisfy you—”
+
+“You have—you have!” he spoke in a distressed, apologetic tone. “But
+you spoke just now as if you were trying to prevent my doing what I
+wish to do—indeed, what I have to do. For years I have been
+misunderstood—persecuted”—he waited a moment, then in a hollow voice
+added the one word, “tortured! Do not tell me that you are going to add
+yourself to the number of my tormentors, Mrs. Bunting?”
+
+She stared at him helplessly. “Don’t you be afraid I’ll ever be that,
+sir. I only spoke as I did because—well, sir, because I thought it
+really wasn’t safe for a gentleman to go out this afternoon. Why,
+there’s hardly anyone about, though we’re so near Christmas.”
+
+He walked across to the window and looked out. “The fog is clearing
+somewhat; Mrs. Bunting,” but there was no relief in his voice, rather
+was there disappointment and dread.
+
+Plucking up courage, she followed him. Yes, Mr. Sleuth was right. The
+fog was lifting—rolling off in that sudden, mysterious way in which
+local fogs sometimes do lift in London.
+
+He turned sharply from the window. “Our conversation has made me forget
+an important thing, Mrs. Bunting. I should be glad if you would just
+leave out a glass of milk and some bread-and-butter for me this
+evening. I shall not require supper when I come in, for after my walk I
+shall probably go straight upstairs to carry through a very difficult
+experiment.”
+
+“Very good, sir.” And then Mrs. Bunting left the lodger.
+
+But when she found herself downstairs in the fog-laden hall, for it had
+drifted in as she and her husband had stood at the door seeing Daisy
+off, instead of going in to Bunting she did a very odd thing—a thing
+she had never thought of doing in her life before. She pressed her hot
+forehead against the cool bit of looking-glass let into the
+hat-and-umbrella stand. “I don’t know what to do!” she moaned to
+herself, and then, “I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!”
+
+But though she felt that her secret suspense and trouble was becoming
+intolerable, the one way in which she could have ended her misery never
+occurred to Mrs. Bunting.
+
+In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that a
+woman has betrayed one who has taken refuge with her. The timorous and
+cautious woman has not infrequently hunted a human being fleeing from
+his pursuer from her door, but she has not revealed the fact that he
+was ever there. In fact, it may almost be said that such betrayal has
+never taken place unless the betrayer has been actuated by love of
+gain, or by a longing for revenge. So far, perhaps because she is
+subject rather than citizen, her duty as a component part of civilised
+society weighs but lightly on woman’s shoulders.
+
+And then—and then, in a sort of way, Mrs. Bunting had become attached
+to Mr. Sleuth. A wan smile would sometimes light up his sad face when
+he saw her come in with one of his meals, and when this happened Mrs.
+Bunting felt pleased—pleased and vaguely touched. In between
+those—those dreadful events outside, which filled her with such
+suspicion, such anguish and such suspense, she never felt any fear,
+only pity, for Mr. Sleuth.
+
+Often and often, when lying wide awake at night, she turned over the
+strange problem in her mind. After all, the lodger must have lived
+_somewhere_ during his forty-odd years of life. She did not even know
+if Mr. Sleuth had any brothers or sisters; friends she knew he had
+none. But, however odd and eccentric he was, he had evidently, or so
+she supposed, led a quiet, undistinguished kind of life, till—till now.
+
+What had made him alter all of a sudden—if, that is, he had altered?
+That was what Mrs. Bunting was always debating fitfully with herself;
+and, what was more, and very terribly, to the point, having altered,
+why should he not in time go back to what he evidently had been—that
+is, a blameless, quiet gentleman?
+
+If only he would! If only he would!
+
+As she stood in the hall, cooling her hot forehead, all these thoughts,
+these hopes and fears, jostled at lightning speed through her brain.
+
+She remembered what young Chandler had said the other day—that there
+had never been, in the history of the world, so strange a murderer as
+The Avenger had proved himself to be.
+
+She and Bunting, aye, and little Daisy too, had hung, fascinated, on
+Joe’s words, as he had told them of other famous series of murders
+which had taken place in the past, not only in England but
+abroad—especially abroad.
+
+One woman, whom all the people round her believed to be a kind,
+respectable soul, had poisoned no fewer than fifteen people in order to
+get their insurance money. Then there had been the terrible tale of an
+apparently respectable, contented innkeeper and his wife, who, living
+at the entrance to a wood, killed all those humble travellers who took
+shelter under their roof, simply for their clothes, and any valuables
+they possessed. But in all those stories the murderer or murderers
+always had a very strong motive, the motive being, in almost every
+case, a wicked lust for gold.
+
+At last, after having passed her handkerchief over her forehead, she
+went into the room where Bunting was sitting smoking his pipe.
+
+“The fog’s lifting a bit,” she said in an ill-assured voice. “I hope
+that by this time Daisy and that Joe Chandler are right out of it.”
+
+But the other shook his head silently. “No such luck!” he said briefly.
+“You don’t know what it’s like in Hyde Park, Ellen. I expect ’twill
+soon be just as heavy here as ’twas half an hour ago!”
+
+She wandered over to the window, and pulled the curtain back. “Quite a
+lot of people have come out, anyway,” she observed.
+
+“There’s a fine Christmas show in the Edgware Road. I was thinking of
+asking if you wouldn’t like to go along there with me.”
+
+“No,” she said dully. “I’m quite content to stay at home.”
+
+She was listening—listening for the sounds which would betoken that the
+lodger was coming downstairs.
+
+At last she heard the cautious, stuffless tread of his rubber-soled
+shoes shuffling along the hall. But Bunting only woke to the fact when
+the front door shut to.
+
+“That’s never Mr. Sleuth going out?” He turned on his wife, startled.
+“Why, the poor gentleman’ll come to harm—that he will! One has to be
+wide awake on an evening like this. I hope he hasn’t taken any of his
+money out with him.”
+
+“’Tisn’t the first time Mr. Sleuth’s been out in a fog,” said Mrs.
+Bunting sombrely.
+
+Somehow she couldn’t help uttering these over-true words. And then she
+turned, eager and half frightened, to see how Bunting had taken what
+she said.
+
+But he looked quite placid, as if he had hardly heard her. “We don’t
+get the good old fogs we used to get—not what people used to call
+‘London particulars.’ I expect the lodger feels like Mrs. Crowley—I’ve
+often told you about her, Ellen?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting nodded.
+
+Mrs. Crowley had been one of Bunting’s ladies, one of those he had
+liked best—a cheerful, jolly lady, who used often to give her servants
+what she called a treat. It was seldom the kind of treat they would
+have chosen for themselves, but still they appreciated her kind
+thought.
+
+“Mrs. Crowley used to say,” went on Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way,
+“that she never minded how bad the weather was in London, so long as it
+was London and not the country. Mr. Crowley, he liked the country best,
+but Mrs. Crowley always felt dull-like there. Fog never kept her from
+going out—no, that it didn’t. She wasn’t a bit afraid. But—” he turned
+round and looked at his wife—“I am a bit surprised at Mr. Sleuth. I
+should have thought him a timid kind of gentleman—”
+
+He waited a moment, and she felt forced to answer him.
+
+“I wouldn’t exactly call him timid,” she said, in a low voice, “but he
+is very quiet, certainly. That’s why he dislikes going out when there
+are a lot of people bustling about the streets. I don’t suppose he’ll
+be out long.”
+
+She hoped with all her soul that Mr. Sleuth would be in very soon—that
+he would be daunted by the now increasing gloom.
+
+Somehow she did not feel she could sit still for very long. She got up,
+and went over to the farthest window.
+
+The fog had lifted, certainly. She could see the lamp-lights on the
+other side of the Marylebone Road, glimmering redly; and shadowy
+figures were hurrying past, mostly making their way towards the Edgware
+Road, to see the Christmas shops.
+
+At last to his wife’s relief, Bunting got up too. He went over to the
+cupboard where he kept his little store of books, and took one out.
+
+“I think I’ll read a bit,” he said. “Seems a long time since I’ve
+looked at a book. The papers was so jolly interesting for a bit, but
+now there’s nothing in ’em.”
+
+His wife remained silent. She knew what he meant. A good many days had
+gone by since the last two Avenger murders, and the papers had very
+little to say about them that they hadn’t said in different language a
+dozen times before.
+
+She went into her bedroom and came back with a bit of plain sewing.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was fond of sewing, and Bunting liked to see her so
+engaged. Since Mr. Sleuth had come to be their lodger she had not had
+much time for that sort of work.
+
+It was funny how quiet the house was without either Daisy, or—or the
+lodger, in it.
+
+At last she let her needle remain idle, and the bit of cambric slipped
+down on her knee, while she listened, longingly, for Mr. Sleuth’s
+return home.
+
+And as the minutes sped by she fell to wondering with a painful wonder
+if she would ever see her lodger again, for, from what she knew of Mr.
+Sleuth, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he got into any kind of—well,
+trouble outside, he would never betray where he had lived during the
+last few weeks.
+
+No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way as he
+had come. And Bunting would never suspect, would never know, until,
+perhaps—God, what a horrible thought—a picture published in some
+newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting’s knowledge.
+
+But if that happened—if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass, she
+made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything. She also would
+pretend to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the astounding
+revelation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+“There he is at last, and I’m glad of it, Ellen. ’Tain’t a night you
+would wish a dog to be out in.”
+
+Bunting’s voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and look
+at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the evening
+paper he held in his hand.
+
+He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his nice
+arm-chair. He looked very well—well and ruddy. Mrs. Bunting stared
+across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of resentment. And
+this was very curious, for she was, in her own dry way, very fond of
+Bunting.
+
+“You needn’t feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for
+himself all right.”
+
+Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. “I can’t
+think why he wanted to go out in such weather,” he said impatiently.
+
+“Well, it’s none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?”
+
+“No, that’s true enough. Still, ’twould be a very bad thing for us if
+anything happened to him. This lodger’s the first bit of luck we’ve had
+for a terrible long time, Ellen.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair. She remained
+silent for a moment. What Bunting had said was too obvious to be worth
+answering. Also she was listening, following in imagination her
+lodger’s quick, singularly quiet progress—“stealthy” she called it to
+herself—through the fog-filled, lamp-lit hall. Yes, now he was going up
+the staircase. What was that Bunting was saying?
+
+“It isn’t safe for decent folk to be out in such weather—no, that it
+ain’t, not unless they have something to do that won’t wait till
+to-morrow.” The speaker was looking straight into his wife’s narrow,
+colourless face. Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to prove
+himself right. “I’ve a good mind to speak to him about it, that I have!
+He ought to be told that it isn’t safe—not for the sort of man he is—to
+be wandering about the streets at night. I read you out the accidents
+in _Lloyd’s_—shocking, they were, and all brought about by the fog! And
+then, that horrid monster ’ull soon be at his work again—”
+
+“Monster?” repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.
+
+She was trying to hear the lodger’s footsteps overhead. She was very
+curious to know whether he had gone into his nice sitting-room, or
+straight upstairs, to that cold experiment-room, as he now always
+called it.
+
+But her husband went on as if he had not heard her, and she gave up
+trying to listen to what was going on above.
+
+“It wouldn’t be very pleasant to run up against such a party as that in
+the fog, eh, Ellen?” He spoke as if the notion had a certain pleasant
+thrill in it after all.
+
+“What stuff you do talk!” said Mrs. Bunting sharply. And then she got
+up. Her husband’s remarks had disturbed her. Why couldn’t they talk of
+something pleasant when they did have a quiet bit of time together?
+
+Bunting looked down again at his paper, and she moved quietly about the
+room. Very soon it would be time for supper, and to-night she was going
+to cook her husband a nice piece of toasted cheese. That fortunate man,
+as she was fond of telling him, with mingled contempt and envy, had the
+digestion of an ostrich, and yet he was rather fanciful, as gentlemen’s
+servants who have lived in good places often are.
+
+Yes, Bunting was very lucky in the matter of his digestion. Mrs.
+Bunting prided herself on having a nice mind, and she would never have
+allowed an unrefined word—such a word as “stomach,” for instance, to
+say nothing of an even plainer term—to pass her lips, except, of
+course, to a doctor in a sick-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth’s landlady did not go down at once into her cold kitchen;
+instead, with a sudden furtive movement, she opened the door leading
+into her bedroom, and then, closing the door quietly, stepped back into
+the darkness, and stood motionless, listening.
+
+At first she heard nothing, but gradually there stole on her listening
+ears the sound of someone moving softly about in the room just
+overhead, that is, in Mr. Sleuth’s bedroom. But, try as she might, it
+was impossible for her to guess what the lodger was doing.
+
+At last she heard him open the door leading out on the little landing.
+She could hear the stairs creaking. That meant, no doubt, that Mr.
+Sleuth would pass the rest of the evening in the cheerless room above.
+He hadn’t spent any time up there for quite a long while—in fact, not
+for nearly ten days. ’Twas odd he chose to-night, when it was so foggy,
+to carry out an experiment.
+
+She groped her way to a chair and sat down. She felt very
+tired—strangely tired, as if she had gone through some great physical
+exertion.
+
+Yes, it was true that Mr. Sleuth had brought her and Bunting luck, and
+it was wrong, very wrong, of her ever to forget that.
+
+As she sat there she also reminded herself, and not for the first time,
+what the lodger’s departure would mean. It would almost certainly mean
+ruin; just as his staying meant all sorts of good things, of which
+physical comfort was the least. If Mr. Sleuth stayed on with them, as
+he showed every intention of doing, it meant respectability, and, above
+all, security.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought of Mr. Sleuth’s money. He never received a letter,
+and yet he must have some kind of income—so much was clear. She
+supposed he went and drew his money, in sovereigns, out of a bank as he
+required it.
+
+Her mind swung round, consciously, deliberately, away from Mr. Sleuth.
+
+The Avenger? What a strange name! Again she assured herself that there
+would come a time when The Avenger, whoever he was, must feel satiated;
+when he would feel himself to be, so to speak, avenged.
+
+To go back to Mr. Sleuth; it was lucky that the lodger seemed so
+pleased, not only with the rooms, but with his landlord and
+landlady—indeed, there was no real reason why Mr. Sleuth should ever
+wish to leave such nice lodgings.
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly stood up. She made a strong effort, and shook off
+her awful sense of apprehension and unease. Feeling for the handle of
+the door giving into the passage she turned it, and then, with light,
+firm steps, she went down into the kitchen.
+
+When they had first taken the house, the basement had been made by her
+care, if not into a pleasant, then, at any rate, into a very clean
+place. She had had it whitewashed, and against the still white walls
+the gas stove loomed up, a great square of black iron and bright steel.
+It was a large gas-stove, the kind for which one pays four shillings a
+quarter rent to the gas company, and here, in the kitchen, there was no
+foolish shilling-in-the-slot arrangement. Mrs. Bunting was too shrewd a
+woman to have anything to do with that kind of business. There was a
+proper gas-meter, and she paid for what she consumed after she had
+consumed it.
+
+Putting her candle down on the well-scrubbed wooden table, she turned
+up the gas-jet, and blew out the candle.
+
+Then, lighting one of the gas-rings, she put a frying-pan on the stove,
+and once more her mind reverted, as if in spite of herself, to Mr.
+Sleuth. Never had there been a more confiding or trusting gentleman
+than the lodger, and yet in some ways he was so secret, so—so peculiar.
+
+She thought of the bag—that bag which had rumbled about so queerly in
+the chiffonnier. Something seemed to tell her that tonight the lodger
+had taken that bag out with him.
+
+And then she thrust away the thought of the bag almost violently from
+her mind, and went back to the more agreeable thought of Mr. Sleuth’s
+income, and of how little trouble he gave. Of course, the lodger was
+eccentric, otherwise he wouldn’t be their lodger at all—he would be
+living in quite a different sort of way with some of his relations, or
+with a friend in his own class.
+
+While these thoughts galloped disconnectedly through her mind, Mrs.
+Bunting went on with her cooking, preparing the cheese, cutting it up
+into little shreds, carefully measuring out the butter, doing
+everything, as was always her way, with a certain delicate and cleanly
+precision.
+
+And then, while in the middle of toasting the bread on which was to be
+poured the melted cheese, she suddenly heard sounds which startled her,
+made her feel uncomfortable.
+
+Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.
+
+She looked up and listened.
+
+Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy
+night—going out, as he had done the other evening, for a second time?
+But no; the sounds she heard, the sounds of now familiar footsteps, did
+not continue down the passage leading to the front door.
+
+Instead—Why, what was this she heard now? She began to listen so
+intently that the bread she was holding at the end of the toasting-fork
+grew quite black. With a start she became aware that this was so, and
+she frowned, vexed with herself. That came of not attending to one’s
+work.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done. He was
+coming down into the kitchen.
+
+Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on the
+kitchen stairs, and Mrs. Bunting’s heart began to beat as if in
+response. She put out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of the fact
+that the cheese would stiffen and spoil in the cold air.
+
+Then she turned and faced the door.
+
+There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the door
+opened, and revealed, as she had at once known and feared it would do,
+the lodger.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked even odder than usual. He was clad in a plaid
+dressing-gown, which she had never seen him wear before, though she
+knew that he had purchased it not long after his arrival. In his hand
+was a lighted candle.
+
+When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing in it,
+the lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.
+
+“Yes, sir? What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn’t ring, sir?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting held her ground in front of the stove. Mr. Sleuth had no
+business to come like this into her kitchen, and she intended to let
+him know that such was her view.
+
+“No, I—I didn’t ring,” he stammered awkwardly. “The truth is, I didn’t
+know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. Please excuse my costume. My
+gas-stove has gone wrong, or, rather, that shilling-in-the-slot
+arrangement has done so. So I came down to see if you had a gas-stove.
+I am going to ask you to allow me to use it to-night for an important
+experiment I wish to make.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting’s heart was beating quickly—quickly. She felt horribly
+troubled, unnaturally so. Why couldn’t Mr. Sleuth’s experiment wait
+till the morning? She stared at him dubiously, but there was that in
+his face that made her at once afraid and pitiful. It was a wild,
+eager, imploring look.
+
+“Oh, certainly, sir; but you will find it very cold down here.”
+
+“It seems most pleasantly warm,” he observed, his voice full of relief,
+“warm and cosy, after my cold room upstairs.”
+
+Warm and cosy? Mrs. Bunting stared at him in amazement. Nay, even that
+cheerless room at the top of the house must be far warmer and more cosy
+than this cold underground kitchen could possibly be.
+
+“I’ll make you a fire, sir. We never use the grate, but it’s in perfect
+order, for the first thing I did after I came into the house was to
+have the chimney swept. It was terribly dirty. It might have set the
+house on fire.” Mrs. Bunting’s housewifely instincts were roused. “For
+the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in your bedroom this cold
+night.”
+
+“By no means—I would prefer not. I certainly do not want a fire there.
+I dislike an open fire, Mrs. Bunting. I thought I had told you as
+much.”
+
+Mr. Sleuth frowned. He stood there, a strange-looking figure, his
+candle still alight, just inside the kitchen door.
+
+“I shan’t be very long, sir. Just about a quarter of an hour. You could
+come down then. I’ll have everything quite tidy for you. Is there
+anything I can do to help you?”
+
+“I do not require the use of your kitchen yet—thank you all the same,
+Mrs. Bunting. I shall come down later—altogether later—after you and
+your husband have gone to bed. But I should be much obliged if you
+would see that the gas people come to-morrow and put my stove in order.
+It might be done while I am out. That the shilling-in-the-slot machine
+should go wrong is very unpleasant. It has upset me greatly.”
+
+“Perhaps Bunting could put it right for you, sir. For the matter of
+that, I could ask him to go up now.”
+
+“No, no, I don’t want anything of that sort done to-night. Besides, he
+couldn’t put it right. I am something of an expert, Mrs. Bunting, and I
+have done all I could. The cause of the trouble is quite simple. The
+machine is choked up with shillings; a very foolish plan, so I always
+felt it to be.”
+
+Mr. Sleuth spoke pettishly, with far more heat than he was wont to
+speak, but Mrs. Bunting sympathised with him in this matter. She had
+always suspected that those slot machines were as dishonest as if they
+were human. It was dreadful, the way they swallowed up the shillings!
+She had had one once, so she knew.
+
+And as if he were divining her thoughts, Mr. Sleuth walked forward and
+stared at the stove. “Then you haven’t got a slot machine?” he said
+wonderingly. “I’m very glad of that, for I expect my experiment will
+take some time. But, of course, I shall pay you something for the use
+of the stove, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“Oh, no, sir, I wouldn’t think of charging you anything for that. We
+don’t use our stove very much, you know, sir. I’m never in the kitchen
+a minute longer than I can help this cold weather.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting was beginning to feel better. When she was actually in Mr.
+Sleuth’s presence her morbid fears would be lulled, perhaps because his
+manner almost invariably was gentle and very quiet. But still there
+came over her an eerie feeling, as, with him preceding her, they made a
+slow progress to the ground floor.
+
+Once there, the lodger courteously bade his landlady good-night, and
+proceeded upstairs to his own apartments.
+
+Mrs. Bunting returned to the kitchen. Again she lighted the stove; but
+she felt unnerved, afraid of she knew not what. As she was cooking the
+cheese, she tried to concentrate her mind on what she was doing, and on
+the whole she succeeded. But another part of her mind seemed to be
+working independently, asking her insistent questions.
+
+The place seemed to her alive with alien presences, and once she caught
+herself listening—which was absurd, for, of course, she could not hope
+to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two, if not three, flights upstairs.
+She wondered in what the lodger’s experiments consisted. It was odd
+that she had never been able to discover what it was he really did with
+that big gas-stove. All she knew was that he used a very high degree of
+heat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+The Buntings went to bed early that night. But Mrs. Bunting made up her
+mind to keep awake. She was set upon knowing at what hour of the night
+the lodger would come down into her kitchen to carry through his
+experiment, and, above all, she was anxious to know how long he would
+stay there.
+
+But she had had a long and a very anxious day, and presently she fell
+asleep.
+
+The church clock hard by struck two, and, suddenly Mrs. Bunting awoke.
+She felt put out, sharply annoyed with herself. How could she have
+dropped off like that? Mr. Sleuth must have been down and up again
+hours ago!
+
+Then, gradually, she became aware that there was a faint acrid odour in
+the room. Elusive, intangible, it yet seemed to encompass her and the
+snoring man by her side, almost as a vapour might have done.
+
+Mrs. Bunting sat up in bed and sniffed; and then, in spite of the cold,
+she quietly crept out of her nice, warm bedclothes, and crawled along
+to the bottom of the bed. When there, Mr. Sleuth’s landlady did a very
+curious thing; she leaned over the brass rail and put her face close to
+the hinge of the door giving into the hall. Yes, it was from here that
+this strange, horrible odor was coming; the smell must be very strong
+in the passage.
+
+As, shivering, she crept back under the bedclothes, she longed to give
+her sleeping husband a good shake, and in fancy she heard herself
+saying, “Bunting, get up! There’s something strange and dreadful going
+on downstairs which we ought to know about.”
+
+But as she lay there, by her husband’s side, listening with painful
+intentness for the slightest sound, she knew very well that she would
+do nothing of the sort.
+
+What if the lodger did make a certain amount of mess—a certain amount
+of smell—in her nice clean kitchen? Was he not—was he not an almost
+perfect lodger? If they did anything to upset him, where could they
+ever hope to get another like him?
+
+Three o’clock struck before Mrs. Bunting heard slow, heavy steps
+creaking up the kitchen stairs. But Mr. Sleuth did not go straight up
+to his own quarters, as she had expected him to do. Instead, he went to
+the front door, and, opening it, put on the chain. Then he came past
+her door, and she thought—but could not be sure—that he sat down on the
+stairs.
+
+At the end of ten minutes or so she heard him go down the passage
+again. Very softly he closed the front door. By then she had divined
+why the lodger had behaved in this funny fashion. He wanted to get the
+strong, acrid smell of burning—was it of burning wool?—out of the
+house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting, lying there in the darkness, listening to the lodger
+creeping upstairs, felt as if she herself would never get rid of the
+horrible odour.
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt herself to be all smell.
+
+At last the unhappy woman fell into a deep, troubled sleep; and then
+she dreamed a most terrible and unnatural dream. Hoarse voices seemed
+to be shouting in her ear: “The Avenger close here! The Avenger close
+here!” “’Orrible murder off the Edgware Road!” “The Avenger at his work
+again!”
+
+And even in her dream Mrs. Bunting felt angered—angered and impatient.
+She knew so well why she was being disturbed by this horrid nightmare!
+It was because of Bunting—Bunting, who could think and talk of nothing
+else than those frightful murders, in which only morbid and
+vulgar-minded people took any interest.
+
+Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking to her
+about it:
+
+“Ellen”—so she heard Bunting murmur in her ear—“Ellen, my dear, I’m
+just going to get up to get a paper. It’s after seven o’clock.”
+
+The shouting—nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet smote on
+her shrinking ears. Pushing back her hair off her forehead with both
+hands, she sat up and listened.
+
+It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse—reality.
+
+Why couldn’t Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and let
+his poor wife go on dreaming? The most awful dream would have been
+easier to bear than this awakening.
+
+She heard her husband go to the front door, and, as he bought the
+paper, exchange a few excited words with the newspaper-seller. Then he
+came back. There was a pause, and she heard him lighting the gas-ring
+in the sitting-room.
+
+Bunting always made his wife a cup of tea in the morning. He had
+promised to do this when they first married, and he had never yet
+broken his word. It was a very little thing and a very usual thing, no
+doubt, for a kind husband to do, but this morning the knowledge that he
+was doing it brought tears to Mrs. Bunting’s pale blue eyes. This
+morning he seemed to be rather longer than usual over the job.
+
+When, at last, he came in with the little tray, Bunting found his wife
+lying with her face to the wall.
+
+“Here’s your tea, Ellen,” he said, and there was a thrill of eager, nay
+happy, excitement in his voice.
+
+She turned herself round and sat up. “Well?” she asked. “Well? Why
+don’t you tell me about it?”
+
+“I thought you was asleep,” he stammered out. “I thought, Ellen, you
+never heard nothing.”
+
+“How could I have slept through all that din? Of course I heard. Why
+don’t you tell me?”
+
+“I’ve hardly had time to glance at the paper myself,” he said slowly.
+
+“You was reading it just now,” she said severely, “for I heard the
+rustling. You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring. Don’t tell
+me! What was that they was shouting about the Edgware Road?”
+
+“Well,” said Bunting, “as you do know, I may as well tell you. The
+Avenger’s moving West—that’s what he’s doing. Last time ’twas King’s
+Cross—now ’tis the Edgware Road. I said he’d come our way, and he _has_
+come our way!”
+
+“You just go and get me that paper,” she commanded. “I wants to see for
+myself.”
+
+Bunting went into the next room; then he came back and handed her
+silently the odd-looking, thin little sheet.
+
+“Why, whatever’s this?” she asked. “This ain’t our paper!”
+
+“’Course not,” he answered, a trifle crossly. “It’s a special early
+edition of the Sun, just because of The Avenger. Here’s the bit about
+it”—he showed her the exact spot. But she would have found it, even by
+the comparatively bad light of the gas-jet now flaring over the
+dressing-table, for the news was printed in large, clear characters:—
+
+“Once more the murder fiend who chooses to call himself The Avenger has
+escaped detection. While the whole attention of the police, and of the
+great army of amateur detectives who are taking an interest in this
+strange series of atrocious crimes, were concentrating their attention
+round the East End and King’s Cross, he moved swiftly and silently
+Westward. And, choosing a time when the Edgware Road is at its busiest
+and most thronged, did another human being to death with lightning-like
+quickness and savagery.
+    “Within fifty yards of the deserted warehouse yard where he had
+    lured his victim to destruction were passing up and down scores of
+    happy, busy people, intent on their Christmas shopping. Into that
+    cheerful throng he must have plunged within a moment of committing
+    his atrocious crime. And it was only owing to the merest accident
+    that the body was discovered as soon as it was—that is, just after
+    midnight.
+    “Dr. Dowtray, who was called to the spot at once, is of opinion
+    that the woman had been dead at least three hours, if not four. It
+    was at first thought—we were going to say, hoped—that this murder
+    had nothing to do with the series which is now puzzling and
+    horrifying the whole of the civilised world. But no—pinned on the
+    edge of the dead woman’s dress was the usual now familiar
+    triangular piece of grey paper—the grimmest visiting card ever
+    designed by the wit of man! And this time The Avenger has surpassed
+    himself as regards his audacity and daring—so cold in its maniacal
+    fanaticism and abhorrent wickedness.”
+
+
+All the time that Mrs. Bunting was reading with slow, painful
+intentness, her husband was looking at her, longing, yet afraid, to
+burst out with a new idea which he was burning to confide even to his
+Ellen’s unsympathetic ears.
+
+At last, when she had quite finished, she looked up defiantly.
+
+“Haven’t you anything better to do than to stare at me like that?” she
+said irritably. “Murder or no murder, I’ve got to get up! Go away—do!”
+
+And Bunting went off into the next room.
+
+After he had gone, his wife lay back and closed her eyes. She tried to
+think of nothing. Nay, more—so strong, so determined was her will that
+for a few moments she actually did think of nothing. She felt terribly
+tired and weak, brain and body both quiescent, as does a person who is
+recovering from a long, wearing illness.
+
+Presently detached, puerile thoughts drifted across the surface of her
+mind like little clouds across a summer sky. She wondered if those
+horrid newspaper men were allowed to shout in Belgrave Square; she
+wondered if, in that case, Margaret, who was so unlike her
+brother-in-law, would get up and buy a paper. But no. Margaret was not
+one to leave her nice warm bed for such a silly reason as that.
+
+Was it to-morrow Daisy was coming back? Yes—to-morrow, not to-day.
+Well, that was a comfort, at any rate. What amusing things Daisy would
+be able to tell about her visit to Margaret! The girl had an excellent
+gift of mimicry. And Margaret, with her precise, funny ways, her
+perpetual talk about “the family,” lent herself to the cruel gift.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting’s mind—her poor, weak, tired mind—wandered off to
+young Chandler. A funny thing love was, when you came to think of
+it—which she, Ellen Bunting, didn’t often do. There was Joe, a likely
+young fellow, seeing a lot of young women, and pretty young women,
+too,—quite as pretty as Daisy, and ten times more artful—and yet there!
+He passed them all by, had done so ever since last summer, though you
+might be sure that they, artful minxes, by no manner of means passed
+him by,—without giving them a thought! As Daisy wasn’t here, he would
+probably keep away to-day. There was comfort in that thought, too.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat up, and memory returned in a dreadful turgid
+flood. If Joe _did_ come in, she must nerve herself to hear all
+that—that talk there’d be about The Avenger between him and Bunting.
+
+Slowly she dragged herself out of bed, feeling exactly as if she had
+just recovered from an illness which had left her very weak, very, very
+tired in body and soul.
+
+She stood for a moment listening—listening, and shivering, for it was
+very cold. Considering how early it still was, there seemed a lot of
+coming and going in the Marylebone Road. She could hear the
+unaccustomed sounds through her closed door and the tightly fastened
+windows of the sitting-room. There must be a regular crowd of men and
+women, on foot and in cabs, hurrying to the scene of The Avenger’s last
+extraordinary crime.
+
+She heard the sudden thud made by their usual morning paper falling
+from the letter-box on to the floor of the hall, and a moment later
+came the sound of Bunting quickly, quietly going out and getting it.
+She visualised him coming back, and sitting down with a sigh of
+satisfaction by the newly-lit fire.
+
+Languidly she began dressing herself to the accompaniment of distant
+tramping and of noise of passing traffic, which increased in volume and
+in sound as the moments slipped by.
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down into her kitchen everything looked just as
+she had left it, and there was no trace of the acrid smell she had
+expected to find there. Instead, the cavernous, whitewashed room was
+full of fog, but she noticed that, though the shutters were bolted and
+barred as she had left them, the windows behind them had been widely
+opened to the air. She had left them shut.
+
+Making a “spill” out of a twist of newspaper—she had been taught the
+art as a girl by one of her old mistresses—she stooped and flung open
+the oven-door of her gas-stove. Yes, it was as she had expected, a
+fierce heat had been generated there since she had last used the oven,
+and through to the stone floor below had fallen a mass of black, gluey
+soot.
+
+Mrs. Bunting took the ham and eggs that she had bought the previous day
+for her own and Bunting’s breakfast upstairs, and broiled them over the
+gas-ring in their sitting-room. Her husband watched her in surprised
+silence. She had never done such a thing before.
+
+“I couldn’t stay down there,” she said; “it was so cold and foggy. I
+thought I’d make breakfast up here, just for to-day.”
+
+“Yes,” he said kindly; “that’s quite right, Ellen. I think you’ve done
+quite right, my dear.”
+
+But, when it came to the point, his wife could not eat any of the nice
+breakfast she had got ready; she only had another cup of tea.
+
+“I’m afraid you’re ill, Ellen?” Bunting asked solicitously.
+
+“No,” she said shortly; “I’m not ill at all. Don’t be silly! The
+thought of that horrible thing happening so close by has upset me, and
+put me off my food. Just hark to them now!”
+
+Through their closed windows penetrated the sound of scurrying feet and
+loud, ribald laughter. What a crowd; nay, what a mob, must be hastening
+busily to and from the spot where there was now nothing to be seen!
+
+Mrs. Bunting made her husband lock the front gate. “I don’t want any of
+those ghouls in here!” she exclaimed angrily. And then, “What a lot of
+idle people there are in the world!” she said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+Bunting began moving about the room restlessly. He would go to the
+window; stand there awhile staring out at the people hurrying past;
+then, coming back to the fireplace, sit down.
+
+But he could not stay long quiet. After a glance at his paper, up he
+would rise from his chair, and go to the window again.
+
+“I wish you’d stay still,” his wife said at last. And then, a few
+minutes later, “Hadn’t you better put your hat and coat on and go out?”
+she exclaimed.
+
+And Bunting, with a rather shamed expression, did put on his hat and
+coat and go out.
+
+As he did so he told himself that, after all, he was but human; it was
+natural that he should be thrilled and excited by the dreadful,
+extraordinary thing which had just happened close by. Ellen wasn’t
+reasonable about such things. How queer and disagreeable she had been
+that very morning—angry with him because he had gone out to hear what
+all the row was about, and even more angry when he had come back and
+said nothing, because he thought it would annoy her to hear about it!
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Bunting forced herself to go down again into the
+kitchen, and as she went through into the low, whitewashed place, a
+tremor of fear, of quick terror, came over her. She turned and did what
+she had never in her life done before, and what she had never heard of
+anyone else doing in a kitchen. She bolted the door.
+
+But, having done this, finding herself at last alone, shut off from
+everybody, she was still beset by a strange, uncanny dread. She felt as
+if she were locked in with an invisible presence, which mocked and
+jeered, reproached and threatened her, by turns.
+
+Why had she allowed, nay encouraged, Daisy to go away for two days?
+Daisy, at any rate, was company—kind, young, unsuspecting company. With
+Daisy she could be her old sharp self. It was such a comfort to be with
+someone to whom she not only need, but ought to, say nothing. When with
+Bunting she was pursued by a sick feeling of guilt, of shame. She was
+the man’s wedded wife—in his stolid way he was very kind to her, and
+yet she was keeping from him something he certainly had a right to
+know.
+
+Not for worlds, however, would she have told Bunting of her dreadful
+suspicion—nay, of her almost certainty.
+
+At last she went across to the door and unlocked it. Then she went
+upstairs and turned out her bedroom. That made her feel a little
+better.
+
+She longed for Bunting to return, and yet in a way she was relieved by
+his absence. She would have liked to feel him near by, and yet she
+welcomed anything that took her husband out of the house.
+
+And as Mrs. Bunting swept and dusted, trying to put her whole mind into
+what she was doing, she was asking herself all the time what was going
+on upstairs.
+
+What a good rest the lodger was having! But there, that was only
+natural. Mr. Sleuth, as she well knew, had been up a long time last
+night, or rather this morning.
+
+Suddenly, the drawing-room bell rang. But Mr. Sleuth’s landlady did not
+go up, as she generally did, before getting ready the simple meal which
+was the lodger’s luncheon and breakfast combined. Instead, she went
+downstairs again and hurriedly prepared the lodger’s food.
+
+Then, very slowly, with her heart beating queerly, she walked up, and
+just outside the sitting-room—for she felt sure that Mr. Sleuth had got
+up, that he was there already, waiting for her—she rested the tray on
+the top of the banisters and listened. For a few moments she heard
+nothing; then through the door came the high, quavering voice with
+which she had become so familiar:
+
+“‘She saith to him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret
+is pleasant. But he knoweth not that the dead are there, and that her
+guests are in the depths of hell.’”
+
+There was a long pause. Mrs. Bunting could hear the leaves of her Bible
+being turned over, eagerly, busily; and then again Mr. Sleuth broke
+out, this time in a softer voice:
+
+“‘She hath cast down many wounded from her; yea, many strong men have
+been slain by her.’” And in a softer, lower, plaintive tone came the
+words: “‘I applied my heart to know, and to search, and to seek out
+wisdom and the reason of things; and to know the wickedness of folly,
+even of foolishness and madness.’”
+
+And as she stood there listening, a feeling of keen distress, of
+spiritual oppression, came over Mrs. Bunting. For the first time in her
+life she visioned the infinite mystery, the sadness and strangeness, of
+human life.
+
+Poor Mr. Sleuth—poor unhappy, distraught Mr. Sleuth! An overwhelming
+pity blotted out for a moment the fear, aye, and the loathing, she had
+been feeling for her lodger.
+
+She knocked at the door, and then she took up her tray.
+
+“Come in, Mrs. Bunting.” Mr. Sleuth’s voice sounded feebler, more
+toneless than usual.
+
+She turned the handle of the door and walked in. The lodger was not
+sitting in his usual place; he had taken the little round table on
+which his candle generally rested when he read in bed, out of his
+bedroom, and placed it over by the drawing-room window. On it were
+placed, open, the Bible and the Concordance. But as his landlady came
+in, Mr. Sleuth hastily closed the Bible, and began staring dreamily out
+of the window, down at the sordid, hurrying crowd of men and women
+which now swept along the Marylebone Road.
+
+“There seem a great many people out today,” he observed, without
+looking round.
+
+“Yes, sir, there do.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting began busying herself with laying the cloth and putting
+out the breakfast-lunch, and as she did so she was seized with a
+mortal, instinctive terror of the man sitting there.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth got up and turned round. She forced herself to look
+at him. How tired, how worn, he looked, and—how strange!
+
+Walking towards the table on which lay his meal, he rubbed his hands
+together with a nervous gesture—it was a gesture he only made when
+something had pleased, nay, satisfied him. Mrs. Bunting, looking at
+him, remembered that he had rubbed his hands together thus when he had
+first seen the room upstairs, and realised that it contained a large
+gas-stove and a convenient sink.
+
+What Mr. Sleuth was doing now also reminded her in an odd way of a play
+she had once seen—a play to which a young man had taken her when she
+was a girl, unnumbered years ago, and which had thrilled and fascinated
+her. “Out, out, damned spot!” that was what the tall, fierce, beautiful
+lady who had played the part of a queen had said, twisting her hands
+together just as the lodger was doing now.
+
+“It’s a fine day,” said Mr. Sleuth, sitting down and unfolding his
+napkin. “The fog has cleared. I do not know if you will agree with me,
+Mrs. Bunting, but I always feel brighter when the sun is shining, as it
+is now, at any rate, trying to shine.” He looked at her inquiringly,
+but Mrs. Bunting could not speak. She only nodded. However, that did
+not affect Mr. Sleuth adversely.
+
+He had acquired a great liking and respect for this well-balanced,
+taciturn woman. She was the first woman for whom he had experienced any
+such feeling for many years past.
+
+He looked down at the still covered dish, and shook his head. “I don’t
+feel as if I could eat very much to-day,” he said plaintively. And then
+he suddenly took a half-sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket.
+
+Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat Mr.
+Sleuth had been wearing the day before.
+
+“Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?”
+
+And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.
+
+“Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly allowed
+me to make of your kitchen last night?” he said quietly. “I tried to
+make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but—well, the truth is I
+was carrying out a very elaborate experiment.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took the
+coin. The fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against her palm
+were icy cold—cold and clammy. Mr. Sleuth was evidently not well.
+
+As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball hanging
+in the smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth’s landlady, and threw
+blood-red gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of gold she
+was holding in her hand.
+
+The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household,
+but, of course, there was far greater animation outside the little
+house than was usually the case.
+
+Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some days,
+the whole of London seemed to be making holiday in that part of the
+town.
+
+When Bunting at last came back, his wife listened silently while he
+told her of the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere. And then,
+after he had been talking a long while, she suddenly shot a strange
+look at him.
+
+“I suppose you went to see the place?” she said.
+
+And guiltily he acknowledged that he had done so.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, there wasn’t anything much to see—not now. But, oh, Ellen, the
+daring of him! Why, Ellen, if the poor soul had had time to cry
+out—which they don’t believe she had—it’s impossible someone wouldn’t
+’a heard her. They say that if he goes on doing it like that—in the
+afternoon, like—he never _will_ be caught. He must have just got mixed
+up with all the other people within ten seconds of what he’d done!”
+
+During the afternoon Bunting bought papers recklessly—in fact, he must
+have spent the best part of six-pence. But in spite of all the supposed
+and suggested clues, there was nothing—nothing at all new to read,
+less, in fact than ever before.
+
+The police, it was clear, were quite at a loss, and Mrs. Bunting began
+to feel curiously better, less tired, less ill, less—less terrified
+than she had felt through the morning.
+
+And then something happened which broke with dramatic suddenness the
+quietude of the day.
+
+They had had their tea, and Bunting was reading the last of the papers
+he had run out to buy, when suddenly there came a loud, thundering,
+double knock at the door.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. “Why, whoever can that be?” she said.
+
+But as Bunting got up she added quickly, “You just sit down again. I’ll
+go myself. Sounds like someone after lodgings. I’ll soon send them to
+the right-about!”
+
+And then she left the room, but not before there had come another loud
+double knock.
+
+Mrs. Bunting opened the front door. In a moment she saw that the person
+who stood there was a stranger to her. He was a big, dark man, with
+fierce, black moustaches. And somehow—she could not have told you
+why—he suggested a policeman to Mrs. Bunting’s mind.
+
+This notion of hers was confirmed by the very first words he uttered.
+For, “I’m here to execute a warrant!” he exclaimed in a theatrical,
+hollow tone.
+
+With a weak cry of protest Mrs. Bunting suddenly threw out her arms as
+if to bar the way; she turned deadly white—but then, in an instant the
+supposed stranger’s laugh rang out, with loud, jovial, familiar sound!
+
+“There now, Mrs. Bunting! I never thought I’d take you in as well as
+all that!”
+
+It was Joe Chandler—Joe Chandler dressed up, as she knew he sometimes,
+not very often, did dress up in the course of his work.
+
+Mrs. Bunting began laughing—laughing helplessly, hysterically, just as
+she had done on the morning of Daisy’s arrival, when the
+newspaper-sellers had come shouting down the Marylebone Road.
+
+“What’s all this about?” Bunting came out
+
+Young Chandler ruefully shut the front door. “I didn’t mean to upset
+her like this,” he said, looking foolish; “’twas just my silly
+nonsense, Mr. Bunting.” And together they helped her into the
+sitting-room.
+
+But, once there, poor Mrs. Bunting went on worse than ever; she threw
+her black apron over her face, and began to sob hysterically.
+
+“I made sure she’d know who I was when I spoke,” went on the young
+fellow apologetically. “But, there now, I _have_ upset her. I _am_
+sorry!”
+
+“It don’t matter!” she exclaimed, throwing the apron off her face, but
+the tears were still streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and laughed
+by turns. “Don’t matter one little bit, Joe! ’Twas stupid of me to be
+so taken aback. But, there, that murder that’s happened close by, it’s
+just upset me—upset me altogether to-day.”
+
+“Enough to upset anyone—that was,” acknowledged the young man ruefully.
+“I’ve only come in for a minute, like. I haven’t no right to come when
+I’m on duty like this—”
+
+Joe Chandler was looking longingly at what remains of the meal were
+still on the table.
+
+“You can take a minute just to have a bite and a sup,” said Bunting
+hospitably; “and then you can tell us any news there is, Joe. We’re
+right in the middle of everything now, ain’t we?” He spoke with evident
+enjoyment, almost pride, in the gruesome fact.
+
+Joe nodded. Already his mouth was full of bread-and-butter. He waited a
+moment, and then: “Well I have got one piece of news—not that I suppose
+it’ll interest _you_ very much.”
+
+They both looked at him—Mrs. Bunting suddenly calm, though her breast
+still heaved from time to time.
+
+“Our Boss has resigned!” said Joe Chandler slowly, impressively.
+
+“No! Not the Commissioner o’ Police?” exclaimed Bunting.
+
+“Yes, he has. He just can’t bear what’s said about us any longer—and I
+don’t wonder! He done his best, and so’s we all. The public have just
+gone daft—in the West End, that is, to-day. As for the papers, well,
+they’re something cruel—that’s what they are. And the ridiculous ideas
+they print! You’d never believe the things they asks us to do—and quite
+serious-like.”
+
+“What d’you mean?” questioned Mrs. Bunting. She really wanted to know.
+
+“Well, the _Courier_ declares that there ought to be a house-to-house
+investigation—all over London. Just think of it! Everybody to let the
+police go all over their house, from garret to kitchen, just to see if
+The Avenger isn’t concealed there. Dotty, I calls it! Why, ’twould take
+us months and months just to do that one job in a town like London.”
+
+“I’d like to see them dare come into my house!” said Mrs. Bunting
+angrily.
+
+“It’s all along of them blarsted papers that The Avenger went to work a
+different way this time,” said Chandler slowly.
+
+Bunting had pushed a tin of sardines towards his guest, and was eagerly
+listening. “How d’you mean?” he asked. “I don’t take your meaning,
+Joe.”
+
+“Well, you see, it’s this way. The newspapers was always saying how
+extraordinary it was that The Avenger chose such a peculiar time to do
+his deeds—I mean, the time when no one’s about the streets. Now,
+doesn’t it stand to reason that the fellow, reading all that, and
+seeing the sense of it, said to himself, ‘I’ll go on another tack this
+time’? Just listen to this!” He pulled a strip of paper, part of a
+column cut from a newspaper, out of his pocket:
+
+“‘AN EX-LORD MAYOR OF LONDON ON THE AVENGER
+
+
+“‘Will the murderer be caught? Yes,’ replied Sir John, ‘he will
+certainly be caught—probably when he commits his next crime. A whole
+army of bloodhounds, metaphorical and literal, will be on his track the
+moment he draws blood again. With the whole community against him, he
+cannot escape, _especially when it be remembered that he chooses the
+quietest hour in the twenty-four to commit his crimes_.
+    “‘Londoners are now in such a state of nerves—if I may use the
+    expression, in such a state of funk—that every passer-by, however
+    innocent, is looked at with suspicion by his neighbour if his
+    avocation happens to take him abroad between the hours of one and
+    three in the morning.’
+
+
+“I’d like to gag that ex-Lord Mayor!” concluded Joe Chandler
+wrathfully.
+
+Just then the lodger’s bell rang.
+
+“Let me go up, my dear,” said Bunting.
+
+His wife still looked pale and shaken by the fright she had had.
+
+“No, no,” she said hastily. “You stop down here, and talk to Joe. I’ll
+look after Mr. Sleuth. He may be wanting his supper just a bit earlier
+than usual to-day.”
+
+Slowly, painfully, again feeling as if her legs were made of cotton
+wool, she dragged herself up to the first floor, knocked at the door,
+and then went in.
+
+“You did ring, sir?” she said, in her quiet, respectful way.
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up.
+
+She thought—but, as she reminded herself afterwards, it might have been
+just her idea, and nothing else—that for the first time the lodger
+looked frightened—frightened and cowed.
+
+“I heard a noise downstairs,” he said fretfully, “and I wanted to know
+what it was all about. As I told you, Mrs. Bunting, when I first took
+these rooms, quiet is essential to me.”
+
+“It was just a friend of ours, sir. I’m sorry you were disturbed. Would
+you like the knocker taken off to-morrow? Bunting’ll be pleased to do
+it if you don’t like to hear the sound of the knocks.”
+
+“Oh, no, I wouldn’t put you to such trouble as that.” Mr. Sleuth looked
+quite relieved. “Just a friend of yours, was it, Mrs. Bunting? He made
+a great deal of noise.”
+
+“Just a young fellow,” she said apologetically. “The son of one of
+Bunting’s old friends. He often comes here, sir; but he never did give
+such a great big double knock as that before. I’ll speak to him about
+it.”
+
+“Oh, no, Mrs. Bunting. I would really prefer you did nothing of the
+kind. It was just a passing annoyance—nothing more!”
+
+She waited a moment. How strange that Mr. Sleuth said nothing of the
+hoarse cries which had made of the road outside a perfect Bedlam every
+hour or two throughout that day. But no, Mr. Sleuth made no allusion to
+what might well have disturbed any quiet gentleman at his reading.
+
+“I thought maybe you’d like to have supper a little earlier to-night,
+sir?”
+
+“Just when you like, Mrs. Bunting—just when it’s convenient. I do not
+wish to put you out in any way.”
+
+She felt herself dismissed, and going out quietly, closed the door.
+
+As she did so, she heard the front door banging to. She sighed—Joe
+Chandler was really a very noisy young fellow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+Mrs. Bunting slept well the night following that during which the
+lodger had been engaged in making his mysterious experiments in her
+kitchen. She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, that sleep came to her
+the moment she laid her head upon her pillow.
+
+Perhaps that was why she rose so early the next morning. Hardly giving
+herself time to swallow the tea Bunting had made and brought her, she
+got up and dressed.
+
+She had suddenly come to the conclusion that the hall and staircase
+required a thorough “doing down,” and she did not even wait till they
+had eaten their breakfast before beginning her labours. It made Bunting
+feel quite uncomfortable. As he sat by the fire reading his morning
+paper—the paper which was again of such absorbing interest—he called
+out, “There’s no need for so much hurry, Ellen. Daisy’ll be back
+to-day. Why don’t you wait till she’s come home to help you?”
+
+But from the hall where she was busy dusting, sweeping, polishing, his
+wife’s voice came back: “Girls ain’t no good at this sort of work.
+Don’t you worry about me. I feel as if I’d enjoy doing an extra bit of
+cleaning to-day. I don’t like to feel as anyone could come in and see
+my place dirty.”
+
+“No fear of that!” Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck him.
+“Ain’t you afraid of waking the lodger?” he called out.
+
+“Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night,” she answered
+quickly. “As it is, I study him over-much; it’s a long, long time since
+I’ve done this staircase down.”
+
+All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left the
+sitting-room door wide open.
+
+That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn’t like to get up
+and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn’t read
+with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had never known
+Ellen make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he looked up and
+frowned rather crossly.
+
+There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that Ellen was
+standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
+
+“Come in,” he said, “do! Ain’t you finished yet?”
+
+“I was only resting a minute,” she said. “You don’t tell me nothing.
+I’d like to know if there’s anything—I mean anything new—in the paper
+this morning.”
+
+She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her
+unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting
+suddenly uneasy. “Come in—do!” he repeated sharply. “You’ve done quite
+enough—and before breakfast, too. ’Tain’t necessary. Come in and shut
+that door.”
+
+He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
+
+She came in, and did what she had never done before—brought the broom
+with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
+
+Then she sat down.
+
+“I think I’ll make breakfast up here,” she said. “I—I feel cold,
+Bunting.” And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of
+perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
+
+He got up. “All right. I’ll go down and bring the eggs up. Don’t you
+worry. For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if you like.”
+
+“No,” she said obstinately. “I’d rather do my own work. You just bring
+them up here—that’ll be all right. To-morrow morning we’ll have Daisy
+to help see to things.”
+
+“Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair,” he suggested
+kindly. “You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen. I never see’d such a
+woman!”
+
+And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room
+with languid steps.
+
+He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
+
+She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took two
+steps towards her.
+
+“I’ll show you the most interesting bit” he said eagerly. “It’s the
+piece headed, ‘Our Special Investigator.’ You see, they’ve started a
+special investigator of their own, and he’s got hold of a lot of little
+facts the police seem to have overlooked. The man who writes all that—I
+mean the Special Investigator—was a famous ’tec in his time, and he’s
+just come back out of his retirement o’ purpose to do this bit of work
+for the paper. You read what he says—I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if
+he ends by getting that reward! One can see he just loves the work of
+tracking people down.”
+
+“There’s nothing to be proud of in such a job,” said his wife
+listlessly.
+
+“He’ll have something to be proud of if he catches The Avenger!” cried
+Bunting. He was too keen about this affair to be put off by Ellen’s
+contradictory remarks. “You just notice that bit about the rubber
+soles. Now, no one’s thought o’ that. I’ll just tell Chandler—he don’t
+seem to me to be half awake, that young man don’t.”
+
+“He’s quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him! How
+about those eggs, Bunting? I feel quite ready for my breakfast even if
+you don’t—”
+
+Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly described
+to himself as “Ellen’s snarling voice.”
+
+He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled. There was
+something queer about her, and he couldn’t make it out. He didn’t mind
+it when she spoke sharply and nastily to him. He was used to that. But
+now she was so up and down; so different from what she used to be! In
+old days she had always been the same, but now a man never knew where
+to have her.
+
+And as he went downstairs he pondered uneasily over his wife’s changed
+ways and manner.
+
+Take the question of his easy chair. A very small matter, no doubt, but
+he had never known Ellen sit in that chair—no, not even once, for a
+minute, since it had been purchased by her as a present for him.
+
+They had been so happy, so happy, and so—so restful, during that first
+week after Mr. Sleuth had come to them. Perhaps it was the sudden,
+dramatic change from agonising anxiety to peace and security which had
+been too much for Ellen—yes, that was what was the matter with her,
+that and the universal excitement about these Avenger murders, which
+were shaking the nerves of all London. Even Bunting, unobservant as he
+was, had come to realise that his wife took a morbid interest in these
+terrible happenings. And it was the more queer of her to do so that at
+first she refused to discuss them, and said openly that she was utterly
+uninterested in murder or crime of any sort.
+
+He, Bunting, had always had a mild pleasure in such things. In his time
+he had been a great reader of detective tales, and even now he thought
+there was no pleasanter reading. It was that which had first drawn him
+to Joe Chandler, and made him welcome the young chap as cordially as he
+had done when they first came to London.
+
+But though Ellen had tolerated, she had never encouraged, that sort of
+talk between the two men. More than once she had exclaimed
+reproachfully: “To hear you two, one would think there was no nice,
+respectable, quiet people left in the world!”
+
+But now all that was changed. She was as keen as anyone could be to
+hear the latest details of an Avenger crime. True, she took her own
+view of any theory suggested. But there! Ellen always had had her own
+notions about everything under the sun. Ellen was a woman who thought
+for herself—a clever woman, not an everyday woman by any manner of
+means.
+
+While these thoughts were going disconnectedly through his mind,
+Bunting was breaking four eggs into a basin. He was going to give Ellen
+a nice little surprise—to cook an omelette as a French chef had once
+taught him to do, years and years ago. He didn’t know how she would
+take his doing such a thing after what she had said; but never mind,
+she would enjoy the omelette when done. Ellen hadn’t been eating her
+food properly of late.
+
+And when he went up again, his wife, to his relief, and, it must be
+admitted, to his surprise, took it very well. She had not even noticed
+how long he had been downstairs, for she had been reading with intense,
+painful care the column that the great daily paper they took in had
+allotted to the one-time famous detective.
+
+According to this Special Investigator’s own account he had discovered
+all sorts of things that had escaped the eye of the police and of the
+official detectives. For instance, owing, he admitted, to a fortunate
+chance, he had been at the place where the two last murders had been
+committed very soon after the double crime had been discovered—in fact
+within half an hour, and he had found, or so he felt sure, on the
+slippery, wet pavement imprints of the murderer’s right foot.
+
+The paper reproduced the impression of a half-worn rubber sole. At the
+same time, he also admitted—for the Special Investigator was very
+honest, and he had a good bit of space to fill in the enterprising
+paper which had engaged him to probe the awful mystery—that there were
+thousands of rubber soles being worn in London. . . .
+
+And when she came to that statement Mrs. Bunting looked up, and there
+came a wan smile over her thin, closely-shut lips. It was quite
+true—that about rubber soles; there were thousands of rubber soles
+being worn just now. She felt grateful to the Special Investigator for
+having stated the fact so clearly.
+
+The column ended up with the words:
+
+“And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten days
+ago. To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public inquiry could
+be held at once. Say, on the very day the discovery of a fresh murder
+is made. In that way alone would it be possible to weigh and sift the
+evidence offered by members of the general public. For when a week or
+more has elapsed, and these same people have been examined and
+cross-examined in private by the police, their impressions have had
+time to become blurred and hopelessly confused. On that last occasion
+but one there seems no doubt that several people, at any rate two women
+and one man, actually saw the murderer hurrying from the scene of his
+atrocious double crime—this being so, to-day’s investigation may be of
+the highest value and importance. To-morrow I hope to give an account
+of the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements made
+during its course.”
+
+
+Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had gone
+on reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment. At last he said
+rather crossly, “Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute! The omelette
+I’ve cooked for you will be just like leather if you don’t eat it.”
+
+But once his wife had eaten her breakfast—and, to Bunting’s
+mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette untouched—she
+took the paper up again. She turned over the big sheets, until she
+found, at the foot of one of the ten columns devoted to The Avenger and
+his crimes, the information she wanted, and then uttered an exclamation
+under her breath.
+
+What Mrs. Bunting had been looking for—what at last she had found—was
+the time and place of the inquest which was to be held that day. The
+hour named was a rather odd time—two o’clock in the afternoon, but,
+from Mrs. Bunting’s point of view, it was most convenient.
+
+By two o’clock, nay, by half-past one, the lodger would have had his
+lunch; by hurrying matters a little she and Bunting would have had
+their dinner, and—and Daisy wasn’t coming home till tea-time.
+
+She got up out of her husband’s chair. “I think you’re right,” she
+said, in a quick, hoarse tone. “I mean about me seeing a doctor,
+Bunting. I think I will go and see a doctor this very afternoon.”
+
+“Wouldn’t you like me to go with you?” he asked.
+
+“No, that I wouldn’t. In fact I wouldn’t go at all you was to go with
+me.”
+
+“All right,” he said vexedly. “Please yourself, my dear; you know
+best.”
+
+“I should think I did know best where my own health is concerned.”
+
+Even Bunting was incensed by this lack of gratitude. “’Twas I said,
+long ago, you ought to go and see the doctor; ’twas you said you
+wouldn’t!” he exclaimed pugnaciously.
+
+“Well, I’ve never said you was never right, have I? At any rate, I’m
+going.”
+
+“Have you a pain anywhere?” He stared at her with a look of real
+solicitude on his fat, phlegmatic face.
+
+Somehow Ellen didn’t look right, standing there opposite him. Her
+shoulders seemed to have shrunk; even her cheeks had fallen in a
+little. She had never looked so bad—not even when they had been half
+starving, and dreadfully, dreadfully worked.
+
+“Yes,” she said briefly, “I’ve a pain in my head, at the back of my
+neck. It doesn’t often leave me; it gets worse when anything upsets me,
+like I was upset last night by Joe Chandler.”
+
+“He was a silly ass to come and do a thing like that!” said Bunting
+crossly. “I’d a good mind to tell him so, too. But I must say, Ellen, I
+wonder he took you in—he didn’t me!”
+
+“Well, you had no chance he should—you knew who it was,” she said
+slowly.
+
+And Bunting remained silent, for Ellen was right. Joe Chandler had
+already spoken when he, Bunting, came out into the hall, and saw their
+cleverly disguised visitor.
+
+“Those big black moustaches,” he went on complainingly, “and that black
+wig—why, ’twas too ridic’lous—that’s what I call it!”
+
+“Not to anyone who didn’t know Joe,” she said sharply.
+
+“Well, I don’t know. He didn’t look like a real man—nohow. If he’s a
+wise lad, he won’t let our Daisy ever see him looking like that!” and
+Bunting laughed, a comfortable laugh.
+
+He had thought a good deal about Daisy and young Chandler the last two
+days, and, on the whole, he was well pleased. It was a dull, unnatural
+life the girl was leading with Old Aunt. And Joe was earning good
+money. They wouldn’t have long to wait, these two young people, as a
+beau and his girl often have to wait, as he, Bunting, and Daisy’s
+mother had had to do, for ever so long before they could be married.
+No, there was no reason why they shouldn’t be spliced quite soon—if so
+the fancy took them. And Bunting had very little doubt that so the
+fancy would take Joe, at any rate.
+
+But there was plenty of time. Daisy wouldn’t be eighteen till the week
+after next. They might wait till she was twenty. By that time Old Aunt
+might be dead, and Daisy might have come into quite a tidy little bit
+of money.
+
+“What are you smiling at?” said his wife sharply.
+
+And he shook himself. “I—smiling? At nothing that I knows of.” Then he
+waited a moment. “Well, if you will know, Ellen, I was just thinking of
+Daisy and that young chap Joe Chandler. He is gone on her, ain’t he?”
+
+“Gone?” And then Mrs. Bunting laughed, a queer, odd, not unkindly
+laugh. “Gone, Bunting?” she repeated. “Why, he’s out o’ sight—right,
+out of sight!”
+
+Then hesitatingly, and looking narrowly at her husband, she went on,
+twisting a bit of her black apron with her fingers as she spoke:—“I
+suppose he’ll be going over this afternoon to fetch her? Or—or d’you
+think he’ll have to be at that inquest, Bunting?”
+
+“Inquest? What inquest?” He looked at her puzzled.
+
+“Why, the inquest on them bodies found in the passage near by King’s
+Cross.”
+
+“Oh, no; he’d have no call to be at the inquest. For the matter o’
+that, I know he’s going over to fetch Daisy. He said so last night—just
+when you went up to the lodger.”
+
+“That’s just as well.” Mrs. Bunting spoke with considerable
+satisfaction. “Otherwise I suppose you’d ha’ had to go. I wouldn’t like
+the house left—not with us out of it. Mr. Sleuth _would_ be upset if
+there came a ring at the door.”
+
+“Oh, I won’t leave the house, don’t you be afraid, Ellen—not while
+you’re out.”
+
+“Not even if I’m out a good while, Bunting.”
+
+“No fear. Of course, you’ll be a long time if it’s your idea to see
+that doctor at Ealing?”
+
+He looked at her questioningly, and Mrs. Bunting nodded. Somehow
+nodding didn’t seem as bad as speaking a lie.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+Any ordeal is far less terrifying, far easier to meet with courage,
+when it is repeated, than is even a milder experience which is entirely
+novel.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had already attended an inquest, in the character of a
+witness, and it was one of the few happenings of her life which was
+sharply etched against the somewhat blurred screen of her memory.
+
+In a country house where the then Ellen Green had been staying for a
+fortnight with her elderly mistress, there had occurred one of those
+sudden, pitiful tragedies which occasionally destroy the serenity, the
+apparent decorum, of a large, respectable household.
+
+The under-housemaid, a pretty, happy-natured girl, had drowned herself
+for love of the footman, who had given his sweetheart cause for bitter
+jealousy. The girl had chosen to speak of her troubles to the strange
+lady’s maid rather than to her own fellow-servants, and it was during
+the conversation the two women had had together that the girl had
+threatened to take her own life.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting put on her outdoor clothes, preparatory to going out,
+she recalled very clearly all the details of that dreadful affair, and
+of the part she herself had unwillingly played in it.
+
+She visualised the country inn where the inquest on that poor,
+unfortunate creature had been held.
+
+The butler had escorted her from the Hall, for he also was to give
+evidence, and as they came up there had been a look of cheerful
+animation about the inn yard; people coming and going, many women as
+well as men, village folk, among whom the dead girl’s fate had aroused
+a great deal of interest, and the kind of horror which those who live
+on a dull countryside welcome rather than avoid.
+
+Everyone there had been particularly nice and polite to her, to Ellen
+Green; there had been a time of waiting in a room upstairs in the old
+inn, and the witnesses had been accommodated, not only with chairs, but
+with cake and wine.
+
+She remembered how she had dreaded being a witness, how she had felt as
+if she would like to run away from her nice, easy place, rather than
+have to get up and tell the little that she knew of the sad business.
+
+But it had not been so very dreadful after all. The coroner had been a
+kindly-spoken gentleman; in fact he had complimented her on the clear,
+sensible way she had given her evidence concerning the exact words the
+unhappy girl had used.
+
+One thing Ellen Green had said, in answer to a question put by an
+inquisitive juryman, had raised a laugh in the crowded, low-ceilinged
+room. “Ought not Miss Ellen Green,” so the man had asked, “to have told
+someone of the girl’s threat? If she had done so, might not the girl
+have been prevented from throwing herself into the lake?” And she, the
+witness, had answered, with some asperity—for by that time the
+coroner’s kind manner had put her at her ease—that she had not attached
+any importance to what the girl had threatened to do, never believing
+that any young woman could be so silly as to drown herself for love!
+
+Vaguely Mrs. Bunting supposed that the inquest at which she was going
+to be present this afternoon would be like that country inquest of long
+ago.
+
+It had been no mere perfunctory inquiry; she remembered very well how
+little by little that pleasant-spoken gentleman, the coroner, had got
+the whole truth out—the story, that is, of how that horrid footman,
+whom she, Ellen Green, had disliked from the first minute she had set
+eyes on him, had taken up with another young woman. It had been
+supposed that this fact would not be elicited by the coroner; but it
+had been, quietly, remorselessly; more, the dead girl’s letters had
+been read out—piteous, queerly expressed letters, full of wild love and
+bitter, threatening jealousy. And the jury had censured the young man
+most severely; she remembered the look on his face when the people,
+shrinking back, had made a passage for him to slink out of the crowded
+room.
+
+Come to think of it now, it was strange she had never told Bunting that
+long-ago tale. It had occurred years before she knew him, and somehow
+nothing had ever happened to make her tell him about it.
+
+She wondered whether Bunting had ever been to an inquest. She longed to
+ask him. But if she asked him now, this minute, he might guess where
+she was thinking of going.
+
+And then, while still moving about her bedroom, she shook her head—no,
+no, Bunting would never guess such a thing; he would never, never
+suspect her of telling him a lie.
+
+Stop—had she told a lie? She did mean to go to the doctor after the
+inquest was finished—if there was time, that is. She wondered uneasily
+how long such an inquiry was likely to last. In this case, as so very
+little had been discovered, the proceedings would surely be very
+formal—formal and therefore short.
+
+She herself had one quite definite object—that of hearing the evidence
+of those who believed they had seen the murderer leaving the spot where
+his victims lay weltering in their still flowing blood. She was filled
+with a painful, secret, and, yes, eager curiosity to hear how those who
+were so positive about the matter would describe the appearance of The
+Avenger. After all, a lot of people must have seen him, for, as Bunting
+had said only the day before to young Chandler, The Avenger was not a
+ghost; he was a living man with some kind of hiding-place where he was
+known, and where he spent his time between his awful crimes.
+
+As she came back to the sitting-room, her extreme pallor struck her
+husband.
+
+“Why, Ellen,” he said, “it is time you went to the doctor. You looks
+just as if you was going to a funeral. I’ll come along with you as far
+as the station. You’re going by train, ain’t you? Not by bus, eh? It’s
+a very long way to Ealing, you know.”
+
+“There you go! Breaking your solemn promise to me the very first
+minute!” But somehow she did not speak unkindly, only fretfully and
+sadly.
+
+And Bunting hung his head. “Why, to be sure I’d gone and clean forgot
+the lodger! But will you be all right, Ellen? Why not wait till
+to-morrow, and take Daisy with you?”
+
+“I like doing my own business in my own way, and not in someone else’s
+way!” she snapped out; and then more gently, for Bunting really looked
+concerned, and she did feel very far from well, “I’ll be all right, old
+man. Don’t you worry about me!”
+
+As she turned to go across to the door, she drew the black shawl she
+had put over her long jacket more closely round her.
+
+She felt ashamed, deeply ashamed, of deceiving so kind a husband. And
+yet, what could she do? How could she share her dreadful burden with
+poor Bunting? Why, ’twould be enough to make a man go daft. Even she
+often felt as if she could stand it no longer—as if she would give the
+world to tell someone—anyone—what it was that she suspected, what deep
+in her heart she so feared to be the truth.
+
+But, unknown to herself, the fresh outside air, fog-laden though it
+was, soon began to do her good. She had gone out far too little the
+last few days, for she had had a nervous terror of leaving the house
+unprotected, as also a great unwillingness to allow Bunting to come
+into contact with the lodger.
+
+When she reached the Underground station she stopped short. There were
+two ways of getting to St. Pancras—she could go by bus, or she could go
+by train. She decided on the latter. But before turning into the
+station her eyes strayed over the bills of the early afternoon papers
+lying on the ground.
+
+Two words,
+
+THE AVENGER,
+
+
+stared up at her in varying type.
+
+Drawing her black shawl yet a little closer about her shoulders, Mrs.
+Bunting looked down at the placards. She did not feel inclined to buy a
+paper, as many of the people round her were doing. Her eyes were
+smarting, even now, from their unaccustomed following of the close
+print in the paper Bunting took in.
+
+Slowly she turned, at last, into the Underground station.
+
+And now a piece of extraordinary good fortune befell Mrs. Bunting.
+
+The third-class carriage in which she took her place happened to be
+empty, save for the presence of a police inspector. And once they were
+well away she summoned up courage, and asked him the question she knew
+she would have to ask of someone within the next few minutes.
+
+“Can you tell me,” she said, in a low voice, “where death inquests are
+held”—she moistened her lips, waited a moment, and then concluded—“in
+the neighbourhood of King’s Cross?”
+
+The man turned and, looked at her attentively. She did not look at all
+the sort of Londoner who goes to an inquest—there are many such—just
+for the fun of the thing. Approvingly, for he was a widower, he noted
+her neat black coat and skirt; and the plain Princess bonnet which
+framed her pale, refined face.
+
+“I’m going to the Coroner’s Court myself.” he said good-naturedly. “So
+you can come along of me. You see there’s that big Avenger inquest
+going on to-day, so I think they’ll have had to make other arrangements
+for—hum, hum—ordinary cases.” And as she looked at him dumbly, he went
+on, “There’ll be a mighty crowd of people at The Avenger inquest—a lot
+of ticket folk to be accommodated, to say nothing of the public.”
+
+“That’s the inquest I’m going to,” faltered Mrs. Bunting. She could
+scarcely get the words out. She realised with acute discomfort, yes,
+and shame, how strange, how untoward, was that which she was going to
+do. Fancy a respectable woman wanting to attend a murder inquest!
+
+During the last few days all her perceptions had become sharpened by
+suspense and fear. She realised now, as she looked into the stolid face
+of her unknown friend, how she herself would have regarded any woman
+who wanted to attend such an inquiry from a simple, morbid feeling of
+curiosity. And yet—and yet that was just what she was about to do
+herself.
+
+“I’ve got a reason for wanting to go there,” she murmured. It was a
+comfort to unburden herself this little way even to a stranger.
+
+“Ah!” he said reflectively. “A—a relative connected with one of the two
+victims’ husbands, I presume?”
+
+And Mrs. Bunting bent her head.
+
+“Going to give evidence?” he asked casually, and then he turned and
+looked at Mrs. Bunting with far more attention than he had yet done.
+
+“Oh, no!” There was a world of horror, of fear in the speaker’s voice.
+
+And the inspector felt concerned and sorry. “Hadn’t seen her for quite
+a long time, I suppose?”
+
+“Never had, seen her. I’m from the country.” Something impelled Mrs.
+Bunting to say these words. But she hastily corrected herself, “At
+least, I was.”
+
+“Will he be there?”
+
+She looked at him dumbly; not in the least knowing to whom he was
+alluding.
+
+“I mean the husband,” went on the inspector hastily. “I felt sorry for
+the last poor chap—I mean the husband of the last one—he seemed so
+awfully miserable. You see, she’d been a good wife and a good mother
+till she took to the drink.”
+
+“It always is so,” breathed out Mrs. Bunting.
+
+“Aye.” He waited a moment. “D’you know anyone about the court?” he
+asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Well, don’t you worry. I’ll take you in along o’ me. You’d never get
+in by yourself.”
+
+They got out; and oh, the comfort of being in some one’s charge, of
+having a determined man in uniform to look after one! And yet even now
+there was to Mrs. Bunting something dream-like, unsubstantial about the
+whole business.
+
+“If he knew—if he only knew what I know!” she kept saying over and over
+again to herself as she walked lightly by the big, burly form of the
+police inspector.
+
+“’Tisn’t far—not three minutes,” he said suddenly. “Am I walking too
+quick for you, ma’am?”
+
+“No, not at all. I’m a quick walker.”
+
+And then suddenly they turned a corner and came on a mass of people, a
+densely packed crowd of men and women, staring at a mean-looking little
+door sunk into a high wall.
+
+“Better take my arm,” the inspector suggested. “Make way there! Make
+way!” he cried authoritatively; and he swept her through the serried
+ranks which parted at the sound of his voice, at the sight of his
+uniform.
+
+“Lucky you met me,” he said, smiling. “You’d never have got through
+alone. And ’tain’t a nice crowd, not by any manner of means.”
+
+The small door opened just a little way, and they found themselves on a
+narrow stone-flagged path, leading into a square yard. A few men were
+out there, smoking.
+
+Before preceding her into the building which rose at the back of the
+yard, Mrs. Bunting’s kind new friend took out his watch. “There’s
+another twenty minutes before they’ll begin,” he said. “There’s the
+mortuary”—he pointed with his thumb to a low room built out to the
+right of the court. “Would you like to go in and see them?” he
+whispered.
+
+“Oh, no!” she cried, in a tone of extreme horror. And he looked down at
+her with sympathy, and with increased respect. She was a nice,
+respectable woman, she was. She had not come here imbued with any
+morbid, horrible curiosity, but because she thought it her duty to do
+so. He suspected her of being sister-in-law to one of The Avenger’s
+victims.
+
+They walked through into a big room or hall, now full of men talking in
+subdued yet eager, animated tones.
+
+“I think you’d better sit down here,” he said considerately, and,
+leading her to one of the benches that stood out from the whitewashed
+walls—“unless you’d rather be with the witnesses, that is.”
+
+But again she said, “Oh, no!” And then, with an effort, “Oughtn’t I to
+go into the court now, if it’s likely to be so full?”
+
+“Don’t you worry,” he said kindly. “I’ll see you get a proper place. I
+must leave you now for a minute, but I’ll come back in good time and
+look after you.”
+
+She raised the thick veil she had pulled down over her face while they
+were going through that sinister, wolfish-looking crowd outside, and
+looked about her.
+
+Many of the gentlemen—they mostly wore tall hats and good
+overcoats—standing round and about her looked vaguely familiar. She
+picked out one at once. He was a famous journalist, whose shrewd,
+animated face was familiar to her owing to the fact that it was widely
+advertised in connection with a preparation for the hair—the
+preparation which in happier, more prosperous days Bunting had had
+great faith in, and used, or so he always said, with great benefit to
+himself. This gentleman was the centre of an eager circle; half a dozen
+men were talking to him, listening deferentially when he spoke, and
+each of these men, so Mrs. Bunting realised, was a Somebody.
+
+How strange, how amazing, to reflect that from all parts of London,
+from their doubtless important avocations, one unseen, mysterious
+beckoner had brought all these men here together, to this sordid place,
+on this bitterly cold, dreary day. Here they were, all thinking of,
+talking of, evoking one unknown, mysterious personality—that of the
+shadowy and yet terribly real human being who chose to call himself The
+Avenger. And somewhere, not so very far away from them all The Avenger
+was keeping these clever, astute, highly trained minds—aye, and bodies,
+too—at bay.
+
+Even Mrs. Bunting, sitting here unnoticed, realised the irony of her
+presence among them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that she had been sitting there a long
+time—it was really about a quarter of an hour—when her official friend
+came back.
+
+“Better come along now,” he whispered; “it’ll begin soon.”
+
+She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps, and
+so into the Coroner’s Court.
+
+The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike a chapel,
+the more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, a gallery
+evidently set aside for the general public, for it was now crammed to
+its utmost capacity.
+
+Mrs. Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces. Had it
+not been for her good fortune in meeting the man she was now following,
+it was there that she would have had to try and make her way. And she
+would have failed. Those people had rushed in the moment the doors were
+opened, pushing, fighting their way in a way she could never have
+pushed or fought.
+
+There were just a few women among them, set, determined-looking women,
+belonging to every class, but made one by their love of sensation and
+their power of forcing their way in where they wanted to be. But the
+women were few; the great majority of those standing there were men—men
+who were also representative of every class of Londoner.
+
+The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or three
+steps below the surrounding gallery. Just now it was comparatively
+clear of people, save for the benches on which sat the men who were to
+compose the jury. Some way from these men, huddled together in a kind
+of big pew, stood seven people—three women and four men.
+
+“D’you see the witnesses?” whispered the inspector, pointing these out
+to her. He supposed her to know one of them with familiar knowledge,
+but, if that were so, she made no sign.
+
+Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of little
+platform, on which stood a desk and an arm-chair. Mrs. Bunting guessed
+rightly that it was there the coroner would sit. And to the left of the
+platform was the witness-stand, also raised considerably above the
+jury.
+
+Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring than the
+scene of the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on that bright
+April day, in the village inn. There the coroner had sat on the same
+level as the jury, and the witnesses had simply stepped forward one by
+one, and taken their place before him.
+
+Looking round her fearfully, Mrs. Bunting thought she would surely die
+if ever she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in that curious
+box-like stand, and she stared across at the bench where sat the seven
+witnesses with a feeling of sincere pity in her heart.
+
+But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted. Each woman witness
+looked eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be the centre of
+attention and attraction to the general public. It was plain each was
+enjoying her part of important, if humble, actress in the thrilling
+drama which was now absorbing the attention of all London—it might
+almost be said of the whole world.
+
+Looking at these women, Mrs. Bunting wondered vaguely which was which.
+Was it that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person who had
+certainly, or almost certainly, seen The Avenger within ten seconds of
+the double crime being committed? The woman who, aroused by one of his
+victims’ cry of terror, had rushed to her window and seen the
+murderer’s shadowy form pass swiftly by in the fog?
+
+Yet another woman, so Mrs. Bunting now remembered, had given a most
+circumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, it was
+supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
+
+Those two women now before her had been interrogated and cross-examined
+again and again, not only by the police, but by representatives of
+every newspaper in London. It was from what they had both
+said—unluckily their accounts materially differed—that that official
+description of The Avenger had been worked up—that which described him
+as being a good-looking, respectable young fellow of twenty-eight,
+carrying a newspaper parcel.
+
+As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a boon
+companion of the dead.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gaze on
+another unfamiliar sight. Specially prominent, running indeed through
+the whole length of the shut-in space, that is, from the coroner’s high
+dais right across to the opening in the wooden barrier, was an
+ink-splashed table at which, when she had first taken her place, there
+had been sitting three men busily sketching; but now every seat at the
+table was occupied by tired, intelligent-looking men, each with a
+notebook, or with some loose sheets of paper, before him.
+
+“Them’s the reporters,” whispered her friend. “They don’t like coming
+till the last minute, for they has to be the last to go. At an ordinary
+inquest there are only two—maybe three—attending, but now every paper
+in the kingdom has pretty well applied for a pass to that reporters’
+table.”
+
+He looked consideringly down into the well of the court. “Now let me
+see what I can do for you—”
+
+Then he beckoned to the coroner’s officer: “Perhaps you could put this
+lady just over there, in a corner by herself? Related to a relation of
+the deceased, but doesn’t want to be—” He whispered a word or two, and
+the other nodded sympathetically, and looked at Mrs. Bunting with
+interest. “I’ll put her just here,” he muttered. “There’s no one coming
+there to-day. You see, there are only seven witnesses—sometimes we have
+a lot more than that.”
+
+And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where the seven
+witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready—aye, more
+than ready—to play their part.
+
+For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs. Bunting, but
+soon those who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realised
+that she had nothing to do with the case. She was evidently there as a
+spectator, and, more fortunate than most, she had a “friend at court,”
+and so was able to sit comfortably, instead of having to stand in the
+crowd.
+
+But she was not long left in isolation. Very soon some of the
+important-looking gentlemen she had seen downstairs came into the
+court, and were ushered over to her seat while two or three among them,
+including the famous writer whose face was so familiar that it almost
+seemed to Mrs. Bunting like that of a kindly acquaintance, were
+accommodated at the reporters’ table.
+
+“Gentlemen, the Coroner.”
+
+The jury stood up, shuffling their feet, and then sat down again; over
+the spectators there fell a sudden silence.
+
+And then what immediately followed recalled to Mrs. Bunting, for the
+first time, that informal little country inquest of long ago.
+
+First came the “Oyez! Oyez!” the old Norman-French summons to all whose
+business it is to attend a solemn inquiry into the death—sudden,
+unexplained, terrible—of a fellow-being.
+
+The jury—there were fourteen of them—all stood up again. They raised
+their hands and solemnly chanted together the curious words of their
+oath.
+
+Then came a quick, informal exchange of sentences ’twixt the coroner
+and his officer.
+
+Yes, everything was in order. The jury had viewed the bodies—he quickly
+corrected himself—the body, for, technically speaking, the inquest just
+about to be held only concerned one body.
+
+And then, amid a silence so absolute that the slightest rustle could be
+heard through the court, the coroner—a clever-looking gentleman, though
+not so old as Mrs. Bunting thought he ought to have been to occupy so
+important a position on so important a day—gave a little history, as it
+were, of the terrible and mysterious Avenger crimes.
+
+He spoke very clearly, warming to his work as he went on.
+
+He told them that he had been present at the inquest held on one of The
+Avenger’s former victims. “I only went through professional curiosity,”
+he threw in by way of parenthesis, “little thinking, gentlemen, that
+the inquest on one of these unhappy creatures would ever be held in my
+court.”
+
+On and on, he went, though he had, in truth, but little to say, and
+though that little was known to every one of his listeners.
+
+Mrs. Bunting heard one of the older gentlemen sitting near her whisper
+to another: “Drawing it out all he can; that’s what he’s doing. Having
+the time of his life, evidently!” And then the other whispered back, so
+low that she could only just catch the words, “Aye, aye. But he’s a
+good chap—I knew his father; we were at school together. Takes his job
+very seriously, you know—he does to-day, at any rate.”
+
+She was listening intently, waiting for a word, a sentence, which would
+relieve her hidden terrors, or, on the other hand, confirm them. But
+the word, the sentence, was never uttered.
+
+And yet, at the very end of his long peroration, the coroner did throw
+out a hint which might mean anything—or nothing.
+
+“I am glad to say that we hope to obtain such evidence to-day as will
+in time lead to the apprehension of the miscreant who has committed,
+and is still committing, these terrible crimes.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared uneasily up into the coroner’s firm,
+determined-looking face. What did he mean by that? Was there any new
+evidence—evidence of which Joe Chandler, for instance, was ignorant?
+And, as if in answer to the unspoken question, her heart gave a sudden
+leap, for a big, burly man had taken his place in the witness-box—a
+policeman who had not been sitting with the other witnesses.
+
+But soon her uneasy terror became stilled. This witness was simply the
+constable who had found the first body. In quick, business-like tones
+he described exactly what had happened to him on that cold, foggy
+morning ten days ago. He was shown a plan, and he marked it slowly,
+carefully, with a thick finger. That was the exact place—no, he was
+making a mistake—that was the place where the other body had lain. He
+explained apologetically that he had got rather mixed up between the
+two bodies—that of Johanna Cobbett and Sophy Hurtle.
+
+And then the coroner intervened authoritatively: “For the purpose of
+this inquiry,” he said, “we must, I think, for a moment consider the
+two murders together.”
+
+After that, the witness went on far more comfortably; and as he
+proceeded, in a quick monotone, the full and deadly horror of The
+Avenger’s acts came over Mrs. Bunting in a great seething flood of sick
+fear and—and, yes, remorse.
+
+Up to now she had given very little thought—if, indeed, any thought—to
+the drink-sodden victims of The Avenger. It was he who had filled her
+thoughts,—he and those who were trying to track him down. But now? Now
+she felt sick and sorry she had come here to-day. She wondered if she
+would ever be able to get the vision the policeman’s words had conjured
+up out of her mind—out of her memory.
+
+And then there came an eager stir of excitement and of attention
+throughout the whole court, for the policeman had stepped down out of
+the witness-box, and one of the women witnesses was being conducted to
+his place.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked with interest and sympathy at the woman,
+remembering how she herself had trembled with fear, trembled as that
+poor, bedraggled, common-looking person was trembling now. The woman
+had looked so cheerful, so—so well pleased with herself till a minute
+ago, but now she had become very pale, and she looked round her as a
+hunted animal might have done.
+
+But the coroner was very kind, very soothing and gentle in his manner,
+just as that other coroner had been when dealing with Ellen Green at
+the inquest on that poor drowned girl.
+
+After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn words of
+the oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story. At
+once Mrs. Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimed to have
+seen The Avenger from her bedroom window. Gaining confidence, as she
+went on, the witness described how she had heard a long-drawn, stifled
+screech, and, aroused from deep sleep, had instinctively jumped out of
+bed and rushed to her window.
+
+The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk. “Let me see!
+Here is the plan. Yes—I think I understand that the house in which you
+are lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimes were
+committed?”
+
+And there arose a quick, futile discussion. The house did not face the
+alley, but the window of the witness’s bedroom faced the alley.
+
+“A distinction without a difference,” said the coroner testily. “And
+now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw when you
+looked out.”
+
+There fell a dead silence on the crowded court. And then the woman
+broke out, speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done. “I
+saw ’im!” she cried. “I shall never forget it—no, not till my dying
+day!” And she looked round defiantly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men had
+had with a person who slept under this woman’s room. That person had
+unkindly said she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up that
+night—that she had made up the whole story. She, the speaker, slept
+lightly, and that night had been tending a sick child. Accordingly, she
+would have heard if there had been either the scream described by
+Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping out of bed.
+
+“We quite understand that you think you saw the”—the coroner
+hesitated—“the individual who had just perpetrated these terrible
+crimes. But what we want to have from you is a description of him. In
+spite of the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, you say you
+saw him distinctly, walking along for some yards below your window.
+Now, please, try and tell us what he was like.”
+
+The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a coloured
+handkerchief she held in her hand.
+
+“Let us begin at the beginning,” said the coroner patiently. “What sort
+of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying from the
+passage?”
+
+“It was just a black ’at” said the witness at last, in a husky, rather
+anxious tone.
+
+“Yes—just a black hat. And a coat—were you able to see what sort of a
+coat he was wearing?”
+
+“’E ’adn’t got no coat” she said decidedly. “No coat at all! I
+remembers that very perticulerly. I thought it queer, as it was so
+cold—everybody as can wears some sort o’ coat this weather!”
+
+A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, and apparently
+not attending at all to what the witness was saying, here jumped up and
+put out his hand.
+
+“Yes?” the coroner turned to him.
+
+“I just want to say that this ’ere witness—if her name is Lizzie Cole,
+began by saying The Avenger was wearing a coat—a big, heavy coat. I’ve
+got it here, in this bit of paper.”
+
+“I never said so!” cried the woman passionately. “I was made to say all
+those things by the young man what came to me from the _Evening Sun_.
+Just put in what ’e liked in ’is paper, ’e did—not what I said at all!”
+
+At this there was some laughter, quickly suppressed.
+
+“In future,” said the coroner severely, addressing the juryman, who had
+now sat down again, “you must ask any question you wish to ask through
+your foreman, and please wait till I have concluded my examination of
+the witness.”
+
+But this interruption, this—this accusation, had utterly upset the
+witness. She began contradicting herself hopelessly. The man she had
+seen hurrying by in the semi-darkness below was tall—no, he was short.
+He was thin—no, he was a stoutish young man. And as to whether he was
+carrying anything, there was quite an acrimonious discussion.
+
+Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared that she had
+seen a newspaper parcel under his arm; it had bulged out at the back—so
+she declared. But it was proved, very gently and firmly, that she had
+said nothing of the kind to the gentleman from Scotland Yard who had
+taken down her first account—in fact, to him she had declared
+confidently that the man had carried nothing—nothing at all; that she
+had seen his arms swinging up and down.
+
+One fact—if fact it could be called—the coroner did elicit. Lizzie Cole
+suddenly volunteered the statement that as he had passed her window he
+had looked up at her. This was quite a new statement.
+
+“He looked up at you?” repeated the coroner. “You said nothing of that
+in your examination.”
+
+“I said nothink because I was scared—nigh scared to death!”
+
+“If you could really see his countenance, for we know the night was
+dark and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like?”
+
+But the coroner was speaking casually, his hand straying over his desk;
+not a creature in that court now believed the woman’s story.
+
+“Dark!” she answered dramatically. “Dark, almost black! If you can take
+my meaning, with a sort of nigger look.”
+
+And then there was a titter. Even the jury smiled. And sharply the
+coroner bade Lizzie Cole stand down.
+
+Far more credence was given to the evidence of the next witness.
+
+This was an older, quieter-looking woman, decently dressed in black.
+Being the wife of a night watchman whose work lay in a big warehouse
+situated about a hundred yards from the alley or passage where the
+crimes had taken place, she had gone out to take her husband some food
+he always had at one in the morning. And a man had passed her,
+breathing hard and walking very quickly. Her attention had been drawn
+to him because she very seldom met anyone at that hour, and because he
+had such an odd, peculiar look and manner.
+
+Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very much
+from what this witness had said that the official description of The
+Avenger had been composed—that description which had brought such
+comfort to her, Ellen Bunting’s, soul.
+
+This witness spoke quietly, confidently, and her account of the
+newspaper parcel the man was carrying was perfectly clear and positive.
+
+“It was a neat parcel,” she said, “done up with string.”
+
+She had thought it an odd thing for a respectably dressed young man to
+carry such a parcel—that was what had made her notice it. But when
+pressed, she had to admit that it had been a very foggy night—so foggy
+that she herself had been afraid of losing her way, though every step
+was familiar.
+
+When the third woman went into the box, and with sighs and tears told
+of her acquaintance with one of the deceased, with Johanna Cobbett,
+there was a stir of sympathetic attention. But she had nothing to say
+throwing any light on the investigation, save that she admitted
+reluctantly that “Anny” would have been such a nice, respectable young
+woman if it hadn’t been for the drink.
+
+Her examination was shortened as much as possible; and so was that of
+the next witness, the husband of Johanna Cobbett. He was a very
+respectable-looking man, a foreman in a big business house at Croydon.
+He seemed to feel his position most acutely. He hadn’t seen his wife
+for two years; he hadn’t had news of her for six months. Before she
+took to drink she had been an admirable wife, and—and yes, mother.
+
+Yet another painful few minutes, to anyone who had a heart, or
+imagination to understand, was spent when the father of the murdered
+woman was in the box. He had had later news of his unfortunate daughter
+than her husband had had, but of course he could throw no light at all
+on her murder or murderer.
+
+A barman, who had served both the women with drink just before the
+public-house closed for the night, was handled rather roughly. He had
+stepped with a jaunty air into the box, and came out of it looking cast
+down, uneasy.
+
+And then there took place a very dramatic, because an utterly
+unexpected, incident. It was one of which the evening papers made the
+utmost much to Mrs. Bunting’s indignation. But neither coroner nor
+jury—and they, after all, were the people who mattered—thought a great
+deal of it.
+
+There had come a pause in the proceedings. All seven witnesses had been
+heard, and a gentleman near Mrs. Bunting whispered, “They are now going
+to call Dr. Gaunt. He’s been in every big murder case for the last
+thirty years. He’s sure to have something interesting to say. It was
+really to hear him _I_ came.”
+
+But before Dr. Gaunt had time even to get up from the seat with which
+he had been accommodated close to the coroner, there came a stir among
+the general public, or, rather, among those spectators who stood near
+the low wooden door which separated the official part of the court from
+the gallery.
+
+The coroner’s officer, with an apologetic air, approached the coroner,
+and handed him up an envelope. And again in an instant, there fell
+absolute silence on the court.
+
+Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope. He glanced
+down the sheet of notepaper it contained. Then he looked up.
+
+“Mr.—” then he glanced down again. “Mr.—ah—Mr.—is it Cannot?” he said
+doubtfully, “may come forward.”
+
+There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
+
+A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat,
+with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from the
+place where he had been standing among the general public, to the
+witness-box.
+
+“This is somewhat out of order, Mr.—er—Cannot,” said the coroner
+severely. “You should have sent me this note before the proceedings
+began. This gentleman,” he said, addressing the jury, “informs me that
+he has something of the utmost importance to reveal in connection with
+our investigation.”
+
+“I have remained silent—I have locked what I knew within my own
+breast”—began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, “because I am so afraid
+of the Press! I knew if I said anything, even to the police, that my
+house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . . I have a
+delicate wife, Mr. Coroner. Such a state of things—the state of things
+I imagine—might cause her death—indeed, I hope she will never read a
+report of these proceedings. Fortunately, she has an excellent trained
+nurse—”
+
+“You will now take the oath,” said the coroner sharply. He already
+regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
+
+Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been
+lacking in most of those who had preceded him.
+
+“I will address myself to the jury,” he began.
+
+“You will do nothing of the sort,” broke in the coroner. “Now, please
+attend to me. You assert in your letter that you know who is the—the—”
+
+“The Avenger,” put in Mr. Cannot promptly.
+
+“The perpetrator of these crimes. You further declare that you met him
+on the very night he committed the murder we are now investigating?”
+
+“I do so declare,” said Mr. Cannot confidently. “Though in the best of
+health myself,”—he beamed round the court, a now amused, attentive
+court—“it is my fate to be surrounded by sick people, to have only
+ailing friends. I have to trouble you with my private affairs, Mr.
+Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be out at so undue an
+hour as one o’clock in the morning—”
+
+Again a titter ran through the court. Even the jury broke into broad
+smiles.
+
+“Yes,” went on the witness solemnly, “I was with a sick friend—in fact,
+I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed away. I will not
+reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on my notepaper. It
+is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understand me when I say
+that in order to come home I had to pass through a portion of the
+Regent’s Park; and it was there—to be exact, about the middle of
+Prince’s Terrace—when a very peculiar-looking individual stopped and
+accosted me.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting’s hand shot up to her breast. A feeling of deadly fear
+took possession of her.
+
+“I mustn’t faint,” she said to herself hurriedly. “I mustn’t faint!
+Whatever’s the matter with me?” She took out her bottle of
+smelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.
+
+“He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with a very
+odd-looking face. I should say an educated man—in common parlance, a
+gentleman. What drew my special attention to him was that he was
+talking aloud to himself—in fact, he seemed to be repeating poetry. I
+give you my word, I had no thought of The Avenger, no thought at all.
+To tell you the truth, I thought this gentleman was a poor escaped
+lunatic, a man who’d got away from his keeper. The Regent’s Park, sir,
+as I need hardly tell you, is a most quiet and soothing neighbourhood—”
+
+And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.
+
+“I appeal to you; sir,” the old gentleman suddenly cried out “to
+protect me from this unseemly levity! I have not come here with any
+other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!”
+
+“I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant,” said the coroner
+stiffly. “Time is going on, and I have another important witness to
+call—a medical witness. Kindly tell me, as shortly as possible, what
+made you suppose that this stranger could possibly be—” with an effort
+he brought out for the first time since the proceedings began, the
+words, “The Avenger?”
+
+“I am coming to that!” said Mr. Cannot hastily. “I am coming to that!
+Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner. It was a foggy night, but
+not as foggy as it became later. And just when we were passing one
+another, I and this man, who was talking aloud to himself—he, instead
+of going on, stopped and turned towards me. That made me feel queer and
+uncomfortable, the more so that there was a very wild, mad look on his
+face. I said to him, as soothingly as possible, ‘A very foggy night,
+sir.’ And he said, ‘Yes—yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the
+commission of dark and salutary deeds.’ A very strange phrase, sir,
+that—‘dark and salutary deeds.’” He looked at the coroner expectantly—
+
+“Well? Well, Mr. Cannot? Was that all? Did you see this person go off
+in the direction of—of King’s Cross, for instance?”
+
+“No.” Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head. “No, I must honestly say I
+did not. He walked along a certain way by my side, and then he crossed
+the road and was lost in the fog.”
+
+“That will do,” said the coroner. He spoke more kindly. “I thank you,
+Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidently consider
+important information.”
+
+Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again some of
+those present tittered rather foolishly.
+
+As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and looked up
+at the coroner, opening his lips as he did so. There was a murmur of
+talking going on, but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heard quite distinctly
+what it was that he said:
+
+“One thing I have forgotten, sir, which may be of importance. The man
+carried a bag—a rather light-coloured leather bag, in his left hand. It
+was such a bag, sir, as might well contain a long-handled knife.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters’ table. She remembered suddenly
+that she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth’s bag.
+And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a single
+reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that last remark
+of Mr. Cannot. In fact, not one of them had heard it.
+
+Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. And then
+silence did fall on the court.
+
+“One word more,” he said in a quavering voice. “May I ask to be
+accommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings? I see there
+is some room left on the witnesses’ bench.” And, without waiting for
+permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. Her friend, the inspector, was
+bending over her.
+
+“Perhaps you’d like to come along now,” he said urgently.—“I don’t
+suppose you want to hear the medical evidence. It’s always painful for
+a female to hear that. And there’ll be an awful rush when the inquest’s
+over. I could get you away quietly now.”
+
+She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followed him
+obediently.
+
+Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty,
+room downstairs.
+
+“I’ll let you out the back way,” he said. “I expect you’re tired,
+ma’am, and will like to get home to a cup o’ tea.”
+
+“I don’t know how to thank you!” There were tears in her eyes. She was
+trembling with excitement and emotion. “You _have_ been good to me.”
+
+“Oh, that’s nothing,” he said a little awkwardly. “I expect you went
+though a pretty bad time, didn’t you?”
+
+“Will they be having that old gentleman again?” she spoke in a whisper,
+and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look.
+
+“Good Lord, no! Crazy old fool! We’re troubled with a lot of those sort
+of people, you know, ma’am, and they often do have funny names, too.
+You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City, or what not;
+then they retires when they gets about sixty, and they’re fit to hang
+themselves with dulness. Why, there’s hundreds of lunies of the sort to
+be met in London. You can’t go about at night and not meet ’em. Plenty
+of ’em!”
+
+“Then you don’t think there was anything in what he said?” she
+ventured.
+
+“In what that old gent said? Goodness—no!” he laughed good-naturedly.
+“But I’ll tell you what I _do_ think. If it wasn’t for the time that
+had gone by, I should believe that the second witness _had_ seen that
+crafty devil—” he lowered his voice. “But, there, Dr. Gaunt declares
+most positively—so did two other medical gentlemen—that the poor
+creatures had been dead hours when they was found. Medical gentlemen
+are always very positive about their evidence. They have to
+be—otherwise who’d believe ’em? If we’d time I could tell you of a case
+in which—well, ’twas all because of Dr. Gaunt that the murderer
+escaped. We all knew perfectly well the man we caught did it, but he
+was able to prove an alibi as to the time Dr. Gaunt _said_ the poor
+soul was killed.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+It was not late even now, for the inquest had begun very punctually,
+but Mrs. Bunting felt that no power on earth should force her to go to
+Ealing. She felt quite tired out and as if she could think of nothing.
+
+Pacing along very slowly, as if she were an old, old woman, she began
+listlessly turning her steps towards home. Somehow she felt that it
+would do her more good to stay out in the air than take the train. Also
+she would thus put off the moment—the moment to which she looked
+forward with dread and dislike—when she would have to invent a
+circumstantial story as to what she had said to the doctor, and what
+the doctor had said to her.
+
+Like most men and women of his class, Bunting took a great interest in
+other people’s ailments, the more interest that he was himself so
+remarkably healthy. He would feel quite injured if Ellen didn’t tell
+him everything that had happened; everything, that is, that the doctor
+had told her.
+
+As she walked swiftly along, at every corner, or so it seemed to her,
+and outside every public-house, stood eager boys selling the latest
+edition of the afternoon papers to equally eager buyers. “Avenger
+Inquest?” they shouted exultantly. “All the latest evidence!” At one
+place, where there were a row of contents-bills pinned to the pavement
+by stones, she stopped and looked down. “Opening of the Avenger
+Inquest. What is he really like? Full description.” On yet another ran
+the ironic query: “Avenger Inquest. Do you know him?”
+
+And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs.
+Bunting turned sick—so sick and faint that she did what she had never
+done before in her life—she pushed her way into a public-house, and,
+putting two pennies down on the counter, asked for, and received, a
+glass of cold water.
+
+As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind
+dwelling persistently—not on the inquest at which she had been present,
+not even on The Avenger, but on his victims.
+
+Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the mortuary.
+She seemed also to see that third body, which, though cold, must yet be
+warmer than the other two, for at this time yesterday The Avenger’s
+last victim had been alive, poor soul—alive and, according to a
+companion of hers whom the papers had already interviewed, particularly
+merry and bright.
+
+Hitherto Mrs. Bunting had been spared in any real sense a vision of The
+Avenger’s victims. Now they haunted her, and she wondered wearily if
+this fresh horror was to be added to the terrible fear which
+encompassed her night and day.
+
+As she came within sight of home, her spirit suddenly lightened. The
+narrow, drab-coloured little house, flanked each side by others exactly
+like it in every single particular, save that their front yards were
+not so well kept, looked as if it could, aye, and would, keep any
+secret closely hidden.
+
+For a moment, at any rate, The Avenger’s victims receded from her mind.
+She thought of them no more. All her thoughts were concentrated on
+Bunting—Bunting and Mr. Sleuth. She wondered what had happened during
+her absence—whether the lodger had rung his bell, and, if so, how he
+had got on with Bunting, and Bunting with him?
+
+She walked up the little flagged path wearily, and yet with a pleasant
+feeling of home-coming. And then she saw that Bunting must have been
+watching for her behind the now closely drawn curtains, for before she
+could either knock or ring he had opened the door.
+
+“I was getting quite anxious about you,” he exclaimed. “Come in, Ellen,
+quick! You must be fair perished a day like now—and you out so little
+as you are. Well? I hope you found the doctor all right?” He looked at
+her with affectionate anxiety.
+
+And then there came a sudden, happy thought to Mrs. Bunting. “No,” she
+said slowly, “Doctor Evans wasn’t in. I waited, and waited, and waited,
+but he never came in at all. ’Twas my own fault,” she added quickly.
+Even at such a moment as this she told herself that though she had, in
+a sort of way, a kind of right to lie to her husband, she had no sight
+to slander the doctor who had been so kind to her years ago. “I ought
+to have sent him a card yesterday night,” she said. “Of course, I was a
+fool to go all that way, just on chance of finding a doctor in. It
+stands to reason they’ve got to go out to people at all times of day.”
+
+“I hope they gave you a cup of tea?” he said.
+
+And again she hesitated, debating a point with herself: if the doctor
+had a decent sort of servant, of course, she, Ellen Bunting, would have
+been offered a cup of tea, especially if she explained she’d known him
+a long time.
+
+She compromised. “I was offered some,” she said, in a weak, tired
+voice. “But there, Bunting, I didn’t feel as if I wanted it. I’d be
+very grateful for a cup now—if you’d just make it for me over the
+ring.”
+
+“’Course I will,” he said eagerly. “You just come in and sit down, my
+dear. Don’t trouble to take your things off now—wait till you’ve had
+tea.”
+
+And she obeyed him. “Where’s Daisy?” she asked suddenly. “I thought the
+girl would be back by the time I got home.”
+
+“She ain’t coming home to-day”—there was an odd, sly, smiling look on
+Bunting’s face.
+
+“Did she send a telegram?” asked Mrs. Bunting.
+
+“No. Young Chandler’s just come in and told me. He’s been over there
+and,—would you believe it, Ellen?—he’s managed to make friends with
+Margaret. Wonderful what love will do, ain’t it? He went over there
+just to help Daisy carry her bag back, you know, and then Margaret told
+him that her lady had sent her some money to go to the play, and she
+actually asked Joe to go with them this evening—she and Daisy—to the
+pantomime. Did you ever hear o’ such a thing?”
+
+“Very nice for them, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Bunting absently. But she was
+pleased—pleased to have her mind taken off herself. “Then when is that
+girl coming home?” she asked patiently.
+
+“Well, it appears that Chandler’s got to-morrow morning off too—this
+evening and to-morrow morning. He’ll be on duty all night, but he
+proposes to go over and bring Daisy back in time for early dinner. Will
+that suit you, Ellen?”
+
+“Yes. That’ll be all right,” she said. “I don’t grudge the girl her bit
+of pleasure. One’s only young once. By the way, did the lodger ring
+while I was out?”
+
+Bunting turned round from the gas-ring, which he was watching to see
+the kettle boil. “No,” he said. “Come to think of it, it’s rather a
+funny thing, but the truth is, Ellen, I never gave Mr. Sleuth a
+thought. You see, Chandler came in and was telling me all about
+Margaret, laughing-like, and then something else happened while you was
+out, Ellen.”
+
+“Something else happened?” she said in a startled voice. Getting up
+from her chair she came towards her husband: “What happened? Who came?”
+
+“Just a message for me, asking if I could go to-night to wait at a
+young lady’s birthday party. In Hanover Terrace it is. A waiter—one of
+them nasty Swiss fellows as works for nothing—fell out just at the last
+minute and so they had to send for me.”
+
+His honest face shone with triumph. The man who had taken over his old
+friend’s business in Baker Street had hitherto behaved very badly to
+Bunting, and that though Bunting had been on the books for ever so
+long, and had always given every satisfaction. But this new man had
+never employed him—no, not once.
+
+“I hope you didn’t make yourself too cheap?” said his wife jealously.
+
+“No, that I didn’t! I hum’d and haw’d a lot; and I could see the fellow
+was quite worried—in fact, at the end he offered me half-a-crown more.
+So I graciously consented!”
+
+Husband and wife laughed more merrily than they had done for a long
+time.
+
+“You won’t mind being alone, here? I don’t count the lodger—he’s no
+good—” Bunting looked at her anxiously. He was only prompted to ask the
+question because lately Ellen had been so queer, so unlike herself.
+Otherwise it never would have occurred to him that she could be afraid
+of being alone in the house. She had often been so in the days when he
+got more jobs.
+
+She stared at him, a little suspiciously. “I be afraid?” she echoed.
+“Certainly not. Why should I be? I’ve never been afraid before. What
+d’you exactly mean by that, Bunting?”
+
+“Oh, nothing. I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone on
+this ground floor. You was so upset yesterday when that young fool
+Chandler came, dressed up, to the door.”
+
+“I shouldn’t have been frightened if he’d just been an ordinary
+stranger,” she said shortly. “He said something silly to me—just in
+keeping with his character-like, and it upset me. Besides, I feel
+better now.”
+
+As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise
+outside, the shouts of newspaper-sellers.
+
+“I’ll just run out,” said Bunting apologetically, “and see what
+happened at that inquest to-day. Besides, they may have a clue about
+the horrible affair last night. Chandler was full of it—when he wasn’t
+talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is. He’s on to-night, luckily
+not till twelve o’clock; plenty of time to escort the two of ’em back
+after the play. Besides, he said he’ll put them into a cab and blow the
+expense, if the panto’ goes on too long for him to take ’em home.”
+
+“On to-night?” repeated Mrs. Bunting. “Whatever for?”
+
+“Well, you see, The Avenger’s always done ’em in couples, so to speak.
+They’ve got an idea that he’ll have a try again to-night. However, even
+so, Joe’s only on from midnight till five o’clock. Then he’ll go and
+turn in a bit before going off to fetch Daisy, Fine thing to be young,
+ain’t it, Ellen?”
+
+“I can’t believe that he’d go out on such a night as this!”
+
+“What _do_ you mean?” said Bunting, staring at her. Ellen had spoken so
+oddly, as if to herself, and in so fierce and passionate a tone.
+
+“What do I mean?” she repeated—and a great fear clutched at her heart.
+What had she said? She had been thinking aloud.
+
+“Why, by saying he won’t go out. Of course, he has to go out. Besides,
+he’ll have been to the play as it is. ’Twould be a pretty thing if the
+police didn’t go out, just because it was cold!”
+
+“I—I was thinking of The Avenger,” said Mrs. Bunting. She looked at her
+husband fixedly. Somehow she had felt impelled to utter those true
+words.
+
+“He don’t take no heed of heat nor cold,” said Bunting sombrely. “I
+take it the man’s dead to all human feeling—saving, of course,
+revenge.”
+
+“So that’s your idea about him, is it?” She looked across at her
+husband. Somehow this dangerous, this perilous conversation between
+them attracted her strangely. She felt as if she must go on with it.
+“D’you think he was the man that woman said she saw? That young man
+what passed her with a newspaper parcel?”
+
+“Let me see,” he said slowly. “I thought that ’twas from the bedroom
+window a woman saw him?”
+
+“No, no. I mean the _other_ woman, what was taking her husband’s
+breakfast to him in the warehouse. She was far the most
+respectable-looking woman of the two,” said Mrs. Bunting impatiently.
+
+And then, seeing her husband’s look of utter, blank astonishment, she
+felt a thrill of unreasoning terror. She must have gone suddenly mad to
+have said what she did! Hurriedly she got up from her chair. “There,
+now,” she said; “here I am gossiping all about nothing when I ought to
+be seeing about the lodger’s supper. It was someone in the train talked
+to me about that person as thinks she saw The Avenger.”
+
+Without waiting for an answer, she went into her bedroom, lit the gas,
+and shut the door. A moment later she heard Bunting go out to buy the
+paper they had both forgotten during their dangerous discussion.
+
+As she slowly, languidly took off her nice, warm coat and shawl, Mrs.
+Bunting found herself shivering. It was dreadfully cold, quite
+unnaturally cold even for the time of year.
+
+She looked longingly towards the fireplace. It was now concealed by the
+washhand-stand, but how pleasant it would be to drag that stand aside
+and light a bit of fire, especially as Bunting was going to be out
+to-night. He would have to put on his dress clothes, and she didn’t
+like his dressing in the sitting-room. It didn’t suit her ideas that he
+should do so. How if she did light the fire here, in their bedroom? It
+would be nice for her to have bit of fire to cheer her up after he had
+gone.
+
+Mrs. Bunting knew only too well that she would have very little sleep
+the coming night. She looked over, with shuddering distaste, at her
+nice, soft bed. There she would lie, on that couch of little ease,
+listening—listening. . . .
+
+She went down to the kitchen. Everything was ready for Mr. Sleuth’s
+supper, for she had made all her preparations before going out so as
+not to have to hurry back before it suited her to do so.
+
+Leaning the tray for a moment on the top of the banisters, she
+listened. Even in that nice warm drawing-room, and with a good fire,
+how cold the lodger must feel sitting studying at the table! But
+unwonted sounds were coming through the door. Mr. Sleuth was moving
+restlessly about the room, not sitting reading, as was his wont at this
+time of the evening.
+
+She knocked, and then waited a moment.
+
+There came the sound of a sharp click, that of the key turning in the
+lock of the chiffonnier cupboard—or so Mr. Sleuth’s landlady could have
+sworn.
+
+There was a pause—she knocked again.
+
+“Come in,” said Mr. Sleuth loudly, and she opened the door and carried
+in the tray.
+
+“You are a little earlier than usual, are you not Mrs. Bunting?” he
+said, with a touch of irritation in his voice.
+
+“I don’t think so, sir, but I’ve been out. Perhaps I lost count of the
+time. I thought you’d like your breakfast early, as you had dinner
+rather sooner than usual.”
+
+“Breakfast? Did you say breakfast, Mrs. Bunting?”
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure! I meant supper.” He looked at her
+fixedly. It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that there was a terrible
+questioning look in his dark, sunken eyes.
+
+“Aren’t you well?” he said slowly. “You don’t look well, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“No, sir,” she said. “I’m not well. I went over to see a doctor this
+afternoon, to Ealing, sir.”
+
+“I hope he did you good, Mrs. Bunting”—the lodger’s voice had become
+softer, kinder in quality.
+
+“It always does me good to see the doctor,” said Mrs. Bunting
+evasively.
+
+And then a very odd smile lit up Mr. Sleuth’s face. “Doctors are a
+maligned body of men,” he said. “I’m glad to hear you speak well of
+them. They do their best, Mrs. Bunting. Being human they are liable to
+err, but I assure you they do their best.”
+
+“That I’m sure they do, sir”—she spoke heartily, sincerely. Doctors had
+always treated her most kindly, and even generously.
+
+And then, having laid the cloth, and put the lodger’s one hot dish upon
+it, she went towards the door. “Wouldn’t you like me to bring up
+another scuttleful of coals, sir? it’s bitterly cold—getting colder
+every minute. A fearful night to have to go out in—” she looked at him
+deprecatingly.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth did something which startled her very much. Pushing
+his chair back, he jumped up and drew himself to his full height.
+
+“What d’you mean?” he stammered. “Why did you say that, Mrs. Bunting?”
+
+She stared at him, fascinated, affrighted. Again there came an awful
+questioning look over his face.
+
+“I was thinking of Bunting, sir. He’s got a job to-night. He’s going to
+act as waiter at a young lady’s birthday party. I was thinking it’s a
+pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes, too”—she brought out
+her words jerkily.
+
+Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down. “Ah!” he
+said. “Dear me—I’m sorry to hear that! I hope your husband will not
+catch cold, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
+
+Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy
+washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
+
+Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
+
+“Time for you to dress,” she cried out cheerfully, “and I’ve got a
+little bit of fire for you to dress by.”
+
+As he exclaimed at her extravagance, “Well, ’twill be pleasant for me,
+too; keep me company-like while you’re out; and make the room nice and
+warm when you come in. You’ll be fair perished, even walking that short
+way,” she said.
+
+And then, while her husband was dressing, Mrs. Bunting went upstairs
+and cleared away Mr. Sleuth’s supper.
+
+The lodger said no word while she was so engaged—no word at all.
+
+He was sitting away from the table, rather an unusual thing for him to
+do, and staring into the fire, his hands on his knees.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn. Somehow, a
+great rush of pity, as well as of horror, came over Mrs. Bunting’s
+heart. He was such a—a—she searched for a word in her mind, but could
+only find the word “gentle”—he was such a nice, gentle gentleman, was
+Mr. Sleuth. Lately he had again taken to leaving his money about, as he
+had done the first day or two, and with some concern his landlady had
+seen that the store had diminished a good deal. A very simple
+calculation had made her realise that almost the whole of that missing
+money had come her way, or, at any rate, had passed through her hands.
+
+Mr. Sleuth never stinted himself as to food, or stinted them, his
+landlord and his landlady, as to what he had said he would pay. And
+Mrs. Bunting’s conscience pricked her a little, for he hardly ever used
+that room upstairs—that room for which he had paid extra so generously.
+If Bunting got another job or two through that nasty man in Baker
+Street,—and now that the ice had been broken between them it was very
+probable that he would do so, for he was a very well-trained,
+experienced waiter—then she thought she would tell Mr. Sleuth that she
+no longer wanted him to pay as much as he was now doing.
+
+She looked anxiously, deprecatingly, at his long, bent back.
+
+“Good-night, sir,” she said at last.
+
+Mr. Sleuth turned round. His face looked sad and worn.
+
+“I hope you’ll sleep well, sir.”
+
+“Yes, I’m sure I shall sleep well. But perhaps I shall take a little
+turn first. Such is my way, Mrs. Bunting; after I have been studying
+all day I require a little exercise.”
+
+“Oh, I wouldn’t go out to-night,” she said deprecatingly. “’Tisn’t fit
+for anyone to be out in the bitter cold.”
+
+“And yet—and yet”—he looked at her attentively—“there will probably be
+many people out in the streets to-night.”
+
+“A many more than usual, I fear, sir.”
+
+“Indeed?” said Mr. Sleuth quickly. “Is it not a strange thing, Mrs.
+Bunting, that people who have all day in which to amuse themselves
+should carry their revels far into the night?”
+
+“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of revellers, sir; I was thinking”—she
+hesitated, then, with a gasping effort Mrs. Bunting brought out the
+words, “of the police.”
+
+“The police?” He put up his right hand and stroked his chin two or
+three times with a nervous gesture. “But what is man—what is man’s puny
+power or strength against that of God, or even of those over whose feet
+God has set a guard?”
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked at his landlady with a kind of triumph lighting up
+his face, and Mrs. Bunting felt a shuddering sense of relief. Then she
+had not offended her lodger? She had not made him angry by that,
+that—was it a hint she had meant to convey to him?
+
+“Very true, sir,” she said respectfully. “But Providence means us to
+take care o’ ourselves too.” And then she closed the door behind her
+and went downstairs.
+
+But Mr. Sleuth’s landlady did not go on, down to the kitchen. She came
+into her sitting-room, and, careless of what Bunting would think the
+next morning, put the tray with the remains of the lodger’s meal on her
+table. Having done that, and having turned out the gas in the passage
+and the sitting-room, she went into her bedroom and closed the door.
+
+The fire was burning brightly and clearly. She told herself that she
+did not need any other light to undress by.
+
+What was it made the flames of the fire shoot up, shoot down, in that
+queer way? But watching it for awhile, she did at last doze off a bit.
+
+And then—and then Mrs. Bunting woke with a sudden thumping of her
+heart. Woke to see that the fire was almost out—woke to hear a quarter
+to twelve chime out—woke at last to the sound she had been listening
+for before she fell asleep—the sound of Mr. Sleuth, wearing his
+rubber-soled shoes, creeping downstairs, along the passage, and so out,
+very, very quietly by the front door.
+
+But once she was in bed Mrs. Bunting turned restless. She tossed this
+way and that, full of discomfort and unease. Perhaps it was the
+unaccustomed firelight dancing on the walls, making queer shadows all
+round her, which kept her so wide awake.
+
+She lay thinking and listening—listening and thinking. It even occurred
+to her to do the one thing that might have quieted her excited brain—to
+get a book, one of those detective stories of which Bunting had a
+slender store in the next room, and then, lighting the gas, to sit up
+and read.
+
+No, Mrs. Bunting had always been told it was very wrong to read in bed,
+and she was not in a mood just now to begin doing anything that she had
+been told was wrong. . . .
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+It was a very cold night—so cold, so windy, so snow-laden was the
+atmosphere, that everyone who could do so stayed indoors.
+
+Bunting, however, was now on his way home from what had proved a really
+pleasant job. A remarkable piece of luck had come his way this evening,
+all the more welcome because it was quite unexpected! The young lady at
+whose birthday party he had been present in capacity of waiter had come
+into a fortune that day, and she had had the gracious, the surprising
+thought of presenting each of the hired waiters with a sovereign!
+
+This gift, which had been accompanied by a few kind words, had gone to
+Bunting’s heart. It had confirmed him in his Conservative principles;
+only gentlefolk ever behaved in that way; quiet, old-fashioned,
+respectable, gentlefolk, the sort of people of whom those nasty
+Radicals know nothing and care less!
+
+But the ex-butler was not as happy as he should have been. Slackening
+his footsteps, he began to think with puzzled concern of how queer his
+wife had seemed lately. Ellen had become so nervous, so “jumpy,” that
+he didn’t know what to make of her sometimes. She had never been really
+good-tempered—your capable, self-respecting woman seldom is—but she had
+never been like what she was now. And she didn’t get better as the days
+went on; in fact she got worse. Of late she had been quite hysterical,
+and for no reason at all! Take that little practical joke of young Joe
+Chandler. Ellen knew quite well he often had to go about in some kind
+of disguise, and yet how she had gone on, quite foolish-like—not at all
+as one would have expected her to do.
+
+There was another queer thing about her which disturbed him in more
+senses than one. During the last three weeks or so Ellen had taken to
+talking in her sleep. “No, no, no!” she had cried out, only the night
+before. “It isn’t true—I won’t have it said—it’s a lie!” And there had
+been a wail of horrible fear and revolt in her usually quiet, mincing
+voice.
+
+Whew! it was cold; and he had stupidly forgotten his gloves.
+
+He put his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and began walking
+more quickly.
+
+As he tramped steadily along, the ex-butler suddenly caught sight of
+his lodger walking along the opposite side of the solitary street—one
+of those short streets leading off the broad road which encircles
+Regent’s Park.
+
+Well! This was a funny time o’ night to be taking a stroll for
+pleasure, like!
+
+Glancing across, Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth’s tall, thin figure
+was rather bowed, and that his head was bent toward the ground. His
+left arm was thrust into his long Inverness cape, and so was quite
+hidden, but the other side of the cape bulged out, as if the lodger
+were carrying a bag or parcel in the hand which hung down straight.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was walking rather quickly, and as he walked he talked
+aloud, which, as Bunting knew, is not unusual with gentlemen who live
+much alone. It was clear that he had not yet become aware of the
+proximity of his landlord.
+
+Bunting told himself that Ellen was right. Their lodger was certainly a
+most eccentric, peculiar person. Strange, was it not, that that odd,
+luny-like gentleman should have made all the difference to his,
+Bunting’s, and Mrs. Bunting’s happiness and comfort in life?
+
+Again glancing across at Mr. Sleuth, he reminded himself, not for the
+first time, of this perfect lodger’s one fault—his odd dislike to meat,
+and to what Bunting vaguely called to himself, sensible food.
+
+But there, you can’t have everything! The more so that the lodger was
+not one of those crazy vegetarians who won’t eat eggs and cheese. No,
+he was reasonable in this, as in everything else connected with his
+dealings with the Buntings.
+
+As we know, Bunting saw far less of the lodger than did his wife.
+Indeed, he had been upstairs only three or four times since Mr. Sleuth
+had been with them, and when his landlord had had occasion to wait on
+him the lodger had remained silent. Indeed, their gentleman had made it
+very clear that he did not like either the husband or wife to come up
+to his rooms without being definitely asked to do so.
+
+Now, surely, would be a good opportunity for a little genial
+conversation? Bunting felt pleased to see his lodger; it increased his
+general comfortable sense of satisfaction.
+
+So it was that the butler, still an active man for his years, crossed
+over the road, and, stepping briskly forward, began trying to overtake
+Mr. Sleuth. But the more he hurried along, the more the other hastened,
+and that without ever turning round to see whose steps he could hear
+echoing behind him on the now freezing pavement.
+
+Mr. Sleuth’s own footsteps were quite inaudible—an odd circumstance,
+when you came to think of it—as Bunting did think of it later, lying
+awake by Mrs. Bunting’s side in the pitch darkness. What it meant of
+course, was that the lodger had rubber soles on his shoes. Now Bunting
+had never had a pair of rubber-soled shoes sent down to him to clean.
+He had always supposed the lodger had only one pair of outdoor boots.
+
+The two men—the pursued and the pursuer—at last turned into the
+Marylebone Road; they were now within a few hundred yards of home.
+Plucking up courage, Bunting called out, his voice echoing freshly on
+the still air:
+
+“Mr. Sleuth, sir? Mr. Sleuth!”
+
+The lodger stopped and turned round.
+
+He had been walking so quickly, and he was in so poor a physical
+condition, that the sweat was pouring down his face.
+
+“Ah! So it’s you, Mr. Bunting? I heard footsteps behind me, and I
+hurried on. I wish I’d known that it was you; there are so many queer
+characters about at night in London.”
+
+“Not on a night like this, sir. Only honest folk who have business out
+of doors would be out such a night as this. It _is_ cold, sir!”
+
+And then into Bunting’s slow and honest mind there suddenly crept the
+query as to what on earth Mr. Sleuth’s own business out could be on
+this bitter night.
+
+“Cold?” the lodger repeated; he was panting a little, and his words
+came out sharp and quick through his thin lips. “I can’t say that I
+find it cold, Mr. Bunting. When the snow falls, the air always becomes
+milder.”
+
+“Yes, sir; but to-night there’s such a sharp east wind. Why, it freezes
+the very marrow in one’s bones! Still, there’s nothing like walking in
+cold weather to make one warm, as you seem to have found, sir.”
+
+Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth kept his distance in a rather strange
+way; he walked at the edge of the pavement, leaving the rest of it, on
+the wall side, to his landlord.
+
+“I lost my way,” he said abruptly. “I’ve been over Primrose Hill to see
+a friend of mine, a man with whom I studied when I was a lad, and then,
+coming back, I lost my way.”
+
+Now they had come right up to the little gate which opened on the
+shabby, paved court in front of the house—that gate which now was never
+locked.
+
+Mr. Sleuth, pushing suddenly forward, began walking up the flagged
+path, when, with a “By your leave, sir,” the ex-butler, stepping aside,
+slipped in front of his lodger, in order to open the front door for
+him.
+
+As he passed by Mr. Sleuth, the back of Bunting’s bare left hand
+brushed lightly against the long Inverness cape the lodger was wearing,
+and, to Bunting’s surprise, the stretch of cloth against which his hand
+lay for a moment was not only damp, damp maybe from stray flakes of
+snow which had settled upon it, but wet—wet and gluey.
+
+Bunting thrust his left hand into his pocket; it was with the other
+that he placed the key in the lock of the door.
+
+The two men passed into the hall together.
+
+The house seemed blackly dark in comparison with the lighted-up road
+outside, and as he groped forward, closely followed by the lodger,
+there came over Bunting a sudden, reeling sensation of mortal terror,
+an instinctive, assailing knowledge of frightful immediate danger.
+
+A stuffless voice—the voice of his first wife, the long-dead girl to
+whom his mind so seldom reverted nowadays—uttered into his ear the
+words, “Take care!”
+
+And then the lodger spoke. His voice was harsh and grating, though not
+loud.
+
+“I’m afraid, Mr. Bunting, that you must have felt something dirty,
+foul, on my coat? It’s too long a story to tell you now, but I brushed
+up against a dead animal, a creature to whose misery some thoughtful
+soul had put an end, lying across a bench on Primrose Hill.”
+
+“No, sir, no. I didn’t notice nothing. I scarcely touched you, sir.”
+
+It seemed as if a power outside himself compelled Bunting to utter
+these lying words. “And now, sir, I’ll be saying good-night to you,” he
+said.
+
+Stepping back he pressed with all the strength that was in him against
+the wall, and let the other pass him. There was a pause, and
+then—“Good-night,” returned Mr. Sleuth, in a hollow voice. Bunting
+waited until the lodger had gone upstairs, and then, lighting the gas,
+he sat down there, in the hall. Mr. Sleuth’s landlord felt very
+queer—queer and sick.
+
+He did not draw his left hand out of his pocket till he heard Mr.
+Sleuth shut the bedroom door upstairs. Then he held up his left hand
+and looked at it curiously; it was flecked, streaked with pale reddish
+blood.
+
+Taking off his boots, he crept into the room where his wife lay asleep.
+Stealthily he walked across to the wash-hand-stand, and dipped a hand
+into the water-jug.
+
+“Whatever are you doing? What on earth are you doing?” came a voice
+from the bed, and Bunting started guiltily.
+
+“I’m just washing my hands.”
+
+“Indeed, you’re doing nothing of the sort! I never heard of such a
+thing—putting your hand into the water in which I was going to wash my
+face to-morrow morning!”
+
+“I’m very sorry, Ellen,” he said meekly; “I meant to throw it away. You
+don’t suppose I would have let you wash in dirty water, do you?”
+
+She said no more, but, as he began undressing himself, Mrs. Bunting lay
+staring at him in a way that made her husband feel even more
+uncomfortable than he was already.
+
+At last he got into bed. He wanted to break the oppressive silence by
+telling Ellen about the sovereign the young lady had given him, but
+that sovereign now seemed to Bunting of no more account than if it had
+been a farthing he had picked up in the road outside.
+
+Once more his wife spoke, and he gave so great a start that it shook
+the bed.
+
+“I suppose that you don’t know that you’ve left the light burning in
+the hall, wasting our good money?” she observed tartly.
+
+He got up painfully and opened the door into the passage. It was as she
+had said; the gas was flaring away, wasting their good money—or,
+rather, Mr. Sleuth’s good money. Since he had come to be their lodger
+they had not had to touch their rent money.
+
+Bunting turned out the light and groped his way back to the room, and
+so to bed. Without speaking again to each other, both husband and wife
+lay awake till dawn.
+
+The next morning Mr. Sleuth’s landlord awoke with a start; he felt
+curiously heavy about the limbs, and tired about the eyes.
+
+Drawing his watch from under his pillow, he saw that it was seven
+o’clock. Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the
+blind a little to one side. It was snowing heavily, and, as is the way
+when it snows, even in London, everything was strangely, curiously
+still. After he had dressed he went out into the passage. As he had at
+once dreaded and hoped, their newspaper was already lying on the mat.
+It was probably the sound of its being pushed through the letter-box
+which had waked him from his unrestful sleep.
+
+He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then, shutting
+the door behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper wide open on the
+table, and bent over it.
+
+As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression of
+intense relief shone upon his stolid face. The item of news he had felt
+certain would be printed in big type on the middle sheet was not there.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+Feeling amazingly light-hearted, almost light-headed, Bunting lit the
+gas-ring to make his wife her morning cup of tea.
+
+While he was doing it, he suddenly heard her call out:
+
+“Bunting!” she cried weakly. “Bunting!” Quickly he hurried in response
+to her call. “Yes,” he said. “What is it, my dear? I won’t be a minute
+with your tea.” And he smiled broadly, rather foolishly.
+
+She sat up and looked at him, a dazed expression on her face.
+
+“What are you grinning at?” she asked suspiciously.
+
+“I’ve had a wonderful piece of luck,” he explained. “But you was so
+cross last night that I simply didn’t dare tell you about it.”
+
+“Well, tell me now,” she said in a low voice.
+
+“I had a sovereign given me by the young lady. You see, it was her
+birthday party, Ellen, and she’d come into a nice bit of money, and she
+gave each of us waiters a sovereign.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no comment. Instead, she lay back and closed her
+eyes.
+
+“What time d’you expect Daisy?” she asked languidly. “You didn’t say
+what time Joe was going to fetch her, when we was talking about it
+yesterday.”
+
+“Didn’t I? Well, I expect they’ll be in to dinner.”
+
+“I wonder, how long that old aunt of hers expects us to keep her?” said
+Mrs. Bunting thoughtfully. All the cheer died out of Bunting’s round
+face. He became sullen and angry. It would be a pretty thing if he
+couldn’t have his own daughter for a bit—especially now that they were
+doing so well!
+
+“Daisy’ll stay here just as long as she can,” he said shortly. “It’s
+too bad of you, Ellen, to talk like that! She helps you all she can;
+and she brisks us both up ever so much. Besides, ’twould be cruel—cruel
+to take the girl away just now, just as she and that young chap are
+making friends-like. One would suppose that even you would see the
+justice o’ that!”
+
+But Mrs. Bunting made no answer.
+
+Bunting went off, back into the sitting-room. The water was boiling
+now, so he made the tea; and then, as he brought the little tray in,
+his heart softened. Ellen did look really ill—ill and wizened. He
+wondered if she had a pain about which she wasn’t saying anything. She
+had never been one to grouse about herself.
+
+“The lodger and me came in together last night,” he observed genially.
+“He’s certainly a funny kind of gentleman. It wasn’t the sort of night
+one would have chosen to go out for a walk, now was it? And yet he must
+’a been out a long time if what he said was true.”
+
+“I don’t wonder a quiet gentleman like Mr. Sleuth hates the crowded
+streets,” she said slowly. “They gets worse every day—that they do! But
+go along now; I want to get up.”
+
+He went back into their sitting-room, and, having laid the fire and put
+a match to it, he sat down comfortably with his newspaper.
+
+Deep down in his heart Bunting looked back to this last night with a
+feeling of shame and self-rebuke. Whatever had made such horrible
+thoughts and suspicions as had possessed him suddenly come into his
+head? And just because of a trifling thing like that blood. No doubt
+Mr. Sleuth’s nose had bled—that was what had happened; though, come to
+think of it, he _had_ mentioned brushing up against a dead animal.
+
+Perhaps Ellen was right after all. It didn’t do for one to be always
+thinking of dreadful subjects, of murders and such-like. It made one go
+dotty—that’s what it did.
+
+And just as he was telling himself that, there came to the door a loud
+knock, the peculiar rat-tat-tat of a telegraph boy. But before he had
+time to get across the room, let alone to the front door, Ellen had
+rushed through the room, clad only in a petticoat and shawl.
+
+“I’ll go,” she cried breathlessly. “I’ll go, Bunting; don’t you
+trouble.”
+
+He stared at her, surprised, and followed her into the hall.
+
+She put out a hand, and hiding herself behind the door, took the
+telegram from the invisible boy. “You needn’t wait,” she said. “If
+there’s an answer we’ll send it out ourselves.” Then she tore the
+envelope open—“Oh!” she said with a gasp of relief. “It’s only from Joe
+Chandler, to say he can’t go over to fetch Daisy this morning. Then
+you’ll have to go.”
+
+She walked back into their sitting-room. “There!” she said. “There it
+is, Bunting. You just read it.”
+
+“Am on duty this morning. Cannot fetch Miss Daisy as
+arranged.—CHANDLER.”
+
+
+“I wonder why he’s on duty?” said Bunting slowly, uncomfortably. “I
+thought Joe’s hours was as regular as clockwork—that nothing could make
+any difference to them. However, there it is. I suppose it’ll do all
+right if I start about eleven o’clock? It may have left off snowing by
+then. I don’t feel like going out again just now. I’m pretty tired this
+morning.”
+
+“You start about twelve,” said his wife quickly.
+
+“That’ll give plenty of time.”
+
+The morning went on quietly, uneventfully. Bunting received a letter
+from Old Aunt saying Daisy must come back next Monday, a little under a
+week from now. Mr. Sleuth slept soundly, or, at any rate, he made no
+sign of being awake; and though Mrs. Bunting often, stopped to listen,
+while she was doing her room, there came no sounds at all from
+overhead.
+
+Scarcely aware that it was so, both Bunting and his wife felt more
+cheerful than they had done for a long time. They had quite a pleasant
+little chat when Mrs. Bunting came and sat down for a bit, before going
+down to prepare Mr. Sleuth’s breakfast.
+
+“Daisy will be surprised to see you—not to say disappointed!” she
+observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at the
+thought. And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made him stay
+on a little longer. “There’s no such great hurry as that,” she said
+good-temperedly. “It’ll do quite well if you’re there by half-past
+twelve. I’ll get dinner ready myself. Daisy needn’t help with that. I
+expect Margaret has worked her pretty hard.”
+
+But at last there came the moment when Bunting had to start, and his
+wife went with him to the front door. It was still snowing, less
+heavily, but still snowing. There were very few people coming and
+going, and only just a few cabs and carts dragging cautiously along
+through the slush.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was still in the kitchen when there came a ring and a
+knock at the door—a now very familiar ring and knock. “Joe thinks
+Daisy’s home again by now!” she said, smiling to herself.
+
+Before the door was well open, she heard Chandler’s voice. “Don’t be
+scared this time, Mrs. Bunting!” But though not exactly scared, she did
+give a gasp of surprise. For there stood Joe, made up to represent a
+public-house loafer; and he looked the part to perfection, with his
+hair combed down raggedly over his forehead, his seedy-looking,
+ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and greenish-black pot hat.
+
+“I haven’t a minute,” he said a little breathlessly. “But I thought I’d
+just run in to know if Miss Daisy was safe home again. You got my
+telegram all right? I couldn’t send no other kind of message.”
+
+“She’s not back yet. Her father hasn’t been gone long after her.” Then,
+struck by a look in his eyes, “Joe, what’s the matter?” she asked
+quickly.
+
+There came a thrill of suspense in her voice, her face grew drawn,
+while what little colour there was in it receded, leaving it very pale.
+
+“Well,” he said. “Well, Mrs. Bunting, I’ve no business to say anything
+about it—but I _will_ tell _you!_”
+
+He walked in and shut the door of the sitting-room carefully behind
+him. “There’s been another of ’em!” he whispered. “But this time no one
+is to know anything about it—not for the present, I mean,” he corrected
+himself hastily. “The Yard thinks we’ve got a clue—and a good clue,
+too, this time.”
+
+“But where—and how?” faltered Mrs. Bunting.
+
+“Well, ’twas just a bit of luck being able to keep it dark for the
+present”—he still spoke in that stifled, hoarse whisper. “The poor soul
+was found dead on a bench on Primrose Hill. And just by chance ’twas
+one of our fellows saw the body first. He was on his way home, over
+Hampstead way. He knew where he’d be able to get an ambulance quick,
+and he made a very clever, secret job of it. I ’spect he’ll get
+promotion for that!”
+
+“What about the clue?” asked Mrs. Bunting, with dry lips. “You said
+there was a clue?”
+
+“Well, I don’t rightly understand about the clue myself. All I knows is
+it’s got something to do with a public-house, ‘The Hammer and Tongs,’
+which isn’t far off there. They feels sure The Avenger was in the bar
+just on closing-time.”
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat down. She felt better now. It was natural the
+police should suspect a public-house loafer. “Then that’s why you
+wasn’t able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?”
+
+He nodded. “Mum’s the word, Mrs. Bunting! It’ll all be in the last
+editions of the evening newspapers—it can’t be kep’ out. There’d be too
+much of a row if ’twas!”
+
+“Are you going off to that public-house now?” she asked.
+
+“Yes, I am. I’ve got a awk’ard job—to try and worm something out of the
+barmaid.”
+
+“Something out of the barmaid?” repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously. “Why,
+whatever for?”
+
+He came and stood close to her. “They think ’twas a gentleman,” he
+whispered.
+
+“A gentleman?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression. “Whatever
+makes them think such a silly thing as that?”
+
+“Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a
+leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of
+milk. And what d’you think he did? Paid for it with a sovereign! He
+wouldn’t take no change—just made the girl a present of it! That’s why
+the young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to give him away.
+She won’t tell now what he was like. She doesn’t know what he’s wanted
+for, and we don’t want her to know just yet. That’s one reason why
+nothing’s being said public about it. But there! I really must be going
+now. My time’ll be up at three o’clock. I thought of coming in on the
+way back, and asking you for a cup o’ tea, Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“Do,” she said. “Do, Joe. You’ll be welcome,” but there was no welcome
+in her tired voice.
+
+She let him go alone to the door, and then she went down to her
+kitchen, and began cooking Mr. Sleuth’s breakfast.
+
+The lodger would be sure to ring soon; and then any minute Bunting and
+Daisy might be home, and they’d want something, too. Margaret always
+had breakfast even when “the family” were away, unnaturally early.
+
+As she bustled about Mrs. Bunting tried to empty her mind of all
+thought. But it is very difficult to do that when one is in a state of
+torturing uncertainty. She had not dared to ask Chandler what they
+supposed that man who had gone into the public-house was really like.
+It was fortunate, indeed, that the lodger and that inquisitive young
+chap had never met face to face.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth’s bell rang—a quiet little tinkle. But when she went
+up with his breakfast the lodger was not in his sitting-room.
+
+Supposing him to be still in his bedroom, Mrs. Bunting put the cloth on
+the table, and then she heard the sound of his footsteps coming down
+the stairs, and her quick ears detected the slight whirring sound which
+showed that the gas-stove was alight. Mr. Sleuth had already lit the
+stove; that meant that he would carry out some elaborate experiment
+this afternoon.
+
+“Still snowing?” he said doubtfully. “How very, very quiet and still
+London is when under snow, Mrs. Bunting. I have never known it quite as
+quiet as this morning. Not a sound, outside or in. A very pleasant
+change from the shouting which sometimes goes on in the Marylebone
+Road.”
+
+“Yes,” she said dully. “It’s awful quiet to-day—too quiet to my
+thinking. ’Tain’t natural-like.”
+
+The outside gate swung to, making a noisy clatter in the still air.
+
+“Is that someone coming in here?” asked Mr. Sleuth, drawing a quick,
+hissing breath. “Perhaps you will oblige me by going to the window and
+telling me who it is, Mrs. Bunting?”
+
+And his landlady obeyed him.
+
+“It’s only Bunting, sir—Bunting and his daughter.”
+
+“Oh! Is that all?”
+
+Mr. Sleuth hurried after her, and she shrank back a little. She had
+never been quite so near to the lodger before, save on that first day
+when she had been showing him her rooms.
+
+Side by side they stood, looking out of the window. And, as if aware
+that someone was standing there, Daisy turned her bright face up
+towards the window and smiled at her stepmother, and at the lodger,
+whose face she could only dimly discern.
+
+“A very sweet-looking young girl,” said Mr. Sleuth thoughtfully. And
+then he quoted a little bit of poetry, and this took Mrs. Bunting very
+much aback.
+
+“Wordsworth,” he murmured dreamily. “A poet too little read nowadays,
+Mrs. Bunting; but one with a beautiful feeling for nature, for youth,
+for innocence.”
+
+“Indeed, sir?” Mrs. Bunting stepped back a little. “Your breakfast will
+be getting cold, sir, if you don’t have it now.”
+
+He went back to the table, obediently, and sat down as a child rebuked
+might have done.
+
+And then his landlady left him.
+
+“Well?” said Bunting cheerily. “Everything went off quite all right.
+And Daisy’s a lucky girl—that she is! Her Aunt Margaret gave her five
+shillings.”
+
+But Daisy did not look as pleased as her father thought she ought to
+do.
+
+“I hope nothing’s happened to Mr. Chandler,” she said a little
+disconsolately. “The very last words he said to me last night was that
+he’d be there at ten o’clock. I got quite fidgety as the time went on
+and he didn’t come.”
+
+“He’s been here,” said Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+
+“Been here?” cried her husband. “Then why on earth didn’t he go and
+fetch Daisy, if he’d time to come here?”
+
+“He was on the way to his job,” his wife answered. “You run along,
+child, downstairs. Now that you are here you can make yourself useful.”
+
+And Daisy reluctantly obeyed. She wondered what it was her stepmother
+didn’t want her to hear.
+
+“I’ve something to tell you, Bunting.”
+
+“Yes?” He looked across uneasily. “Yes, Ellen?”
+
+“There’s been another o’ those murders. But the police don’t want
+anyone to know about it—not yet. That’s why Joe couldn’t go over and
+fetch Daisy. They’re all on duty again.”
+
+Bunting put out his hand and clutched hold of the edge of the
+mantelpiece. He had gone very red, but his wife was far too much
+concerned with her own feelings and sensations to notice it.
+
+There was a long silence between them. Then he spoke, making a great
+effort to appear unconcerned.
+
+“And where did it happen?” he asked. “Close to the other one?”
+
+She hesitated, then: “I don’t know. He didn’t say. But hush!” she added
+quickly. “Here’s Daisy! Don’t let’s talk of that horror in front of
+her-like. Besides, I promised Chandler I’d be mum.”
+
+And he acquiesced.
+
+“You can be laying the cloth, child, while I go up and clear away the
+lodger’s breakfast.” Without waiting for an answer, she hurried
+upstairs.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had left the greater part of the nice lemon sole untouched.
+“I don’t feel well to-day,” he said fretfully. “And, Mrs. Bunting? I
+should be much obliged if your husband would lend me that paper I saw
+in his hand. I do not often care to look at the public prints, but I
+should like to do so now.”
+
+She flew downstairs. “Bunting,” she said a little breathlessly, “the
+lodger would like you just to lend him the Sun.”
+
+Bunting handed it over to her. “I’ve read it through,” he observed.
+“You can tell him that I don’t want it back again.”
+
+On her way up she glanced down at the pink sheet. Occupying a third of
+the space was an irregular drawing, and under it was written, in rather
+large characters:
+
+“We are glad to be able to present our readers with an authentic
+reproduction of the footprint of the half-worn rubber sole which was
+almost certainly worn by The Avenger when he committed his double
+murder ten days ago.”
+
+
+She went into the sitting-room. To her relief it was empty.
+
+“Kindly put the paper down on the table,” came Mr. Sleuth’s muffled
+voice from the upper landing.
+
+She did so. “Yes, sir. And Bunting don’t want the paper back again,
+sir. He says he’s read it.” And then she hurried out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+All afternoon it went on snowing; and the three of them sat there,
+listening and waiting—Bunting and his wife hardly knew for what; Daisy
+for the knock which would herald Joe Chandler.
+
+And about four there came the now familiar sound.
+
+Mrs. Bunting hurried out into the passage, and as she opened the front
+door she whispered, “We haven’t said anything to Daisy yet. Young girls
+can’t keep secrets.”
+
+Chandler nodded comprehendingly. He now looked the low character he had
+assumed to the life, for he was blue with cold, disheartened, and tired
+out.
+
+Daisy gave a little cry of shocked surprise, of amusement, of welcome,
+when she saw how cleverly he was disguised.
+
+“I never!” she exclaimed. “What a difference it do make, to be sure!
+Why, you looks quite horrid, Mr. Chandler.”
+
+And, somehow, that little speech of hers amused her father so much that
+he quite cheered up. Bunting had been very dull and quiet all that
+afternoon.
+
+“It won’t take me ten minutes to make myself respectable again,” said
+the young man rather ruefully.
+
+His host and hostess, looking at him eagerly, furtively, both came to
+the conclusion that he had been unsuccessful—that he had failed, that
+is, in getting any information worth having. And though, in a sense,
+they all had a pleasant tea together, there was an air of constraint,
+even of discomfort, over the little party.
+
+Bunting felt it hard that he couldn’t ask the questions that were
+trembling on his lips; he would have felt it hard any time during the
+last month to refrain from knowing anything Joe could tell him, but now
+it seemed almost intolerable to be in this queer kind of half suspense.
+There was one important fact he longed to know, and at last came his
+opportunity of doing so, for Joe Chandler rose to leave, and this time
+it was Bunting who followed him out into the hall.
+
+“Where did it happen?” he whispered. “Just tell me that, Joe?”
+
+“Primrose Hill,” said the other briefly. “You’ll know all about it in a
+minute or two, for it’ll be all in the last editions of the evening
+papers. That’s what’s been arranged.”
+
+“No arrest I suppose?”
+
+Chandler shook his head despondently. “No,” he said, “I’m inclined to
+think the Yard was on a wrong tack altogether this time. But one can
+only do one’s best. I don’t know if Mrs. Bunting told you I’d got to
+question a barmaid about a man who was in her place just before
+closing-time. Well, she’s said all she knew, and it’s as clear as
+daylight to me that the eccentric old gent she talks about was only a
+harmless luny. He gave her a sovereign just because she told him she
+was a teetotaller!” He laughed ruefully.
+
+Even Bunting was diverted at the notion. “Well, that’s a queer thing
+for a barmaid to be!” he exclaimed. “She’s niece to the people what
+keeps the public,” explained Chandler; and then he went out of the
+front door with a cheerful “So long!”
+
+When Bunting went back into the sitting-room Daisy had disappeared. She
+had gone downstairs with the tray. “Where’s my girl?” he said
+irritably.
+
+“She’s just taken the tray downstairs.”
+
+He went out to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called out sharply,
+“Daisy! Daisy, child! Are you down there?”
+
+“Yes, father,” came her eager, happy voice.
+
+“Better come up out of that cold kitchen.”
+
+He turned and came back to his wife. “Ellen, is the lodger in? I
+haven’t heard him moving about. Now mind what I says, please! I don’t
+want Daisy to be mixed up with him.”
+
+“Mr. Sleuth don’t seem very well to-day,” answered Mrs. Bunting
+quietly. “’Tain’t likely I should let Daisy have anything to do with
+him. Why, she’s never even seen him. ’Tain’t likely I should allow her
+to begin waiting on him now.”
+
+But though she was surprised and a little irritated by the tone in
+which Bunting had spoken, no glimmer of the truth illumined her mind.
+So accustomed had she become to bearing alone the burden of her awful
+secret, that it would have required far more than a cross word or two,
+far more than the fact that Bunting looked ill and tired, for her to
+have come to suspect that her secret was now shared by another, and
+that other her husband.
+
+Again and again the poor soul had agonised and trembled at the thought
+of her house being invaded by the police, but that was only because she
+had always credited the police with supernatural powers of detection.
+That they should come to know the awful fact she kept hidden in her
+breast would have seemed to her, on the whole, a natural thing, but
+that Bunting should even dimly suspect it appeared beyond the range of
+possibility.
+
+And yet even Daisy noticed a change in her father. He sat cowering over
+the fire—saying nothing, doing nothing.
+
+“Why, father, ain’t you well?” the girl asked more than once.
+
+And, looking up, he would answer, “Yes, I’m well enough, my girl, but I
+feels cold. It’s awful cold. I never did feel anything like the cold
+we’ve got just now.”
+
+At eight the now familiar shouts and cries began again outside.
+
+“The Avenger again!” “Another horrible crime!” “Extra speshul
+edition!”—such were the shouts, the exultant yells, hurled through the
+clear, cold air. They fell, like bombs into the quiet room.
+
+Both Bunting and his wife remained silent, but Daisy’s cheeks grew pink
+with excitement, and her eye sparkled.
+
+“Hark, father! Hark, Ellen! D’you hear that?” she exclaimed childishly,
+and even clapped her hands. “I do wish Mr. Chandler had been here. He
+_would_ ’a been startled!”
+
+“Don’t, Daisy!” and Bunting frowned.
+
+Then, getting up, he stretched himself. “It’s fair getting on my mind,”
+he said, “these horrible things happening. I’d like to get right away
+from London, just as far as I could—that I would!”
+
+“Up to John-o’-Groat’s?” said Daisy, laughing. And then, “Why, father,
+ain’t you going out to get a paper?”
+
+“Yes, I suppose I must.”
+
+Slowly he went out of the room, and, lingering a moment in the hall, he
+put on his greatcoat and hat. Then he opened the front door, and walked
+down the flagged path. Opening the iron gate, he stepped out on the
+pavement, then crossed the road to where the newspaper-boys now stood.
+
+The boy nearest to him only had the _Sun_—a late edition of the paper
+he had already read. It annoyed Bunting to give a penny for a ha’penny
+rag of which he already knew the main contents. But there was nothing
+else to do.
+
+Standing under a lamp-post, he opened out the newspaper. It was
+bitingly cold; that, perhaps, was why his hand shook as he looked down
+at the big headlines. For Bunting had been very unfair to the
+enterprise of the editor of his favourite evening paper. This special
+edition was full of new matter—new matter concerning The Avenger.
+
+First, in huge type right across the page, was the brief statement that
+The Avenger had now committed his ninth crime, and that he had chosen
+quite a new locality, namely, the lonely stretch of rising ground known
+to Londoners as Primrose Hill.
+
+“The police,” so Bunting read, “are very reserved as to the
+circumstances which led to the finding of the body of The Avenger’s
+latest victim. But we have reason to believe that they possess several
+really important clues, and that one of them is concerned with the
+half-worn rubber sole of which we are the first to reproduce an outline
+to-day. (See over page.)”
+
+
+And Bunting, turning the sheet round about, saw the irregular outline
+he had already seen in the early edition of the Sun, that purporting to
+be a facsimile of the imprint left by The Avenger’s rubber sole.
+
+He stared down at the rough outline which took up so much of the space
+which should have been devoted to reading matter with a queer, sinking
+feeling of terrified alarm. Again and again criminals had been tracked
+by the marks their boots or shoes had made at or near the scenes of
+their misdoings.
+
+Practically the only job Bunting did in his own house of a menial kind
+was the cleaning of the boots and shoes. He had already visualised
+early this very afternoon the little row with which he dealt each
+morning—first came his wife’s strong, serviceable boots, then his own
+two pairs, a good deal patched and mended, and next to his own Mr.
+Sleuth’s strong, hardly worn, and expensive buttoned boots. Of late a
+dear little coquettish high-heeled pair of outdoor shoes with thin,
+paperlike soles, bought by Daisy for her trip to London, had ended the
+row. The girl had worn these thin shoes persistently, in defiance of
+Ellen’s reproof and advice, and he, Bunting, had only once had to clean
+her more sensible country pair, and that only because the others had
+become wet through the day he and she had accompanied young Chandler to
+Scotland Yard.
+
+Slowly he returned across the road. Somehow the thought of going in
+again, of hearing his wife’s sarcastic comments, of parrying Daisy’s
+eager questions, had become intolerable. So he walked slowly, trying to
+put off the evil moment when he would have to tell them what was in his
+paper.
+
+The lamp under which he had stood reading was not exactly opposite the
+house. It was rather to the right of it. And when, having crossed over
+the roadway, he walked along the pavement towards his own gate, he
+heard odd, shuffling sounds coming from the inner side of the low wall
+which shut off his little courtyard from the pavement.
+
+Now, under ordinary circumstances Bunting would have rushed forward to
+drive out whoever was there. He and his wife had often had trouble,
+before the cold weather began, with vagrants seeking shelter there. But
+to-night he stayed outside, listening intently, sick with suspense and
+fear.
+
+Was it possible that their place was being watched—already? He thought
+it only too likely. Bunting, like Mrs. Bunting, credited the police
+with almost supernatural powers, especially since he had paid that
+visit to Scotland Yard.
+
+But to Bunting’s amazement, and, yes, relief, it was his lodger who
+suddenly loomed up in the dim light.
+
+Mr. Sleuth must have been stooping down, for his tall, lank form had
+been quite concealed till he stepped forward from behind the low wall
+on to the flagged path leading to the front door.
+
+The lodger was carrying a brown paper parcel, and, as he walked along,
+the new boots he was wearing creaked, and the tap-tap of hard
+nail-studded heels rang out on the flat-stones of the narrow path.
+
+Bunting, still standing outside the gate, suddenly knew what it was his
+lodger had been doing on the other side of the low wall. Mr. Sleuth had
+evidently been out to buy himself another pair of new boots, and then
+he had gone inside the gate and had put them on, placing his old
+footgear in the paper in which the new pair had been wrapped.
+
+The ex-butler waited—waited quite a long time, not only until Mr.
+Sleuth had let himself into the house, but till the lodger had had time
+to get well away, upstairs.
+
+Then he also walked up the flagged pathway, and put his latchkey in the
+door. He lingered as long over the job of hanging his hat and coat up
+in the hall as he dared, in fact till his wife called out to him. Then
+he went in, and throwing the paper down on the table, he said sullenly:
+“There it is! You can see it all for yourself—not that there’s very
+much to see,” and groped his way to the fire.
+
+His wife looked at him in sharp alarm. “Whatever have you done to
+yourself?” she exclaimed. “You’re ill—that’s what it is, Bunting. You
+got a chill last night!”
+
+“I told you I’d got a chill,” he muttered. “’Twasn’t last night,
+though; ’twas going out this morning, coming back in the bus. Margaret
+keeps that housekeeper’s room o’ hers like a hothouse—that’s what she
+does. ’Twas going out from there into the biting wind, that’s what did
+for me. It must be awful to stand about in such weather; ’tis a wonder
+to me how that young fellow, Joe Chandler, can stand the life—being out
+in all weathers like he is.”
+
+Bunting spoke at random, his one anxiety being to get away from what
+was in the paper, which now lay, neglected, on the table.
+
+“Those that keep out o’ doors all day never do come to no harm,” said
+his wife testily. “But if you felt so bad, whatever was you out so long
+for, Bunting? I thought you’d gone away somewhere! D’you mean you only
+went to get the paper?”
+
+“I just stopped for a second to look at it under the lamp,” he muttered
+apologetically.
+
+“That was a silly thing to do!”
+
+“Perhaps it was,” he admitted meekly.
+
+Daisy had taken up the paper. “Well, they don’t say much,” she said
+disappointedly. “Hardly anything at all! But perhaps Mr. Chandler ’ll
+be in soon again. If so, he’ll tell us more about it.”
+
+“A young girl like you oughtn’t to want to know anything about
+murders,” said her stepmother severely. “Joe won’t think any the better
+of you for your inquisitiveness about such things. If I was you, Daisy,
+I shouldn’t say nothing about it if he does come in—which I fair tell
+you I hope he won’t. I’ve seen enough of that young chap to-day.”
+
+“He didn’t come in for long—not to-day,” said Daisy, her lip trembling.
+
+“I can tell you one thing that’ll surprise you, my dear”—Mrs. Bunting
+looked significantly at her stepdaughter. She also wanted to get away
+from that dread news—which yet was no news.
+
+“Yes?” said Daisy, rather defiantly. “What is it, Ellen?”
+
+“Maybe you’ll be surprised to hear that Joe did come in this morning.
+He knew all about that affair then, but he particular asked that you
+shouldn’t be told anything about it.”
+
+“Never!” cried Daisy, much mortified.
+
+“Yes,” went on her stepmother ruthlessly. “You just ask your father
+over there if it isn’t true.”
+
+“’Tain’t a healthy thing to speak overmuch about such happenings,” said
+Bunting heavily.
+
+“If I was Joe,” went on Mrs. Bunting, quickly pursuing her advantage,
+“I shouldn’t want to talk about such horrid things when I comes in to
+have a quiet chat with friends. But the minute he comes in that poor
+young chap is set upon—mostly, I admit, by your father,” she looked at
+her husband severely. “But you does your share, too, Daisy! You asks
+him this, you asks him that—he’s fair puzzled sometimes. It don’t do to
+be so inquisitive.”
+
+And perhaps because of this little sermon on Mrs. Bunting’s part when
+young Chandler did come in again that evening, very little was said of
+the new Avenger murder.
+
+Bunting made no reference to it at all, and though Daisy said a word,
+it was but a word. And Joe Chandler thought he had never spent a
+pleasanter evening in his life—for it was he and Daisy who talked all
+the time, their elders remaining for the most part silent.
+
+Daisy told of all that she had done with Aunt Margaret. She described
+the long, dull hours and the queer jobs her aunt set her to do—the
+washing up of all the fine drawing-room china in a big basin lined with
+flannel, and how terrified she (Daisy) had been lest there should come
+even one teeny little chip to any of it. Then she went on to relate
+some of the funny things Aunt Margaret had told her about “the family.”
+
+There came a really comic tale, which hugely interested and delighted
+Chandler. This was of how Aunt Margaret’s lady had been taken in by an
+impostor—an impostor who had come up, just as she was stepping out of
+her carriage, and pretended to have a fit on the doorstep. Aunt
+Margaret’s lady, being a soft one, had insisted on the man coming into
+the hall, where he had been given all kinds of restoratives. When the
+man had at last gone off, it was found that he had “wolfed” young
+master’s best walking-stick, one with a fine tortoise-shell top to it.
+Thus had Aunt Margaret proved to her lady that the man had been
+shamming, and her lady had been very angry—near had a fit herself!
+
+“There’s a lot of that about,” said Chandler, laughing. “Incorrigible
+rogues and vagabonds—that’s what those sort of people are!”
+
+And then he, in his turn, told an elaborate tale of an exceptionally
+clever swindler whom he himself had brought to book. He was very proud
+of that job, it had formed a white stone in his career as a detective.
+And even Mrs. Bunting was quite interested to hear about it.
+
+Chandler was still sitting there when Mr. Sleuth’s bell rang. For
+awhile no one stirred; then Bunting looked questioningly at his wife.
+
+“Did you hear that?” he said. “I think, Ellen, that was the lodger’s
+bell.”
+
+She got up, without alacrity, and went upstairs.
+
+“I rang,” said Mr. Sleuth weakly, “to tell you I don’t require any
+supper to-night, Mrs. Bunting. Only a glass of milk, with a lump of
+sugar in it. That is all I require—nothing more. I feel very very far
+from well”—and he had a hunted, plaintive expression on his face. “And
+then I thought your husband would like his paper back again, Mrs.
+Bunting.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting, looking at him fixedly, with a sad intensity of gaze of
+which she was quite unconscious, answered, “Oh, no, sir! Bunting don’t
+require that paper now. He read it all through.” Something impelled her
+to add, ruthlessly, “He’s got another paper by now, sir. You may have
+heard them come shouting outside. Would you like me to bring you up
+that other paper, sir?”
+
+And Mr. Sleuth shook his head. “No,” he said querulously. “I much
+regret now having asked for the one paper I did read, for it disturbed
+me, Mrs. Bunting. There was nothing of any value in it—there never is
+in any public print. I gave up reading newspapers years ago, and I much
+regret that I broke through my rule to-day.”
+
+As if to indicate to her that he did not wish for any more
+conversation, the lodger then did what he had never done before in his
+landlady’s presence. He went over to the fireplace and deliberately
+turned his back on her.
+
+She went down and brought up the glass of milk and the lump of sugar he
+had asked for.
+
+Now he was in his usual place, sitting at the table, studying the Book.
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went back to the others they were chatting merrily.
+She did not notice that the merriment was confined to the two young
+people.
+
+“Well?” said Daisy pertly. “How about the lodger, Ellen? Is he all
+right?”
+
+“Yes,” she said stiffly. “Of course he is!”
+
+“He must feel pretty dull sitting up there all by himself—awful
+lonely-like, I call it,” said the girl.
+
+But her stepmother remained silent.
+
+“Whatever does he do with himself all day?” persisted Daisy.
+
+“Just now he’s reading the Bible,” Mrs. Bunting answered, shortly and
+dryly.
+
+“Well, I never! That’s a funny thing for a gentleman to do!”
+
+And Joe, alone of her three listeners, laughed—a long hearty peal of
+amusement.
+
+“There’s nothing to laugh at,” said Mrs. Bunting sharply. “I should
+feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected with the
+Bible.”
+
+And poor Joe became suddenly quite serious. This was the first time
+that Mrs. Bunting had ever spoken really nastily to him, and he
+answered very humbly, “I beg pardon. I know I oughtn’t to have laughed
+at anything to do with the Bible, but you see, Miss Daisy said it so
+funny-like, and, by all accounts, your lodger must be a queer card,
+Mrs. Bunting.”
+
+“He’s no queerer than many people I could mention,” she said quickly;
+and with these enigmatic words she got up, and left the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+
+Each hour of the days that followed held for Bunting its full meed of
+aching fear and suspense.
+
+The unhappy man was ever debating within himself what course he should
+pursue, and, according to his mood and to the state of his mind at any
+particular moment, he would waver between various widely-differing
+lines of action.
+
+He told himself again and again, and with fretful unease, that the most
+awful thing about it all was that _he wasn’t sure_. If only he could
+have been _sure_, he might have made up his mind exactly what it was he
+ought to do.
+
+But when telling himself this he was deceiving himself, and he was
+vaguely conscious of the fact; for, from Bunting’s point of view,
+almost any alternative would have been preferable to that which to
+some, nay, perhaps to most, householders would have seemed the only
+thing to do, namely, to go to the police. But Londoners of Bunting’s
+class have an uneasy fear of the law. To his mind it would be ruin for
+him and for his Ellen to be mixed up publicly in such a terrible
+affair. No one concerned in the business would give them and their
+future a thought, but it would track them to their dying day, and,
+above all, it would make it quite impossible for them ever to get again
+into a good joint situation. It was that for which Bunting, in his
+secret soul, now longed with all his heart.
+
+No, some other way than going to the police must be found—and he racked
+his slow brain to find it.
+
+The worst of it was that every hour that went by made his future course
+more difficult and more delicate, and increased the awful weight on his
+conscience.
+
+If only he really knew! If only he could feel quite sure! And then he
+would tell himself that, after all, he had very little to go upon; only
+suspicion—suspicion, and a secret, horrible certainty that his
+suspicion was justified.
+
+And so at last Bunting began to long for a solution which he knew to be
+indefensible from every point of view; he began to hope, that is, in
+the depths of his heart, that the lodger would again go out one evening
+on his horrible business and be caught—red-handed.
+
+But far from going out on any business, horrible or other, Mr. Sleuth
+now never went out at all. He kept upstairs, and often spent quite a
+considerable part of his day in bed. He still felt, so he assured Mrs.
+Bunting, very far from well. He had never thrown off the chill he had
+caught on that bitter night he and his landlord had met on their
+several ways home.
+
+Joe Chandler, too, had become a terrible complication to Daisy’s
+father. The detective spent every waking hour that he was not on duty
+with the Buntings; and Bunting, who at one time had liked him so well
+and so cordially, now became mortally afraid of him.
+
+But though the young man talked of little else than The Avenger, and
+though on one evening he described at immense length the
+eccentric-looking gent who had given the barmaid a sovereign, picturing
+Mr. Sleuth with such awful accuracy that both Bunting and Mrs. Bunting
+secretly and separately turned sick when they listened to him, he never
+showed the slightest interest in their lodger.
+
+At last there came a morning when Bunting and Chandler held a strange
+conversation about The Avenger. The young fellow had come in earlier
+than usual, and just as he arrived Mrs. Bunting and Daisy were starting
+out to do some shopping. The girl would fain have stopped behind, but
+her stepmother had given her a very peculiar, disagreeable look, daring
+her, so to speak, to be so forward, and Daisy had gone on with a
+flushed, angry look on her pretty face.
+
+And then, as young Chandler stepped through into the sitting-room, it
+suddenly struck Bunting that the young man looked unlike
+himself—indeed, to the ex-butler’s apprehension there was something
+almost threatening in Chandler’s attitude.
+
+“I want a word with you, Mr. Bunting,” he began abruptly, falteringly.
+“And I’m glad to have the chance now that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Daisy
+are out.”
+
+Bunting braced himself to hear the awful words—the accusation of having
+sheltered a murderer, the monster whom all the world was seeking, under
+his roof. And then he remembered a phrase, a horrible legal
+phrase—“Accessory after the fact.” Yes, he had been that, there wasn’t
+any doubt about it!
+
+“Yes?” he said. “What is it, Joe?” and then the unfortunate man sat
+down in his chair. “Yes?” he said again uncertainly; for young Chandler
+had now advanced to the table, he was looking at Bunting fixedly—the
+other thought threateningly. “Well, out with it, Joe! Don’t keep me in
+suspense.”
+
+And then a slight smile broke over the young man’s face. “I don’t think
+what I’ve got to say can take you by surprise, Mr. Bunting.”
+
+And Bunting wagged his head in a way that might mean anything—yes or
+no, as the case might be.
+
+The two men looked at one another for what seemed a very, very long
+time to the elder of them. And then, making a great effort, Joe
+Chandler brought out the words, “Well, I suppose you know what it is I
+want to talk about. I’m sure Mrs. Bunting would, from a look or two
+she’s lately cast on me. It’s your daughter—it’s Miss Daisy.”
+
+And then Bunting gave a kind of cry, ’twixt a sob and a laugh. “My
+girl?” he cried. “Good Lord, Joe! Is that all you wants to talk about?
+Why, you fair frightened me—that you did!”
+
+And, indeed, the relief was so great that the room swam round as he
+stared across it at his daughter’s lover, that lover who was also the
+embodiment of that now awful thing to him, the law. He smiled, rather
+foolishly, at his visitor; and Chandler felt a sharp wave of
+irritation, of impatience sweep over his good-natured soul. Daisy’s
+father was an old stupid—that’s what he was.
+
+And then Bunting grew serious. The room ceased to go round. “As far as
+I’m concerned,” he said, with a good deal of solemnity, even a little
+dignity, “you have my blessing, Joe. You’re a very likely young chap,
+and I had a true respect for your father.”
+
+“Yes,” said Chandler, “that’s very kind of you, Mr. Bunting. But how
+about her—her herself?”
+
+Bunting stared at him. It pleased him to think that Daisy hadn’t given
+herself away, as Ellen was always hinting the girl was doing.
+
+“I can’t answer for Daisy,” he said heavily. “You’ll have to ask her
+yourself—that’s not a job any other man can do for you, my lad.”
+
+“I never gets a chance. I never sees her, not by our two selves,” said
+Chandler, with some heat. “You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Bunting,
+that I never do see Miss Daisy alone,” he repeated. “I hear now that
+she’s going away Monday, and I’ve only once had the chance of a walk
+with her. Mrs. Bunting’s very particular, not to say pernickety in her
+ideas, Mr. Bunting—”
+
+“That’s a fault on the right side, that is—with a young girl,” said
+Bunting thoughtfully.
+
+And Chandler nodded. He quite agreed that as regarded other young chaps
+Mrs. Bunting could not be too particular.
+
+“She’s been brought up like a lady, my Daisy has,” went on Bunting,
+with some pride. “That Old Aunt of hers hardly lets her out of her
+sight.”
+
+“I was coming to the old aunt,” said Chandler heavily. “Mrs. Bunting
+she talks as if your daughter was going to stay with that old woman the
+whole of her natural life—now is that right? That’s what I wants to ask
+you, Mr. Bunting,—is that right?”
+
+“I’ll say a word to Ellen, don’t you fear,” said Bunting abstractedly.
+
+His mind had wandered off, away from Daisy and this nice young chap, to
+his now constant anxious preoccupation. “You come along to-morrow,” he
+said, “and I’ll see you gets your walk with Daisy. It’s only right you
+and she should have a chance of seeing one another without old folk
+being by; else how’s the girl to tell whether she likes you or not! For
+the matter of that, you hardly knows her, Joe—” He looked at the young
+man consideringly.
+
+Chandler shook his head impatiently. “I knows her quite as well as I
+wants to know her,” he said. “I made up my mind the very first time I
+see’d her, Mr. Bunting.”
+
+“No! Did you really?” said Bunting. “Well, come to think of it, I did
+so with her mother; aye, and years after, with Ellen, too. But I hope
+_you’ll_ never want no second, Chandler.”
+
+“God forbid!” said the young man under his breath. And then he asked,
+rather longingly, “D’you think they’ll be out long now, Mr. Bunting?”
+
+And Bunting woke up to a due sense of hospitality. “Sit down, sit down;
+do!” he said hastily. “I don’t believe they’ll be very long. They’ve
+only got a little bit of shopping to do.”
+
+And then, in a changed, in a ringing, nervous tone, he asked, “And how
+about your job, Joe? Nothing new, I take it? I suppose you’re all just
+waiting for _the next time?_”
+
+“Aye—that’s about the figure of it.” Chandler’s voice had also changed;
+it was now sombre, menacing. “We’re fair tired of it—beginning to
+wonder when it’ll end, that we are!”
+
+“Do you ever try and make to yourself a picture of what the master’s
+like?” asked Bunting. Somehow, he felt he must ask that.
+
+“Yes,” said Joe slowly. “I’ve a sort of notion—a savage, fierce-looking
+devil, the chap must be. It’s that description that was circulated put
+us wrong. I don’t believe it was the man that knocked up against that
+woman in the fog—no, not one bit I don’t. But I wavers, I can’t quite
+make up my mind. Sometimes I think it’s a sailor—the foreigner they
+talks about, that goes away for eight or nine days in between, to
+Holland maybe, or to France. Then, again, I says to myself that it’s a
+butcher, a man from the Central Market. Whoever it is, it’s someone
+used to killing, that’s flat.”
+
+“Then it don’t seem to you possible—?” (Bunting got up and walked over
+to the window.) “You don’t take any stock, I suppose, in that idea some
+of the papers put out, that the man is”—then he hesitated and brought
+out, with a gasp—“a gentleman?”
+
+Chandler looked at him, surprised. “No,” he said deliberately. “I’ve
+made up my mind that’s quite a wrong tack, though I knows that some of
+our fellows—big pots, too—are quite sure that the fellow what gave the
+girl the sovereign is the man we’re looking for. You see, Mr. Bunting,
+if that’s the fact—well, it stands to reason the fellow’s an escaped
+lunatic; and if he’s an escaped lunatic he’s got a keeper, and they’d
+be raising a hue and cry after him; now, wouldn’t they?”
+
+“You don’t think,” went on Bunting, lowering his voice, “that he could
+be just staying somewhere, lodging like?”
+
+“D’you mean that The Avenger may be a toff, staying in some West-end
+hotel, Mr. Bunting? Well, things almost as funny as that ’ud be have
+come to pass.” He smiled as if the notion was a funny one.
+
+“Yes, something o’ that sort,” muttered Bunting.
+
+“Well, if your idea’s correct, Mr. Bunting—”
+
+“I never said ’twas my idea,” said Bunting, all in a hurry.
+
+“Well, if that idea’s correct then, ’twill make our task more difficult
+than ever. Why, ’twould be looking for a needle in a field of hay, Mr.
+Bunting! But there! I don’t think it’s anything quite so unlikely as
+that—not myself I don’t.” He hesitated. “There’s some of us”—he lowered
+his voice—“that hopes he’ll betake himself off—The Avenger, I mean—to
+another big city, to Manchester or to Edinburgh. There’d be plenty of
+work for him to do there,” and Chandler chuckled at his own grim joke.
+
+And then, to both men’s secret relief, for Bunting was now mortally
+afraid of this discussion concerning The Avenger and his doings, they
+heard Mrs. Bunting’s key in the lock.
+
+Daisy blushed rosy-red with pleasure when she saw that young Chandler
+was still there. She had feared that when they got home he would be
+gone, the more so that Ellen, just as if she was doing it on purpose,
+had lingered aggravatingly long over each small purchase.
+
+“Here’s Joe come to ask if he can take Daisy out for a walk,” blurted
+out Bunting.
+
+“My mother says as how she’d like you to come to tea, over at
+Richmond,” said Chandler awkwardly, “I just come in to see whether we
+could fix it up, Miss Daisy.” And Daisy looked imploringly at her
+stepmother.
+
+“D’you mean now—this minute?” asked Mrs. Bunting tartly.
+
+“No, o’ course not”—Bunting broke in hastily. “How you do go on,
+Ellen!”
+
+“What day did your mother mention would be convenient to her?” asked
+Mrs. Bunting, looking at the young man satirically.
+
+Chandler hesitated. His mother had not mentioned any special day—in
+fact, his mother had shown a surprising lack of anxiety to see Daisy at
+all. But he had talked her round.
+
+“How about Saturday?” suggested Bunting. “That’s Daisy’s birthday.
+’Twould be a birthday treat for her to go to Richmond, and she’s going
+back to Old Aunt on Monday.”
+
+“I can’t go Saturday,” said Chandler disconsolately. “I’m on duty
+Saturday.”
+
+“Well, then, let it be Sunday,” said Bunting firmly. And his wife
+looked at him surprised; he seldom asserted himself so much in her
+presence.
+
+“What do you say, Miss Daisy?” said Chandler.
+
+“Sunday would be very nice,” said Daisy demurely. And then, as the
+young man took up his hat, and as her stepmother did not stir, Daisy
+ventured to go out into the hall with him for a minute.
+
+Chandler shut the door behind them, and so was spared the hearing of
+Mrs. Bunting’s whispered remark: “When I was a young woman folk didn’t
+gallivant about on Sunday; those who was courting used to go to church
+together, decent-like—”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+
+Daisy’s eighteenth birthday dawned uneventfully. Her father gave her
+what he had always promised she should have on her eighteenth
+birthday—a watch. It was a pretty little silver watch, which Bunting
+had bought secondhand on the last day he had been happy—it seemed a
+long, long time ago now.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought a silver watch a very extravagant present but she
+was far too wretched, far too absorbed in her own thoughts, to trouble
+much about it. Besides, in such matters she had generally had the good
+sense not to interfere between her husband and his child.
+
+In the middle of the birthday morning Bunting went out to buy himself
+some more tobacco. He had never smoked so much as in the last four
+days, excepting, perhaps, the week that had followed on his leaving
+service. Smoking a pipe had then held all the exquisite pleasure which
+we are told attaches itself to the eating of forbidden fruit.
+
+His tobacco had now become his only relaxation; it acted on his nerves
+as an opiate, soothing his fears and helping him to think. But he had
+been overdoing it, and it was that which now made him feel so “jumpy,”
+so he assured himself, when he found himself starting at any casual
+sound outside, or even when his wife spoke to him suddenly.
+
+Just now Ellen and Daisy were down in the kitchen, and Bunting didn’t
+quite like the sensation of knowing that there was only one pair of
+stairs between Mr. Sleuth and himself. So he quietly slipped out of the
+house without telling Ellen that he was going out.
+
+In the last four days Bunting had avoided his usual haunts; above all,
+he had avoided even passing the time of day to his acquaintances and
+neighbours. He feared, with a great fear, that they would talk to him
+of a subject which, because it filled his mind to the exclusion of all
+else, might make him betray the knowledge—no, not knowledge, rather
+the—the suspicion—that dwelt within him.
+
+But to-day the unfortunate man had a curious, instinctive longing for
+human companionship—companionship, that is, other than that of his wife
+and of his daughter.
+
+This longing for a change of company finally led him into a small,
+populous thoroughfare hard by the Edgware Road. There were more people
+there than usual just now, for the housewives of the neighbourhood were
+doing their Saturday marketing for Sunday. The ex-butler turned into a
+small old-fashioned shop where he generally bought his tobacco.
+
+Bunting passed the time of day with the tobacconist, and the two fell
+into desultory talk, but to his customer’s relief and surprise the man
+made no allusion to the subject of which all the neighbourhood must
+still be talking.
+
+And then, quite suddenly, while still standing by the counter, and
+before he had paid for the packet of tobacco he held in his hand,
+Bunting, through the open door, saw with horrified surprise that Ellen,
+his wife, was standing, alone, outside a greengrocer’s shop just
+opposite.
+
+Muttering a word of apology, he rushed out of the shop and across the
+road.
+
+“Ellen!” he gasped hoarsely, “you’ve never gone and left my little girl
+alone in the house with the lodger?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting’s face went yellow with fear. “I thought you was indoors,”
+she cried. “You _was_ indoors! Whatever made you come out for, without
+first making sure I’d stay in?”
+
+Bunting made no answer; but, as they stared at each other in
+exasperated silence, each now knew that the other knew.
+
+They turned and scurried down the crowded street. “Don’t run,” he said
+suddenly; “we shall get there just as quickly if we walk fast. People
+are noticing you, Ellen. Don’t run.”
+
+He spoke breathlessly, but it was breathlessness induced by fear and by
+excitement, not by the quick pace at which they were walking.
+
+At last they reached their own gate, and Bunting pushed past in front
+of his wife.
+
+After all, Daisy was his child; Ellen couldn’t know how he was feeling.
+
+He seemed to take the path in one leap, then fumbled for a moment with
+his latchkey.
+
+Opening wide the door, “Daisy!” he called out, in a wailing voice,
+“Daisy, my dear! where are you?”
+
+“Here I am, father. What is it?”
+
+“She’s all right.” Bunting turned a grey face to his wife. “She’s all
+right, Ellen.”
+
+He waited a moment, leaning against the wall of the passage. “It did
+give me a turn,” he said, and then, warningly, “Don’t frighten the
+girl, Ellen.”
+
+Daisy was standing before the fire in their sitting room, admiring
+herself in the glass.
+
+“Oh, father,” she exclaimed, without turning round, “I’ve seen the
+lodger! He’s quite a nice gentleman, though, to be sure, he does look a
+cure. He rang his bell, but I didn’t like to go up; and so he came down
+to ask Ellen for something. We had quite a nice little chat—that we
+had. I told him it was my birthday, and he asked me and Ellen to go to
+Madame Tussaud’s with him this afternoon.” She laughed, a little
+self-consciously. “Of course, I could see he was ’centric, and then at
+first he spoke so funnily. ‘And who be you?’ he says, threatening-like.
+And I says to him, ‘I’m Mr. Bunting’s daughter, sir.’ ‘Then you’re a
+very fortunate girl’—that’s what he says, Ellen—‘to ’ave such a nice
+stepmother as you’ve got. That’s why,’ he says, ‘you look such a good,
+innocent girl.’ And then he quoted a bit of the Prayer Book. ‘Keep
+innocency,’ he says, wagging his head at me. Lor’! It made me feel as
+if I was with Old Aunt again.”
+
+“I won’t have you going out with the lodger—that’s flat.”
+
+Bunting spoke in a muffled, angry tone. He was wiping his forehead with
+one hand, while with the other he mechanically squeezed the little
+packet of tobacco, for which, as he now remembered, he had forgotten to
+pay.
+
+Daisy pouted. “Oh, father, I think you might let me have a treat on my
+birthday! I told him that Saturday wasn’t a very good day—at least, so
+I’d heard—for Madame Tussaud’s. Then he said we could go early, while
+the fine folk are still having their dinners.” She turned to her
+stepmother, then giggled happily. “He particularly said you was to
+come, too. The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you, Ellen; if I was
+father, I’d feel quite jealous!”
+
+Her last words were cut across by a tap-tap on the door.
+
+Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively. Was it
+possible that, in their agitation, they had left the front door open,
+and that _someone_, some merciless myrmidon of the law, had crept in
+behind them?
+
+Both felt a curious thrill of satisfaction when they saw that it was
+only Mr. Sleuth—Mr. Sleuth dressed for going out; the tall hat he had
+worn when he had first come to them was in his hand, but he was wearing
+a coat instead of his Inverness cape.
+
+“I heard you come in”—he addressed Mrs. Bunting in his high, whistling,
+hesitating voice—“and so I’ve come down to ask you if you and Miss
+Bunting will come to Madame Tussaud’s now. I have never seen those
+famous waxworks, though I’ve heard of the place all my life.”
+
+As Bunting forced himself to look fixedly at his lodger, a sudden doubt
+bringing with it a sense of immeasurable relief, came to Mr. Sleuth’s
+landlord.
+
+Surely it was inconceivable that this gentle, mild-mannered gentleman
+could be the monster of cruelty and cunning that Bunting had now for
+the terrible space of four days believed him to be!
+
+He tried to catch his wife’s eye, but Mrs. Bunting was looking away,
+staring into vacancy. She still, of course, wore the bonnet and cloak
+in which she had just been out to do her marketing. Daisy was already
+putting on her hat and coat.
+
+“Well?” said Mr. Sleuth. Then Mrs. Bunting turned, and it seemed to his
+landlady that he was looking at her threateningly. “Well?”
+
+“Yes, sir. We’ll come in a minute,” she said dully.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+
+Madame Tussaud’s had hitherto held pleasant memories for Mrs. Bunting.
+In the days when she and Bunting were courting they often spent there
+part of their afternoon-out.
+
+The butler had an acquaintance, a man named Hopkins, who was one of the
+waxworks staff, and this man had sometimes given him passes for “self
+and lady.” But this was the first time Mrs. Bunting had been inside the
+place since she had come to live almost next door, as it were, to the
+big building.
+
+They walked in silence to the familiar entrance, and then, after the
+ill-assorted trio had gone up the great staircase and into the first
+gallery, Mr. Sleuth suddenly stopped short. The presence of those
+curious, still, waxen figures which suggest so strangely death in life,
+seemed to surprise and affright him.
+
+Daisy took quick advantage of the lodger’s hesitation and unease.
+
+“Oh, Ellen,” she cried, “do let us begin by going into the Chamber of
+Horrors! I’ve never been in there. Old Aunt made father promise he
+wouldn’t take me the only time I’ve ever been here. But now that I’m
+eighteen I can do just as I like; besides, Old Aunt will never know.”
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked down at her, and a smile passed for a moment over his
+worn, gaunt face.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “let us go into the Chamber of Horrors; that’s a good
+idea, Miss Bunting. I’ve always wanted to see the Chamber of Horrors.”
+
+They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were
+then kept, and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where
+waxen effigies of dead criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband’s
+old acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting the
+public to the Chamber of Horrors.
+
+“Well, you _are_ a stranger,” the man observed genially. “I do believe
+that this is the very first time I’ve seen you in here, Mrs. Bunting,
+since you was married!”
+
+“Yes,” she said, “that is so. And this is my husband’s daughter, Daisy;
+I expect you’ve heard of her, Mr. Hopkins. And this”—she hesitated a
+moment—“is our lodger, Mr. Sleuth.”
+
+But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away. Daisy, leaving her
+stepmother’s side, joined him.
+
+Two, as all the world knows, is company, three is none. Mrs. Bunting
+put down three sixpences.
+
+“Wait a minute,” said Hopkins; “you can’t go into the Chamber of
+Horrors just yet. But you won’t have to wait more than four or five
+minutes, Mrs. Bunting. It’s this way, you see; our boss is in there,
+showing a party round.” He lowered his voice. “It’s Sir John Burney—I
+suppose you know who Sir John Burney is?”
+
+“No,” she answered indifferently, “I don’t know that I ever heard of
+him.”
+
+She felt slightly—oh, very sightly—uneasy about Daisy. She would have
+liked her stepdaughter to keep well within sight and sound, but Mr.
+Sleuth was now taking the girl down to the other end of the room.
+
+“Well, I hope you never _will_ know him—not in any personal sense, Mrs.
+Bunting.” The man chuckled. “He’s the Commissioner of Police—the new
+one—that’s what Sir John Burney is. One of the gentlemen he’s showing
+round our place is the Paris Police boss—whose job is on all fours, so
+to speak, with Sir John’s. The Frenchy has brought his daughter with
+him, and there are several other ladies. Ladies always likes horrors,
+Mrs. Bunting; that’s our experience here. ‘Oh, take me to the Chamber
+of Horrors’—that’s what they say the minute they gets into this here
+building!”
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him thoughtfully. It occurred to Mr. Hopkins
+that she was very wan and tired; she used to look better in the old
+days, when she was still in service, before Bunting married her.
+
+“Yes,” she said; “that’s just what my stepdaughter said just now. ‘Oh,
+take me to the Chamber of Horrors’—that’s exactly what she did say when
+we got upstairs.”
+
+A group of people, all talking and laughing together; were advancing,
+from within the wooden barrier, toward the turnstile.
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at them nervously. She wondered which of them was
+the gentleman with whom Mr. Hopkins had hoped she would never be
+brought into personal contact; she thought she could pick him out among
+the others. He was a tall, powerful, handsome gentleman, with a
+military appearance.
+
+Just now he was smiling down into the face of a young lady. “Monsieur
+Barberoux is quite right,” he was saying in a loud, cheerful voice,
+“our English law is too kind to the criminal, especially to the
+murderer. If we conducted our trials in the French fashion, the place
+we have just left would be very much fuller than it is to-day. A man of
+whose guilt we are absolutely assured is oftener than not acquitted,
+and then the public taunt us with ‘another undiscovered crime!’”
+
+“D’you mean, Sir John, that murderers sometimes escape scot-free? Take
+the man who has been committing all these awful murders this last
+month? I suppose there’s no doubt _he’ll_ be hanged—if he’s ever
+caught, that is!”
+
+Her girlish voice rang out, and Mrs. Bunting could hear every word that
+was said.
+
+The whole party gathered round, listening eagerly. “Well, no.” He spoke
+very deliberately. “I doubt if that particular murderer ever will be
+hanged.”
+
+“You mean that you’ll never catch him?” the girl spoke with a touch of
+airy impertinence in her clear voice.
+
+“I think we shall end by catching him—because”—he waited a moment, then
+added in a lower voice—“now don’t give me away to a newspaper fellow,
+Miss Rose—because now I think we do know who the murderer in question
+is—”
+
+Several of those standing near by uttered expressions of surprise and
+incredulity.
+
+“Then why don’t you catch him?” cried the girl indignantly.
+
+“I didn’t say we knew _where_ he was; I only said we knew who he was,
+or, rather, perhaps I ought to say that I personally have a very strong
+suspicion of his identity.”
+
+Sir John’s French colleague looked up quickly. “De Leipsic and
+Liverpool man?” he said interrogatively.
+
+The other nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’ve had the case turned up?”
+
+Then, speaking very quickly, as if he wished to dismiss the subject
+from his own mind, and from that of his auditors, he went on:
+
+“Four murders of the kind were committed eight years ago—two in
+Leipsic, the others, just afterwards, in Liverpool,—and there were
+certain peculiarities connected with the crimes which made it clear
+they were committed by the same hand. The perpetrator was caught,
+fortunately for us, red-handed, just as he was leaving the house of his
+last victim, for in Liverpool the murder was committed in a house. I
+myself saw the unhappy man—I say unhappy, for there is no doubt at all
+that he was mad”—he hesitated, and added in a lower tone—“suffering
+from an acute form of religious mania. I myself saw him, as I say, at
+some length. But now comes the really interesting point. I have just
+been informed that a month ago this criminal lunatic, as we must of
+course regard him, made his escape from the asylum where he was
+confined. He arranged the whole thing with extraordinary cunning and
+intelligence, and we should probably have caught him long ago, were it
+not that he managed, when on his way out of the place, to annex a
+considerable sum of money in gold, with which the wages of the asylum
+staff were about to be paid. It is owing to that fact that his escape
+was, very wrongly, concealed—”
+
+He stopped abruptly, as if sorry he had said so much, and a moment
+later the party were walking in Indian file through the turnstile, Sir
+John Burney leading the way.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked straight before her. She felt—so she expressed it
+to her husband later—as if she had been turned to stone.
+
+Even had she wished to do so, she had neither the time nor the power to
+warn her lodger of his danger, for Daisy and her companion were now
+coming down the room, bearing straight for the Commissioner of Police.
+In another moment Mrs. Bunting’s lodger and Sir John Burney were face
+to face.
+
+Mr. Sleuth swerved to one side; there came a terrible change over his
+pale, narrow face; it became discomposed, livid with rage and terror.
+
+But, to Mrs. Bunting’s relief—yes, to her inexpressible relief—Sir John
+Burney and his friends swept on. They passed Mr. Sleuth and the girl by
+his side, unaware, or so it seemed to her, that there was anyone else
+in the room but themselves.
+
+“Hurry up, Mrs. Bunting,” said the turnstile-keeper; “you and your
+friends will have the place all to yourselves for a bit.” From an
+official he had become a man, and it was the man in Mr. Hopkins that
+gallantly addressed pretty Daisy Bunting: “It seems strange that a
+young lady like you should want to go in and see all those ’orrible
+frights,” he said jestingly.
+
+“Mrs. Bunting, may I trouble you to come over here for a moment?”
+
+The words were hissed rather than spoken by Mr. Sleuth’s lips.
+
+His landlady took a doubtful step towards him.
+
+“A last word with you, Mrs. Bunting.” The lodger’s face was still
+distorted with fear and passion. “Do not think to escape the
+consequences of your hideous treachery. I trusted you, Mrs. Bunting,
+and you betrayed me! But I am protected by a higher power, for I still
+have much to do.” Then, his voice sinking to a whisper, he hissed out
+“Your end will be bitter as wormwood and sharp as a two-edged sword.
+Your feet shall go down to death, and your steps take hold on hell.”
+
+Even while Mr. Sleuth was muttering these strange, dreadful words, he
+was looking round, glancing this way and that, seeking a way of escape.
+
+At last his eyes became fixed on a small placard placed above a
+curtain. “Emergency Exit” was written there. Mrs. Bunting thought he
+was going to make a dash for the place; but Mr. Sleuth did something
+very different. Leaving his landlady’s side, he walked over to the
+turnstile, he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and then touched the
+man on the arm. “I feel ill,” he said, speaking very rapidly; “very ill
+indeed! It is the atmosphere of this place. I want you to let me out by
+the quickest way. It would be a pity for me to faint here—especially
+with ladies about.”
+
+His left hand shot out and placed what he had been fumbling for in his
+pocket on the other’s bare palm. “I see there’s an emergency exit over
+there. Would it be possible for me to get out that way?”
+
+“Well, yes, sir; I think so.”
+
+The man hesitated; he felt a slight, a very sight, feeling of
+misgiving. He looked at Daisy, flushed and smiling, happy and
+unconcerned, and then at Mrs. Bunting. She was very pale; but surely
+her lodger’s sudden seizure was enough to make her feel worried.
+Hopkins felt the half-sovereign pleasantly tickling his palm. The Paris
+Prefect of Police had given him only half-a-crown—mean, shabby
+foreigner!
+
+“Yes, sir; I can let you out that way,” he said at last, “and p’raps
+when you’re standing out in the air, on the iron balcony, you’ll feel
+better. But then, you know, sir, you’ll have to come round to the front
+if you wants to come in again, for those emergency doors only open
+outward.”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Sleuth hurriedly. “I quite understand! If I feel
+better I’ll come in by the front way, and pay another shilling—that’s
+only fair.”
+
+“You needn’t do that if you’ll just explain what happened here.”
+
+The man went and pulled the curtain aside, and put his shoulder against
+the door. It burst open, and the light, for a moment, blinded Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+He passed his hand over his eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered, “thank you.
+I shall get all right out there.”
+
+An iron stairway led down into a small stable yard, of which the door
+opened into a side street.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked round once more; he really did feel very ill—ill and
+dazed. How pleasant it would be to take a flying leap over the balcony
+railing and find rest, eternal rest, below.
+
+But no—he thrust the thought, the temptation, from him. Again a
+convulsive look of rage came over his face. He had remembered his
+landlady. How could the woman whom he had treated so generously have
+betrayed him to his arch-enemy?—to the official, that is, who had
+entered into a conspiracy years ago to have him confined—him, an
+absolutely sane man with a great avenging work to do in the world—in a
+lunatic asylum.
+
+He stepped out into the open air, and the curtain, falling-to behind
+him, blotted out the tall, thin figure from the little group of people
+who had watched him disappear.
+
+Even Daisy felt a little scared. “He did look bad, didn’t he, now?” she
+turned appealingly to Mr. Hopkins.
+
+“Yes, that he did, poor gentleman—your lodger, too?” he looked
+sympathetically at Mrs. Bunting.
+
+She moistened her lips with her tongue. “Yes,” she repeated dully, “my
+lodger.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+In vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughter to
+step through into the Chamber of Horrors. “I think we ought to go
+straight home,” said Mr. Sleuth’s landlady decidedly. And Daisy meekly
+assented. Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared by the
+lodger’s sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling of hers
+was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on her
+stepmother’s face.
+
+Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got home
+it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been taken.
+
+“I don’t suppose he’ll be long before he comes home,” said Bunting
+heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. She looked
+as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that there was
+something wrong—very wrong indeed.
+
+The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisy knew
+there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.
+
+About six o’clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas in Mr.
+Sleuth’s sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance.
+Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay her
+Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly as he had
+left them, when he had come downstairs and suggested that ill-starred
+expedition to his landlord’s daughter. She took a few steps forward,
+listening the while anxiously for the familiar sound of the click in
+the door which would tell her that the lodger had come back, and then
+she went over to the window and looked out.
+
+What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless,
+friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very little
+money on him!
+
+Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger’s bedroom and opened the
+drawer of the looking-glass.
+
+Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns. If only he had
+taken his money out with him! She wondered painfully whether he had
+enough on his person to secure a good night’s lodging, and then
+suddenly she remembered that which brought relief to her mind. The
+lodger had given something to that Hopkins fellow—either a sovereign or
+half a sovereign, she wasn’t sure which.
+
+The memory of Mr. Sleuth’s cruel words to her, of his threat, did not
+disturb her overmuch. It had been a mistake—all a mistake. Far from
+betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him—kept his awful secret as
+she could not have kept it had she known, or even dimly suspected, the
+horrible fact with which Sir John Burney’s words had made her
+acquainted; namely, that Mr. Sleuth was victim of no temporary
+aberration, but that he was, and had been for years, a madman, a
+homicidal maniac.
+
+In her ears there still rang the Frenchman’s half careless yet
+confident question, “De Leipsic and Liverpool man?”
+
+Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room, and
+taking a black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid the leaves of
+the Bible. Then she opened the Book, and looked at the page the pin had
+marked:—
+
+“My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . . There is
+none to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up my curtains.”
+
+At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as
+she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her
+stepmother.
+
+“I’ll go down and start getting the lodger’s supper ready for you,”
+said the girl good-naturedly. “He’s certain to come in when he gets
+hungry. But he did look upset, didn’t he, Ellen? Right down bad—that he
+did!”
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy to
+go down.
+
+“Mr. Sleuth won’t never come back no more,” she said sombrely, and then
+she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change which came
+over her husband’s face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief, of
+right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add, “That’s to
+say, I don’t suppose he will.”
+
+And Bunting’s face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look, the
+look it had worn the last few days, returned.
+
+“What makes you think he mayn’t come back?” he muttered.
+
+“Too long to tell you now,” she said. “Wait till the child’s gone to
+bed.”
+
+And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.
+
+And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where she
+now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her husband to
+follow her upstairs.
+
+Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on the door.
+And about this they had a few sharp whispered words.
+
+“You’re never going to shut him out?” she expostulated angrily, beneath
+her breath.
+
+“I’m not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhaps walking
+in any minute.”
+
+“Mr. Sleuth won’t hurt Daisy, bless you! Much more likely to hurt me,”
+and she gave a half sob.
+
+Bunting stared at her. “What do you mean?” he said roughly. “Come
+upstairs and tell me what you mean.”
+
+And then, in what had been the lodger’s sitting-room, Mrs. Bunting told
+her husband exactly what it was that had happened.
+
+He listened in heavy silence.
+
+“So you see,” she said at last, “you see, Bunting, that ’twas me that
+was right after all. The lodger was never responsible for his actions.
+I never thought he was, for my part.”
+
+And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly. “Depends on what you call
+responsible—” he began argumentatively.
+
+But she would have none of that. “I heard the gentleman say myself that
+he was a lunatic,” she said fiercely. And then, dropping her voice, “A
+religious maniac—that’s what he called him.”
+
+“Well, he never seemed so to me,” said Bunting stoutly. “He simply
+seemed to me ’centric—that’s all he did. Not a bit madder than many I
+could tell you of.” He was walking round the room restlessly, but he
+stopped short at last. “And what d’you think we ought to do now?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently. “I don’t think we ought to do
+nothing,” she said. “Why should we?”
+
+And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashion
+that irritated her.
+
+“If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where he
+would get it! And his money, too? I hate to feel it’s in there.”
+
+“Don’t you make any mistake—he’ll come back for that,” said Bunting,
+with decision.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head. She knew better. “Now,” she said, “you
+go off up to bed. It’s no use us sitting up any longer.”
+
+And Bunting acquiesced.
+
+She ran down and got him a bedroom candle—there was no gas in the
+little back bedroom upstairs. And then she watched him go slowly up.
+
+Suddenly he turned and came down again. “Ellen,” he said, in an urgent
+whisper, “if I was you I’d take the chain off the door, and I’d lock
+myself in—that’s what I’m going to do. Then he can sneak in and take
+his dirty money away.”
+
+Mrs. Bunting neither nodded nor shook her head. Slowly she went
+downstairs, and there she carried out half of Bunting’s advice. She
+took, that is, the chain off the front door. But she did not go to bed,
+neither did she lock herself in. She sat up all night, waiting. At
+half-past seven she made herself a cup of tea, and then she went into
+her bedroom.
+
+Daisy opened her eyes.
+
+“Why, Ellen,” she said, “I suppose I was that tired, and slept so
+sound, that I never heard you come to bed or get up—funny, wasn’t it?”
+
+“Young people don’t sleep as light as do old folks,” Mrs. Bunting said
+sententiously.
+
+“Did the lodger come in after all? I suppose he’s upstairs now?”
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head. “It looks as if ’twould be a fine day for
+you down at Richmond,” she observed in a kindly tone.
+
+And Daisy smiled, a very happy, confident little smile.
+
+That evening Mrs. Bunting forced herself to tell young Chandler that
+their lodger had, so to speak, disappeared. She and Bunting had thought
+carefully over what they would say, and so well did they carry out
+their programme, or, what is more likely, so full was young Chandler of
+the long happy day he and Daisy had spent together, that he took their
+news very calmly.
+
+“Gone away, has he?” he observed casually. “Well, I hope he paid up all
+right?”
+
+“Oh, yes, yes,” said Mrs. Bunting hastily. “No trouble of that sort.”
+
+And Bunting said shamefacedly, “Aye, aye, the lodger was quite an
+honest gentleman, Joe. But I feel worried, about him. He was such a
+poor, gentle chap—not the sort o’ man one likes to think of as
+wandering about by himself.”
+
+“You always said he was ’centric,” said Joe thoughtfully.
+
+“Yes, he was that,” said Bunting slowly. “Regular right-down queer.
+Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch,” and, as he tapped his head
+significantly, both young people burst out laughing.
+
+“Would you like a description of him circulated?” asked Joe
+good-naturedly.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.
+
+“No, I don’t think so. Not yet awhile at any rate. ’Twould upset him
+awfully, you see.”
+
+And Joe acquiesced. “You’d be surprised at the number o’ people who
+disappears and are never heard of again,” he said cheerfully. And then
+he got up, very reluctantly.
+
+Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into the
+passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.
+
+When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting in
+his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round his
+neck.
+
+Then she bent down her head. “Father,” she said, “I’ve a bit of news
+for you!”
+
+“Yes, my dear?”
+
+“Father, I’m engaged! Aren’t you surprised?”
+
+“Well, what do _you_ think?” said Bunting fondly. Then he turned round
+and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.
+
+“What’ll Old Aunt say, I wonder?” he whispered.
+
+“Don’t you worry about Old Aunt,” exclaimed his wife suddenly. “I’ll
+manage Old Aunt! I’ll go down and see her. She and I have always got on
+pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy.”
+
+“Yes,” said Daisy a little wonderingly. “I know you have, Ellen.”
+
+Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many nights
+had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click of the lock
+which she at once hoped and feared would herald her lodger’s return.
+
+As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the “Avenger” murders
+stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when a gardener,
+working in the Regent’s Park, found a newspaper in which was wrapped,
+together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes, a long,
+peculiarly shaped knife. The fact, though of considerable interest to
+the police, was not chronicled in any newspaper, but about the same
+time a picturesque little paragraph went the round of the press
+concerning a small boxful of sovereigns which had been anonymously
+forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about “Old Aunt,”
+and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in a
+more philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her to do.
+She only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolks leave
+a house in charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure to follow—a
+remark which Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.
+
+Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an old lady, by
+whom they are feared as well as respected, and whom they make very
+comfortable.
+
+
+
+
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes</title>
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
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+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Lodger</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Marie Belloc Lowndes</div>
+<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December, 1999 [eBook #2014]<br />
+[Most recently updated: April 22, 2021]</div>
+<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LODGER ***</div>
+
+<h1>The Lodger</h1>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">by Marie Belloc Lowndes</h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into
+darkness.&rdquo;<br />
+P<small>SALM</small> lxxxviii. 18
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Robert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning,
+carefully-banked-up fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house standing in a
+grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare, was exceptionally clean and
+well-cared-for. A casual stranger, more particularly one of a Superior class to
+their own, on suddenly opening the door of that sitting-room; would have
+thought that Mr. and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of
+comfortable married life. Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep leather
+arm-chair, was clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance what he had been
+for many years of his life&mdash;a self-respecting man-servant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, the
+marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they were there all the
+same&mdash;in her neat black stuff dress, and in her scrupulously clean, plain
+collar and cuffs. Mrs. Bunting, as a single woman, had been what is known as a
+useful maid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But peculiarly true of average English life is the time-worn English proverb as
+to appearances being deceitful. Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were sitting in a very
+nice room and in their time&mdash;how long ago it now seemed!&mdash;both
+husband and wife had been proud of their carefully chosen belongings.
+Everything in the room was strong and substantial, and each article of
+furniture had been bought at a well-conducted auction held in a private house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus the red damask curtains which now shut out the fog-laden, drizzling
+atmosphere of the Marylebone Road, had cost a mere song, and yet they might
+have been warranted to last another thirty years. A great bargain also had been
+the excellent Axminster carpet which covered the floor; as, again, the
+arm-chair in which Bunting now sat forward, staring into the dull, small fire.
+In fact, that arm-chair had been an extravagance of Mrs. Bunting. She had
+wanted her husband to be comfortable after the day&rsquo;s work was done, and
+she had paid thirty-seven shillings for the chair. Only yesterday Bunting had
+tried to find a purchaser for it, but the man who had come to look at it,
+guessing their cruel necessities, had only offered them twelve shillings and
+sixpence for it; so for the present they were keeping their arm-chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But man and woman want something more than mere material comfort, much as that
+is valued by the Buntings of this world. So, on the walls of the sitting-room,
+hung neatly framed if now rather faded photographs&mdash;photographs of Mr. and
+Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s various former employers, and of the pretty country houses
+in which they had separately lived during the long years they had spent in a
+not unhappy servitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But appearances were not only deceitful, they were more than usually deceitful
+with regard to these unfortunate people. In spite of their good
+furniture&mdash;that substantial outward sign of respectability which is the
+last thing which wise folk who fall into trouble try to dispose of&mdash;they
+were almost at the end of their tether. Already they had learnt to go hungry,
+and they were beginning to learn to go cold. Tobacco, the last thing the sober
+man foregoes among his comforts, had been given up some time ago by Bunting.
+And even Mrs. Bunting&mdash;prim, prudent, careful woman as she was in her
+way&mdash;had realised what this must mean to him. So well, indeed, had she
+understood that some days back she had crept out and bought him a packet of
+Virginia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting had been touched&mdash;touched as he had not been for years by any
+woman&rsquo;s thought and love for him. Painful tears had forced themselves
+into his eyes, and husband and wife had both felt in their odd, unemotional
+way, moved to the heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fortunately he never guessed&mdash;how could he have guessed, with his slow,
+normal, rather dull mind?&mdash;that his poor Ellen had since more than once
+bitterly regretted that fourpence-ha&rsquo;penny, for they were now very near
+the soundless depths which divide those who dwell on the safe tableland of
+security&mdash;those, that is, who are sure of making a respectable, if not a
+happy, living&mdash;and the submerged multitude who, through some lack in
+themselves, or owing to the conditions under which our strange civilisation has
+become organised, struggle rudderless till they die in workhouse, hospital, or
+prison.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had the Buntings been in a class lower than their own, had they belonged to the
+great company of human beings technically known to so many of us as the poor,
+there would have been friendly neighbours ready to help them, and the same
+would have been the case had they belonged to the class of smug, well-meaning,
+if unimaginative, folk whom they had spent so much of their lives in serving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was only one person in the world who might possibly be brought to help
+them. That was an aunt of Bunting&rsquo;s first wife. With this woman, the
+widow of a man who had been well-to-do, lived Daisy, Bunting&rsquo;s only child
+by his first wife, and during the last long two days he had been trying to make
+up his mind to write to the old lady, and that though he suspected that she
+would almost certainly retort with a cruel, sharp rebuff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As to their few acquaintances, former fellow-servants, and so on, they had
+gradually fallen out of touch with them. There was but one friend who often
+came to see them in their deep trouble. This was a young fellow named Chandler,
+under whose grandfather Bunting had been footman years and years ago. Joe
+Chandler had never gone into service; he was attached to the police; in fact
+not to put too fine a point upon it, young Chandler was a detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they had first taken the house which had brought them, so they both
+thought, such bad luck, Bunting had encouraged the young chap to come often,
+for his tales were well worth listening to&mdash;quite exciting at times. But
+now poor Bunting didn&rsquo;t want to hear that sort of stories&mdash;stories
+of people being cleverly &ldquo;nabbed,&rdquo; or stupidly allowed to escape
+the fate they always, from Chandler&rsquo;s point of view, richly deserved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Joe still came very faithfully once or twice a week, so timing his calls
+that neither host nor hostess need press food upon him&mdash;nay, more, he had
+done that which showed him to have a good and feeling heart. He had offered his
+father&rsquo;s old acquaintance a loan, and Bunting, at last, had taken 30s.
+Very little of that money now remained: Bunting still could jingle a few
+coppers in his pocket; and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.; that and the rent they
+would have to pay in five weeks, was all they had left. Everything of the
+light, portable sort that would fetch money had been sold. Mrs. Bunting had a
+fierce horror of the pawnshop. She had never put her feet in such a place, and
+she declared she never would&mdash;she would rather starve first.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she had said nothing when there had occurred the gradual disappearance of
+various little possessions she knew that Bunting valued, notably of the
+old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been given to him after the death of
+his first master, a master he had nursed faithfully and kindly through a long
+and terrible illness. There had also vanished a twisted gold tie-pin, and a
+large mourning ring, both gifts of former employers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When people are living near that deep pit which divides the secure from the
+insecure&mdash;when they see themselves creeping closer and closer to its dread
+edge&mdash;they are apt, however loquacious by nature, to fall into long
+silences. Bunting had always been a talker, but now he talked no more. Neither
+did Mrs. Bunting, but then she had always been a silent woman, and that was
+perhaps one reason why Bunting had felt drawn to her from the very first moment
+he had seen her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had fallen out in this way. A lady had just engaged him as butler, and he
+had been shown, by the man whose place he was to take, into the dining-room.
+There, to use his own expression, he had discovered Ellen Green, carefully
+pouring out the glass of port wine which her then mistress always drank at
+11.30 every morning. And as he, the new butler, had seen her engaged in this
+task, as he had watched her carefully stopper the decanter and put it back into
+the old wine-cooler, he had said to himself, &ldquo;That is the woman for
+me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now her stillness, her&mdash;her dumbness, had got on the unfortunate
+man&rsquo;s nerves. He no longer felt like going into the various little shops,
+close by, patronised by him in more prosperous days, and Mrs. Bunting also went
+afield to make the slender purchases which still had to be made every day or
+two, if they were to be saved from actually starving to death.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Suddenly, across the stillness of the dark November evening there came the
+muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting outside&mdash;boys
+crying the late afternoon editions of the evening papers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting turned uneasily in his chair. The giving up of a daily paper had been,
+after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation. And the paper was an older habit
+than the tobacco, for servants are great readers of newspapers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the shouts came through the closed windows and the thick damask curtains,
+Bunting felt a sudden sense of mind hunger fall upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a shame&mdash;a damned shame&mdash;that he shouldn&rsquo;t know what was
+happening in the world outside! Only criminals are kept from hearing news of
+what is going on beyond their prison walls. And those shouts, those hoarse,
+sharp cries must portend that something really exciting had happened, something
+warranted to make a man forget for the moment his own intimate, gnawing
+troubles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He got up, and going towards the nearest window strained his ears to listen.
+There fell on them, emerging now and again from the confused babel of hoarse
+shouts, the one clear word &ldquo;Murder!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly Bunting&rsquo;s brain pieced the loud, indistinct cries into some sort
+of connected order. Yes, that was it&mdash;&ldquo;Horrible Murder! Murder at
+St. Pancras!&rdquo; Bunting remembered vaguely another murder which had been
+committed near St. Pancras&mdash;that of an old lady by her servant-maid. It
+had happened a great many years ago, but was still vividly remembered, as of
+special and natural interest, among the class to which he had belonged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The newsboys&mdash;for there were more than one of them, a rather unusual thing
+in the Marylebone Road&mdash;were coming nearer and nearer; now they had
+adopted another cry, but he could not quite catch what they were crying. They
+were still shouting hoarsely, excitedly, but he could only hear a word or two
+now and then. Suddenly &ldquo;The Avenger! The Avenger at his work
+again!&rdquo; broke on his ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the last fortnight four very curious and brutal murders had been
+committed in London and within a comparatively small area.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The first had aroused no special interest&mdash;even the second had only been
+awarded, in the paper Bunting was still then taking in, quite a small
+paragraph.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then had come the third&mdash;and with that a wave of keen excitement, for
+pinned to the dress of the victim&mdash;a drunken woman&mdash;had been found a
+three-cornered piece of paper, on which was written, in red ink, and in printed
+characters, the words,
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;THE AVENGER&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was then realised, not only by those whose business it is to investigate
+such terrible happenings, but also by the vast world of men and women who take
+an intelligent interest in such sinister mysteries, that the same miscreant had
+committed all three crimes; and before that extraordinary fact had had time to
+soak well into the public mind there took place yet another murder, and again
+the murderer had been to special pains to make it clear that some obscure and
+terrible lust for vengeance possessed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now everyone was talking of The Avenger and his crimes! Even the man who left
+their ha&rsquo;porth of milk at the door each morning had spoken to Bunting
+about them that very day.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Bunting came back to the fire and looked down at his wife with mild excitement.
+Then, seeing her pale, apathetic face, her look of weary, mournful absorption,
+a wave of irritation swept through him. He felt he could have shaken her!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ellen had hardly taken the trouble to listen when he, Bunting, had come back to
+bed that morning, and told her what the milkman had said. In fact, she had been
+quite nasty about it, intimating that she didn&rsquo;t like hearing about such
+horrid things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a curious fact that though Mrs. Bunting enjoyed tales of pathos and
+sentiment, and would listen with frigid amusement to the details of a breach of
+promise action, she shrank from stories of immorality or of physical violence.
+In the old, happy days, when they could afford to buy a paper, aye, and more
+than one paper daily, Bunting had often had to choke down his interest in some
+exciting &ldquo;case&rdquo; or &ldquo;mystery&rdquo; which was affording him
+pleasant mental relaxation, because any allusion to it sharply angered Ellen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now he was at once too dull and too miserable to care how she felt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walking away from the window he took a slow, uncertain step towards the door;
+when there he turned half round, and there came over his close-shaven, round
+face the rather sly, pleading look with which a child about to do something
+naughty glances at its parent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting remained quite still; her thin, narrow shoulders just showed
+above the back of the chair on which she was sitting, bolt upright, staring
+before her as if into vacancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting turned round, opened the door, and quickly he went out into the dark
+hall&mdash;they had given up lighting the gas there some time ago&mdash;and
+opened the front door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walking down the small flagged path outside, he flung open the iron gate which
+gave on to the damp pavement. But there he hesitated. The coppers in his pocket
+seemed to have shrunk in number, and he remembered ruefully how far Ellen could
+make even four pennies go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then a boy ran up to him with a sheaf of evening papers, and Bunting, being
+sorely tempted&mdash;fell. &ldquo;Give me a <i>Sun</i>,&rdquo; he said roughly,
+&ldquo;<i>Sun</i> or <i>Echo!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the boy, scarcely stopping to take breath, shook his head. &ldquo;Only
+penny papers left,&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;What&rsquo;ll yer &rsquo;ave,
+sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With an eagerness which was mingled with shame, Bunting drew a penny out of his
+pocket and took a paper&mdash;it was the <i>Evening Standard</i>&mdash;from the
+boy&rsquo;s hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, very slowly, he shut the gate and walked back through the raw, cold air,
+up the flagged path, shivering yet full of eager, joyful anticipation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thanks to that penny he had just spent so recklessly he would pass a happy
+hour, taken, for once, out of his anxious, despondent, miserable self. It
+irritated him shrewdly to know that these moments of respite from carking care
+would not be shared with his poor wife, with careworn, troubled Ellen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A hot wave of unease, almost of remorse, swept over Bunting. Ellen would never
+have spent that penny on herself&mdash;he knew that well enough&mdash;and if it
+hadn&rsquo;t been so cold, so foggy, so&mdash;so drizzly, he would have gone
+out again through the gate and stood under the street lamp to take his
+pleasure. He dreaded with a nervous dread the glance of Ellen&rsquo;s cold,
+reproving light-blue eye. That glance would tell him that he had had no
+business to waste a penny on a paper, and that well he knew it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly the door in front of him opened, and he heard a familiar voice saying
+crossly, yet anxiously, &ldquo;What on earth are you doing out there, Bunting?
+Come in&mdash;do! You&rsquo;ll catch your death of cold! I don&rsquo;t want to
+have you ill on my hands as well as everything else!&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting rarely
+uttered so many words at once nowadays.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked in through the front door of his cheerless house. &ldquo;I went out
+to get a paper,&rdquo; he said sullenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After all, he was master. He had as much right to spend the money as she had;
+for the matter of that the money on which they were now both living had been
+lent, nay, pressed on him&mdash;not on Ellen&mdash;by that decent young chap,
+Joe Chandler. And he, Bunting, had done all he could; he had pawned everything
+he could pawn, while Ellen, so he resentfully noticed, still wore her wedding
+ring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stepped past her heavily, and though she said nothing, he knew she grudged
+him his coming joy. Then, full of rage with her and contempt for himself, and
+giving himself the luxury of a mild, a very mild, oath&mdash;Ellen had very
+early made it clear she would have no swearing in her presence&mdash;he lit the
+hall gas full-flare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How can we hope to get lodgers if they can&rsquo;t even see the
+card?&rdquo; he shouted angrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there was truth in what he said, for now that he had lit the gas, the
+oblong card, though not the word &ldquo;Apartments&rdquo; printed on it, could
+be plainly seen out-lined against the old-fashioned fanlight above the front
+door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting went into the sitting-room, silently followed by his wife, and then,
+sitting down in his nice arm-chair, he poked the little banked-up fire. It was
+the first time Bunting had poked the fire for many a long day, and this
+exertion of marital authority made him feel better. A man has to assert himself
+sometimes, and he, Bunting, had not asserted himself enough lately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little colour came into Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s pale face. She was not used to
+be flouted in this way. For Bunting, when not thoroughly upset, was the mildest
+of men.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She began moving about the room, flicking off an imperceptible touch of dust
+here, straightening a piece of furniture there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her hands trembled&mdash;they trembled with excitement, with self-pity,
+with anger. A penny? It was dreadful&mdash;dreadful to have to worry about a
+penny! But they had come to the point when one has to worry about pennies.
+Strange that her husband didn&rsquo;t realise that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting looked round once or twice; he would have liked to ask Ellen to leave
+off fidgeting, but he was fond of peace, and perhaps, by now, a little bit
+ashamed of himself, so he refrained from remark, and she soon gave over what
+irritated him of her own accord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting did not come and sit down as her husband would have liked her
+to do. The sight of him, absorbed in his paper as he was, irritated her, and
+made her long to get away from him. Opening the door which separated the
+sitting-room from the bedroom behind, and&mdash;shutting out the aggravating
+vision of Bunting sitting comfortably by the now brightly burning fire, with
+the <i>Evening Standard</i> spread out before him&mdash;she sat down in the cold
+darkness, and pressed her hands against her temples.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never, never had she felt so hopeless, so&mdash;so broken as now. Where was the
+good of having been an upright, conscientious, self-respecting woman all her
+life long, if it only led to this utter, degrading poverty and wretchedness?
+She and Bunting were just past the age which gentlefolk think proper in a
+married couple seeking to enter service together, unless, that is, the wife
+happens to be a professed cook. A cook and a butler can always get a nice
+situation. But Mrs. Bunting was no cook. She could do all right the simple
+things any lodger she might get would require, but that was all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lodgers? How foolish she had been to think of taking lodgers! For it had been
+her doing. Bunting had been like butter in her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet they had begun well, with a lodging-house in a seaside place. There they
+had prospered, not as they had hoped to do, but still pretty well; and then had
+come an epidemic of scarlet fever, and that had meant ruin for them, and for
+dozens, nay, hundreds, of other luckless people. Then had followed a business
+experiment which had proved even more disastrous, and which had left them in
+debt&mdash;in debt to an extent they could never hope to repay, to a
+good-natured former employer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After that, instead of going back to service, as they might have done, perhaps,
+either together or separately, they had made up their minds to make one last
+effort, and they had taken over, with the trifle of money that remained to
+them, the lease of this house in the Marylebone Road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In former days, when they had each been leading the sheltered, impersonal, and,
+above all, financially easy existence which is the compensation life offers to
+those men and women who deliberately take upon themselves the yoke of domestic
+service, they had both lived in houses overlooking Regent&rsquo;s Park. It had
+seemed a wise plan to settle in the same neighbourhood, the more so that
+Bunting, who had a good appearance, had retained the kind of connection which
+enables a man to get a job now and again as waiter at private parties.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But life moves quickly, jaggedly, for people like the Buntings. Two of his
+former masters had moved to another part of London, and a caterer in Baker
+Street whom he had known went bankrupt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now? Well, just now Bunting could not have taken a job had one been offered
+him, for he had pawned his dress clothes. He had not asked his wife&rsquo;s
+permission to do this, as so good a husband ought to have done. He had just
+gone out and done it. And she had not had the heart to say anything; nay, it
+was with part of the money that he had handed her silently the evening he did
+it that she had bought that last packet of tobacco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, as Mrs. Bunting sat there thinking these painful thoughts, there
+suddenly came to the front door the sound of a loud, tremulous, uncertain
+double knock.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Bunting jumped nervously to her feet. She stood for a moment listening in
+the darkness, a darkness made the blacker by the line of light under the door
+behind which sat Bunting reading his paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then it came again, that loud, tremulous, uncertain double knock; not a
+knock, so the listener told herself, that boded any good. Would-be lodgers gave
+sharp, quick, bold, confident raps. No; this must be some kind of beggar. The
+queerest people came at all hours, and asked&mdash;whining or
+threatening&mdash;for money.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting had had some sinister experiences with men and
+women&mdash;especially women&mdash;drawn from that nameless, mysterious class
+made up of the human flotsam and jetsam which drifts about every great city.
+But since she had taken to leaving the gas in the passage unlit at night she
+had been very little troubled with that kind of visitors, those human bats
+which are attracted by any kind of light but leave alone those who live in
+darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She opened the door of the sitting-room. It was Bunting&rsquo;s place to go to
+the front door, but she knew far better than he did how to deal with difficult
+or obtrusive callers. Still, somehow, she would have liked him to go to-night.
+But Bunting sat on, absorbed in his newspaper; all he did at the sound of the
+bedroom door opening was to look up and say, &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you hear a
+knock?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly she opened the front door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stood the long,
+lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an old-fashioned top hat.
+He waited for a few seconds blinking at her, perhaps dazzled by the light of
+the gas in the passage. Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s trained perception told her at
+once that this man, odd as he looked, was a gentleman, belonging by birth to
+the class with whom her former employment had brought her in contact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?&rdquo; he asked, and there was
+something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; she said uncertainly&mdash;it was a long, long time
+since anyone had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they could
+think of taking into their respectable house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger walked past
+her, and so into the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held a narrow bag in
+his left hand. It was quite a new bag, made of strong brown leather.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am looking for some quiet rooms,&rdquo; he said; then he repeated the
+words, &ldquo;quiet rooms,&rdquo; in a dreamy, absent way, and as he uttered
+them he looked nervously round him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had been carefully furnished, and
+was very clean.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the stranger&rsquo;s weary feet
+fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red drugget, which matched in colour the
+flock-paper on the walls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a superior lodging-house
+keeper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d find my rooms quite quiet, sir,&rdquo; she said gently.
+&ldquo;And just now I have four to let. The house is empty, save for my husband
+and me, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice. It seemed too good to be
+true, this sudden coming of a possible lodger, and of a lodger who spoke in the
+pleasant, courteous way and voice which recalled to the poor woman her happy,
+far-off days of youth and of security.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That sounds very suitable,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Four rooms? Well,
+perhaps I ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should like to see all
+four before I make my choice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit the gas! But for
+that circumstance this gentleman would have passed them by.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitation that the
+front door was still open; and it was the stranger whom she already in her mind
+described as &ldquo;the lodger,&rdquo; who turned and rather quickly walked
+down the passage and shut it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, thank you, sir!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry you
+should have had the trouble.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment their eyes met. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not safe to leave a front door
+open in London,&rdquo; he said, rather sharply. &ldquo;I hope you do not often
+do that. It would be so easy for anyone to slip in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had still spoken courteously, but
+he was evidently very much put out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I assure you, sir, I never leave my front door open,&rdquo; she answered
+hastily. &ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t be at all afraid of that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came the sound of
+Bunting coughing&mdash;it was just a little, hard cough, but Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s future lodger started violently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; he said, putting out a hand and clutching her
+arm. &ldquo;Whatever was that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only my husband, sir. He went out to buy a paper a few minutes ago, and
+the cold just caught him, I suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your husband&mdash;?&rdquo; he looked at her intently, suspiciously.
+&ldquo;What&mdash;what, may I ask, is your husband&rsquo;s occupation?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting drew herself up. The question as to Bunting&rsquo;s occupation was
+no one&rsquo;s business but theirs. Still, it wouldn&rsquo;t do for her to show
+offence. &ldquo;He goes out waiting,&rdquo; she said stiffly. &ldquo;He was a
+gentleman&rsquo;s servant, sir. He could, of course, valet you should you
+require him to do so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she turned and led the way up the steep, narrow staircase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the top of the first flight of stairs was what Mrs. Bunting, to herself,
+called the drawing-room floor. It consisted of a sitting-room in front, and a
+bedroom behind. She opened the door of the sitting-room and quickly lit the
+chandelier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps a little over-encumbered
+with furniture. Covering the floor was a green carpet simulating moss; four
+chairs were placed round the table which occupied the exact middle of the
+apartment, and in the corner, opposite the door giving on to the landing, was a
+roomy, old-fashioned chiffonnier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight engravings, portraits of early
+Victorian belles, clad in lace and tarletan ball dresses, clipped from an old
+Book of Beauty. Mrs. Bunting was very fond of these pictures; she thought they
+gave the drawing-room a note of elegance and refinement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad, glad indeed, that she had
+summoned up sufficient energy, two days ago, to give the room a thorough
+turn-out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had remained for a long time in the state in which it had been left by its
+last dishonest, dirty occupants when they had been scared into going away by
+Bunting&rsquo;s rough threats of the police. But now it was in apple-pie order,
+with one paramount exception, of which Mrs. Bunting was painfully aware. There
+were no white curtains to the windows, but that omission could soon be remedied
+if this gentleman really took the lodgings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But what was this&mdash;? The stranger was looking round him rather dubiously.
+&ldquo;This is rather&mdash;rather too grand for me,&rdquo; he said at last
+&ldquo;I should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&mdash;Bunting,&rdquo; she said softly. &ldquo;Bunting, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again came down and settled on
+her sad, burdened heart. Perhaps she had been mistaken, after all&mdash;or
+rather, she had not been mistaken in one sense, but perhaps this gentleman was
+a poor gentleman&mdash;too poor, that is, to afford the rent of more than one
+room, say eight or ten shillings a week; eight or ten shillings a week would be
+very little use to her and Bunting, though better than nothing at all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;no. I think I should like to see what you
+have farther up the house, Mrs.&mdash;,&rdquo; and then, as if making a
+prodigious mental effort, he brought out her name, &ldquo;Bunting,&rdquo; with
+a kind of gasp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two top rooms were, of course, immediately above the drawing-room floor.
+But they looked poor and mean, owing to the fact that they were bare of any
+kind of ornament. Very little trouble had been taken over their arrangement; in
+fact, they had been left in much the same condition as that in which the
+Buntings had found them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a nice, genteel sitting-room
+out of an apartment of which the principal features are a sink and a big gas
+stove. The gas stove, of an obsolete pattern, was fed by a tiresome,
+shilling-in-the-slot arrangement. It had been the property of the people from
+whom the Buntings had taken over the lease of the house, who, knowing it to be
+of no monetary value, had thrown it in among the humble fittings they had left
+behind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What furniture there was in the room was substantial and clean, as everything
+belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be, but it was a bare,
+uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady now felt sorry that she had done
+nothing to make it appear more attractive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To her surprise, however, her companion&rsquo;s dark, sensitive, hatchet-shaped
+face became irradiated with satisfaction. &ldquo;Capital! Capital!&rdquo; he
+exclaimed, for the first time putting down the bag he held at his feet, and
+rubbing his long, thin hands together with a quick, nervous movement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is just what I have been looking for.&rdquo; He walked with long,
+eager strides towards the gas stove. &ldquo;First-rate&mdash;quite first-rate!
+Exactly what I wanted to find! You must understand,
+Mrs.&mdash;er&mdash;Bunting, that I am a man of science. I make, that is, all
+sorts of experiments, and I often require the&mdash;ah, well, the presence of
+great heat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a little, towards the stove.
+&ldquo;This, too, will be useful&mdash;exceedingly useful, to me,&rdquo; and he
+touched the edge of the stone sink with a lingering, caressing touch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He threw his head back and passed his hand over his high, bare forehead; then,
+moving towards a chair, he sat down&mdash;wearily. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+tired,&rdquo; he muttered in a low voice, &ldquo;tired&mdash;tired! I&rsquo;ve
+been walking about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find nothing to sit down
+upon. They do not put benches for tired men in the London streets. They do so
+on the Continent. In some ways they are far more humane on the Continent than
+they are in England, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, sir,&rdquo; she said civilly; and then, after a nervous glance,
+she asked the question of which the answer would mean so much to her,
+&ldquo;Then you mean to take my rooms, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This room, certainly,&rdquo; he said, looking round. &ldquo;This room is
+exactly what I have been looking for, and longing for, the last few
+days;&rdquo; and then hastily he added, &ldquo;I mean this kind of place is
+what I have always wanted to possess, Mrs. Bunting. You would be surprised if
+you knew how difficult it is to get anything of the sort. But now my weary
+search has ended, and that is a relief&mdash;a very, very great relief to
+me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy, abstracted air. And then,
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s my bag?&rdquo; he asked suddenly, and there came a note of
+sharp, angry fear in his voice. He glared at the quiet woman standing before
+him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting felt a tremor of fright shoot through her.
+It seemed a pity that Bunting was so far away, right down the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has always been a perquisite, as
+it were the special luxury, of the well-born and of the well-educated.
+Scholars, as she well knew, are never quite like other people, and her new
+lodger was undoubtedly a scholar. &ldquo;Surely I had a bag when I came
+in?&rdquo; he said in a scared, troubled voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here it is, sir,&rdquo; she said soothingly, and, stooping, picked it up
+and handed it to him. And as she did so she noticed that the bag was not at all
+heavy; it was evidently by no means full.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took it eagerly from her. &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he muttered.
+&ldquo;But there is something in that bag which is very precious to
+me&mdash;something I procured with infinite difficulty, and which I could never
+get again without running into great danger, Mrs. Bunting. That must be the
+excuse for my late agitation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About terms, sir?&rdquo; she said a little timidly, returning to the
+subject which meant so much, so very much to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About terms?&rdquo; he echoed. And then there came a pause. &ldquo;My
+name is Sleuth,&rdquo; he said suddenly,&mdash;&ldquo;S-l-e-u-t-h. Think of a
+hound, Mrs. Bunting, and you&rsquo;ll never forget my name. I could provide you
+with a reference&mdash;&rdquo; (he gave her what she described to herself as a
+funny, sideways look), &ldquo;but I should prefer you to dispense with that, if
+you don&rsquo;t mind. I am quite willing to pay you&mdash;well, shall we say a
+month in advance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s cheeks. She felt sick with
+relief&mdash;nay, with a joy which was almost pain. She had not known till that
+moment how hungry she was&mdash;how eager for&mdash;a good meal. &ldquo;That
+would be all right, sir,&rdquo; she murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what are you going to charge me?&rdquo; There had come a kindly,
+almost a friendly note into his voice. &ldquo;With attendance, mind! I shall
+expect you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask if you can cook, Mrs.
+Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes, sir,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am a plain cook. What would you
+say to twenty-five shillings a week, sir?&rdquo; She looked at him
+deprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on falteringly, &ldquo;You
+see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would have the best of attendance
+and careful cooking&mdash;and my husband, sir&mdash;he would be pleased to
+valet you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t want anything of that sort done for me,&rdquo; said
+Mr. Sleuth hastily. &ldquo;I prefer looking after my own clothes. I am used to
+waiting on myself. But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike to sharing
+lodgings&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She interrupted eagerly, &ldquo;I could let you have the use of the two floors
+for the same price&mdash;that is, until we get another lodger. I
+shouldn&rsquo;t like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir. It&rsquo;s
+such a poor little room. You could do as you say, sir&mdash;do your work and
+your experiments up here, and then have your meals in the drawing-room.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said hesitatingly, &ldquo;that sounds a good plan. And if
+I offered you two pounds, or two guineas? Might I then rely on your not taking
+another lodger?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d be very glad only to have
+you to wait on, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting? I
+don&rsquo;t like to be disturbed while I&rsquo;m working.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, &ldquo;I suppose you
+have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes, sir, there&rsquo;s a key&mdash;a very nice little key. The
+people who lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door.&rdquo;
+She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a round disk had
+been fitted above the old keyhole.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if absorbed in
+thought, &ldquo;Forty-two shillings a week? Yes, that will suit me perfectly.
+And I&rsquo;ll begin now by paying my first month&rsquo;s rent in advance. Now,
+four times forty-two shillings is&rdquo;&mdash;he jerked his head back and
+stared at his new landlady; for the first time he smiled, a queer, wry
+smile&mdash;&ldquo;why, just eight pounds eight shillings, Mrs. Bunting!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his long cape-like coat and
+took out a handful of sovereigns. Then he began putting these down in a row on
+the bare wooden table which stood in the centre of the room.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s five&mdash;six&mdash;seven&mdash;eight&mdash;nine&mdash;ten
+pounds. You&rsquo;d better keep the odd change, Mrs. Bunting, for I shall want
+you to do some shopping for me to-morrow morning. I met with a misfortune
+to-day.&rdquo; But the new lodger did not speak as if his misfortune, whatever
+it was, weighed on his spirits.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, sir. I&rsquo;m sorry to hear that.&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s
+heart was going thump&mdash;thump&mdash;thump. She felt extraordinarily moved,
+dizzy with relief and joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a very great misfortune! I lost my luggage, the few things I
+managed to bring away with me.&rdquo; His voice dropped suddenly. &ldquo;I
+shouldn&rsquo;t have said that,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;I was a fool to say
+that!&rdquo; Then, more loudly, &ldquo;Someone said to me, &lsquo;You
+can&rsquo;t go into a lodging-house without any luggage. They wouldn&rsquo;t
+take you in.&rsquo; But <i>you</i> have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I&rsquo;m
+grateful for&mdash;for the kind way you have met me&mdash;&rdquo; He looked at
+her feelingly, appealingly, and Mrs. Bunting was touched. She was beginning to
+feel very kindly towards her new lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope I know a gentleman when I see one,&rdquo; she said, with a break
+in her staid voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs.
+Bunting.&rdquo; Again he looked at her appealingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect you&rsquo;d like to wash your hands now, sir. And would you
+tell me what you&rsquo;d like for supper? We haven&rsquo;t much in the
+house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, anything&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; he said hastily. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+want you to go out for me. It&rsquo;s a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting.
+If you have a little bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite
+satisfied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a nice sausage,&rdquo; she said hesitatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morning for
+Bunting&rsquo;s supper; as to herself, she had been going to content herself
+with a little bread and cheese. But now&mdash;wonderful, almost, intoxicating
+thought&mdash;she could send Bunting out to get anything they both liked. The
+ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfort and good cheer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never touch flesh
+meat,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage,
+Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it indeed, sir?&rdquo; She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly,
+&ldquo;And will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s pale
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting. I
+had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I am, sir, lifelong. And so&rsquo;s Bunting been since we
+married.&rdquo; She might have said, had she been a woman given to make such
+confidences, that she had made Bunting abstain very early in their
+acquaintance. That he had given in about that had been the thing that first
+made her believe, that he was sincere in all the nonsense that he talked to
+her, in those far-away days of his courting. Glad she was now that he had taken
+the pledge as a younger man; but for that nothing would have kept him from the
+drink during the bad times they had gone through.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth the nice bedroom which opened
+out of the drawing-room. It was a replica of Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s own room just
+underneath, excepting that everything up here had cost just a little more, and
+was therefore rather better in quality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The new lodger looked round him with such a strange expression of content and
+peace stealing over his worn face. &ldquo;A haven of rest,&rdquo; he muttered;
+and then, &ldquo;&lsquo;He bringeth them to their desired haven.&rsquo;
+Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled. It was the first time anyone had quoted
+the Bible to her for many a long day. But it seemed to set the seal, as it
+were, on Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s respectability.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal with only one lodger, and that
+a gentleman, instead of with a married couple! Very peculiar married couples
+had drifted in and out of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s lodgings, not only here,
+in London, but at the seaside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How unlucky they had been, to be sure! Since they had come to London not a
+single pair of lodgers had been even moderately respectable and kindly. The
+last lot had belonged to that horrible underworld of men and women who, having,
+as the phrase goes, seen better days, now only keep their heads above water
+with the help of petty fraud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir, and some clean
+towels,&rdquo; she said, going to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round. &ldquo;Mrs. Bunting&rdquo;&mdash;and
+as he spoke he stammered a little&mdash;&ldquo;I&mdash;I don&rsquo;t want you
+to interpret the word attendance too liberally. You need not run yourself off
+your feet for me. I&rsquo;m accustomed to look after myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself dismissed&mdash;even a little
+snubbed. &ldquo;All right, sir,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll only just
+let you know when I&rsquo;ve your supper ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<p>
+But what was a little snub compared with the intense relief and joy of going
+down and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortune which had fallen
+their way?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down the steep stairs. In the
+hall, however, she pulled herself together, and tried to still her agitation.
+She had always disliked and despised any show of emotion; she called such
+betrayal of feeling &ldquo;making a fuss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood for a moment looking at her
+husband&rsquo;s bent back, and she realised, with a pang of pain, how the last
+few weeks had aged him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife, stood up. He put the paper
+he had been holding down on to the table: &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;well, who was it, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who ought to have answered the
+door and done all that parleying of which he had heard murmurs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then in a moment his wife&rsquo;s hand shot out, and the ten sovereigns
+fell in a little clinking heap on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look there!&rdquo; she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in her
+voice. &ldquo;Look there, Bunting!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusion that his wife
+had just had in a furniture dealer, and that this ten pounds represented all
+their nice furniture upstairs. If that were so, then it was the beginning of
+the end. That furniture in the first-floor front had cost&mdash;Ellen had
+reminded him of the fact bitterly only yesterday&mdash;seventeen pounds nine
+shillings, and every single item had been a bargain. It was too bad that she
+had only got ten pounds for it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet he hadn&rsquo;t the heart to reproach her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting that troubled,
+rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thought had happened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve a new lodger!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;And&mdash;and,
+Bunting? He&rsquo;s quite the gentleman! He actually offered to pay four weeks
+in advance, at two guineas a week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, never!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there,
+fascinated by the little heap of gold. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s ten sovereigns
+here,&rdquo; he said suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, the gentleman said I&rsquo;d have to buy some things for him
+to-morrow. And, oh, Bunting, he&rsquo;s so well spoken, I really felt
+that&mdash;I really felt that&mdash;&rdquo; and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a
+step or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron over her
+face burst into gasping sobs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting patted her back timidly. &ldquo;Ellen?&rdquo; he said, much moved by
+her agitation, &ldquo;Ellen? Don&rsquo;t take on so, my dear&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;I&mdash;I won&rsquo;t!
+I&rsquo;m a fool&mdash;I know I am! But, oh, I didn&rsquo;t think we was ever
+going to have any luck again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she told him&mdash;or rather tried to tell him&mdash;what the lodger
+was like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing she did impress on
+her husband&rsquo;s mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was eccentric, as so many
+clever people are eccentric&mdash;that is, in a harmless way&mdash;and that he
+must be humoured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He says he doesn&rsquo;t want to be waited on much,&rdquo; she said at
+last wiping her eyes, &ldquo;but I can see he will want a good bit of looking
+after, all the same, poor gentleman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound of a loud
+ring. It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled again and again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. &ldquo;I think I&rsquo;d better go up, eh,
+Ellen?&rdquo; he said. He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger. For the
+matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;you go up! Don&rsquo;t keep him
+waiting! I wonder what it is he wants? I said I&rsquo;d let him know when his
+supper was ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an odd smile on his face.
+&ldquo;Whatever d&rsquo;you think he wanted?&rdquo; he whispered mysteriously.
+And as she said nothing, he went on, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s asked me for the loan of
+a Bible!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t see anything so out of the way in that,&rdquo; she
+said hastily, &ldquo;&rsquo;specially if he don&rsquo;t feel well. I&rsquo;ll
+take it up to him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows, Mrs.
+Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her as a wedding
+present by a married lady with whose mother she had lived for several years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper,&rdquo; said
+Bunting; and, then, &ldquo;Ellen? He&rsquo;s a queer-looking cove&mdash;not
+like any gentleman I ever had to do with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is a gentleman,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes, that&rsquo;s all right.&rdquo; But still he looked at her
+doubtfully. &ldquo;I asked him if he&rsquo;d like me to just put away his
+clothes. But, Ellen, he said he hadn&rsquo;t got any clothes!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No more he hasn&rsquo;t;&rdquo; she spoke quickly, defensively.
+&ldquo;He had the misfortune to lose his luggage. He&rsquo;s one dishonest folk
+&rsquo;ud take advantage of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, one can see that with half an eye,&rdquo; Bunting agreed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Bunting put down on a
+little bit of paper the things she wanted her husband to go out and buy for
+her. She handed him the list, together with a sovereign. &ldquo;Be as quick as
+you can,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;for I feel a bit hungry. I&rsquo;ll be going
+down now to see about Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s supper. He only wants a glass of milk
+and two eggs. I&rsquo;m glad I&rsquo;ve never fallen to bad eggs!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sleuth,&rdquo; echoed Bunting, staring at her. &ldquo;What a queer name!
+How d&rsquo;you spell it&mdash;S-l-u-t-h?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she shot out, &ldquo;S-l-e&mdash;u&mdash;t&mdash;h.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he said doubtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He said, &lsquo;Think of a hound and you&rsquo;ll never forget my
+name,&rsquo;&rdquo; and Mrs. Bunting smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll now be able
+to pay young Chandler back some o&rsquo; that thirty shillings. I am
+glad.&rdquo; She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then each went about his and her business&mdash;Bunting out into the
+drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lodger&rsquo;s tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and daintily
+arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly remembered
+Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s request for a Bible. Putting the tray down in the hall, she
+went into her sitting-room and took up the Book; but when back in the hall she
+hesitated a moment as to whether it was worth while to make two journeys. But,
+no, she thought she could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her
+arm, and taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady
+opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped the tray. She
+actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy thud to the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the early
+Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud, with their faces
+to the wall!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment she was really too surprised to speak. Putting the tray down on
+the table, she stooped and picked up the Book. It troubled her that the Book
+should have fallen to the ground; but really she hadn&rsquo;t been able to help
+it&mdash;it was mercy that the tray hadn&rsquo;t fallen, too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth got up. &ldquo;I&mdash;I have taken the liberty to arrange the room
+as I should wish it to be,&rdquo; he said awkwardly. &ldquo;You see,
+Mrs.&mdash;er&mdash;Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these women&rsquo;s eyes
+followed me about. It was a most unpleasant sensation, and gave me quite an
+eerie feeling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of the table. She made
+no answer to her lodger&rsquo;s remark, for the good reason that she did not
+know what to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After what seemed a long pause, he
+spoke again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting,&rdquo; he spoke with some agitation.
+&ldquo;As a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls about me for
+a long time.&rdquo; And then, at last his landlady answered him, in a composed,
+soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear. &ldquo;I quite understand,
+sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall take the pictures all down. We have
+plenty of space in our own rooms for them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you&mdash;thank you very much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I have brought you up my Bible, sir. I understood you wanted the
+loan of it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing himself,
+he said, &ldquo;Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book. There is
+something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of body
+too&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very true, sir.&rdquo; And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what
+really looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut the
+door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for Bunting,
+instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as she did so there came to
+her a comfortable recollection, an incident of her long-past youth, in the days
+when she, then Ellen Green, had maided a dear old lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old lady had a favourite nephew&mdash;a bright, jolly young gentleman, who
+was learning to paint animals in Paris. And one morning Mr. Algernon&mdash;that
+was his rather peculiar Christian name&mdash;had had the impudence to turn to
+the wall six beautiful engravings of paintings done by the famous Mr. Landseer!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting remembered all the circumstances as if they had only occurred
+yesterday, and yet she had not thought of them for years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was quite early; she had come down&mdash;for in those days maids
+weren&rsquo;t thought so much of as they are now, and she slept with the upper
+housemaid, and it was the upper housemaid&rsquo;s duty to be down very
+early&mdash;and, there, in the dining-room, she had found Mr. Algernon engaged
+in turning each engraving to the wall! Now, his aunt thought all the world of
+those pictures, and Ellen had felt quite concerned, for it doesn&rsquo;t do for
+a young gentleman to put himself wrong with a kind aunt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, sir,&rdquo; she had exclaimed in dismay, &ldquo;whatever are you
+doing?&rdquo; And even now she could almost hear his merry voice, as he had
+answered, &ldquo;I am doing my duty, fair Helen&rdquo;&mdash;he had always
+called her &ldquo;fair Helen&rdquo; when no one was listening. &ldquo;How can I
+draw ordinary animals when I see these half-human monsters staring at me all
+the time I am having my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner?&rdquo; That was
+what Mr. Algernon had said in his own saucy way, and that was what he repeated
+in a more serious, respectful manner to his aunt, when that dear old lady had
+come downstairs. In fact he had declared, quite soberly, that the beautiful
+animals painted by Mr. Landseer put his eye out!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But his aunt had been very much annoyed&mdash;in fact, she had made him turn
+the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there he just had to put
+up with what he called &ldquo;those half-human monsters.&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting,
+sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s odd behaviour over,
+was glad to recall that funny incident of her long-gone youth. It seemed to
+prove that her new lodger was not so strange as he appeared to be. Still, when
+Bunting came in, she did not tell him the queer thing which had happened. She
+told herself that she would be quite able to manage the taking down of the
+pictures in the drawing-room herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But before getting ready their own supper, Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady went
+upstairs to clear away, and when on the staircase she heard the sound
+of&mdash;was it talking, in the drawing-room? Startled, she waited a moment on
+the landing outside the drawing-room door, then she realised that it was only
+the lodger reading aloud to himself. There was something very awful in the
+words which rose and fell on her listening ears:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A strange woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth in wait as for a prey,
+and increaseth the transgressors among men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She remained where she was, her hand on the handle of the door, and again there
+broke on her shrinking ears that curious, high, sing-song voice, &ldquo;Her
+house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It made the listener feel quite queer. But at last she summoned up courage,
+knocked, and walked in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d better clear away, sir, had I not?&rdquo; she said. And Mr.
+Sleuth nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he got up and closed the Book. &ldquo;I think I&rsquo;ll go to bed
+now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am very, very tired. I&rsquo;ve had a long and a
+very weary day, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After he had disappeared into the back room, Mrs. Bunting climbed up on a chair
+and unhooked the pictures which had so offended Mr. Sleuth. Each left an
+unsightly mark on the wall&mdash;but that, after all, could not be helped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Treading softly, so that Bunting should not hear her, she carried them down,
+two by two, and stood them behind her bed.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting woke up the next morning feeling happier than she had felt for a
+very, very long time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For just one moment she could not think why she felt so different&mdash;and
+then she suddenly remembered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How comfortable it was to know that upstairs, just over her head, lay, in the
+well-found bed she had bought with such satisfaction at an auction held in a
+Baker Street house, a lodger who was paying two guineas a week! Something
+seemed to tell her that Mr. Sleuth would be &ldquo;a permanency.&rdquo; In any
+case, it wouldn&rsquo;t be her fault if he wasn&rsquo;t. As to his&mdash;his
+queerness, well, there&rsquo;s always something funny in everybody. But after
+she had got up, and as the morning wore itself away, Mrs. Bunting grew a little
+anxious, for there came no sound at all from the new lodger&rsquo;s rooms. At
+twelve, however, the drawing-room bell rang. Mrs. Bunting hurried upstairs. She
+was painfully anxious to please and satisfy Mr. Sleuth. His coming had only
+been in the nick of time to save them from terrible disaster.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She found her lodger up, and fully dressed. He was sitting at the round table
+which occupied the middle of the sitting-room, and his landlady&rsquo;s large
+Bible lay open before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Mrs. Bunting came in, he looked up, and she was troubled to see how tired
+and worn he seemed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You did not happen,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;to have a Concordance, Mrs.
+Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook her head; she had no idea what a Concordance could be, but she was
+quite sure that she had nothing of the sort about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then her new lodger proceeded to tell her what it was he desired her to buy
+for him. She had supposed the bag he had brought with him to contain certain
+little necessaries of civilised life&mdash;such articles, for instance, as a
+comb and brush, a set of razors, a toothbrush, to say nothing of a couple of
+nightshirts&mdash;but no, that was evidently not so, for Mr. Sleuth required
+all these things to be bought now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After having cooked him a nice breakfast Mrs. Bunting hurried out to purchase
+the things of which he was in urgent need.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How pleasant it was to feel that there was money in her purse again&mdash;not
+only someone else&rsquo;s money, but money she was now in the very act of
+earning so agreeably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting first made her way to a little barber&rsquo;s shop close by. It
+was there she purchased the brush and comb and the razors. It was a funny,
+rather smelly little place, and she hurried as much as she could, the more so
+that the foreigner who served her insisted on telling her some of the strange,
+peculiar details of this Avenger murder which had taken place forty-eight hours
+before, and in which Bunting took such a morbid interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conversation upset Mrs. Bunting. She didn&rsquo;t want to think of anything
+painful or disagreeable on such a day as this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she came back and showed the lodger her various purchases. Mr. Sleuth was
+pleased with everything, and thanked her most courteously. But when she
+suggested doing his bedroom he frowned, and looked quite put out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please wait till this evening,&rdquo; he said hastily. &ldquo;It is my
+custom to stay at home all day. I only care to walk about the streets when the
+lights are lit. You must bear with me, Mrs. Bunting, if I seem a little, just a
+little, unlike the lodgers you have been accustomed to. And I must ask you to
+understand that I must not be disturbed when thinking out my
+problems&mdash;&rdquo; He broke off short, sighed, then added solemnly,
+&ldquo;for mine are the great problems of life and death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Mrs. Bunting willingly fell in with his wishes. In spite of her prim manner
+and love of order, Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady was a true woman&mdash;she had,
+that is, an infinite patience with masculine vagaries and oddities.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+When she was downstairs again, Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady met with a surprise;
+but it was quite a pleasant surprise. While she had been upstairs, talking to
+the lodger, Bunting&rsquo;s young friend, Joe Chandler, the detective, had come
+in, and as she walked into the sitting-room she saw that her husband was
+pushing half a sovereign across the table towards Joe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe Chandler&rsquo;s fair, good-natured face was full of satisfaction: not at
+seeing his money again, mark you, but at the news Bunting had evidently been
+telling him&mdash;that news of the sudden wonderful change in their fortunes,
+the coming of an ideal lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Sleuth don&rsquo;t want me to do his bedroom till he&rsquo;s gone
+out!&rdquo; she exclaimed. And then she sat down for a bit of a rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a comfort to know that the lodger was eating his good breakfast, and
+there was no need to think of him for the present. In a few minutes she would
+be going down to make her own and Bunting&rsquo;s dinner, and she told Joe
+Chandler that he might as well stop and have a bite with them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her heart warmed to the young man, for Mrs. Bunting was in a mood which seldom
+surprised her&mdash;a mood to be pleased with anything and everything. Nay,
+more. When Bunting began to ask Joe Chandler about the last of those awful
+Avenger murders, she even listened with a certain languid interest to all he
+had to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the morning paper which Bunting had begun taking again that very day three
+columns were devoted to the extraordinary mystery which was now beginning to be
+the one topic of talk all over London, West and East, North and South. Bunting
+had read out little bits about it while they ate their breakfast, and in spite
+of herself Mrs. Bunting had felt thrilled and excited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They do say,&rdquo; observed Bunting cautiously, &ldquo;They do say,
+Joe, that the police have a clue they won&rsquo;t say nothing about?&rdquo; He
+looked expectantly at his visitor. To Bunting the fact that Chandler was
+attached to the detective section of the Metropolitan Police invested the young
+man with a kind of sinister glory&mdash;especially just now, when these awful
+and mysterious crimes were amazing and terrifying the town.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Them who says that says wrong,&rdquo; answered Chandler slowly, and a
+look of unease, of resentment came over his fair, stolid face.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twould make a good bit of difference to me if the Yard had a
+clue.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mrs. Bunting interposed. &ldquo;Why that, Joe?&rdquo; she said,
+smiling indulgently; the young man&rsquo;s keenness about his work pleased her.
+And in his slow, sure way Joe Chandler was very keen, and took his job very
+seriously. He put his whole heart and mind into it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, &rsquo;tis this way,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;From to-day
+I&rsquo;m on this business myself. You see, Mrs. Bunting, the Yard&rsquo;s
+nettled&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it is, and we&rsquo;re all on our
+mettle&mdash;that we are. I was right down sorry for the poor chap who was on
+point duty in the street where the last one happened&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No!&rdquo; said Bunting incredulously. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean there
+was a policeman there, within a few yards?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That fact hadn&rsquo;t been recorded in his newspaper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler nodded. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s exactly what I do mean, Mr. Bunting! The
+man is near off his head, so I&rsquo;m told. He did hear a yell, so he says,
+but he took no notice&mdash;there are a good few yells in that part o&rsquo;
+London, as you can guess. People always quarrelling and rowing at one another
+in such low parts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you seen the bits of grey paper on which the monster writes his
+name?&rdquo; inquired Bunting eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Public imagination had been much stirred by the account of those three-cornered
+pieces of grey paper, pinned to the victims&rsquo; skirts, on which was roughly
+written in red ink and in printed characters the words &ldquo;The
+Avenger.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His round, fat face was full of questioning eagerness. He put his elbows on the
+table, and stared across expectantly at the young man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I have,&rdquo; said Joe briefly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A funny kind of visiting card, eh!&rdquo; Bunting laughed; the notion
+struck him as downright comic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting coloured. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t a thing to make a joke
+about,&rdquo; she said reprovingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Chandler backed her up. &ldquo;No, indeed,&rdquo; he said feelingly.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never forget what I&rsquo;ve been made to see over this job.
+And as for that grey bit of paper, Mr. Bunting&mdash;or, rather, those grey
+bits of paper&rdquo;&mdash;he corrected himself hastily&mdash;&ldquo;you know
+they&rsquo;ve three of them now at the Yard&mdash;well, they gives me the
+horrors!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then he jumped up. &ldquo;That reminds me that I oughtn&rsquo;t to be
+wasting my time in pleasant company&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you stay and have a bit of dinner?&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting
+solicitously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the detective shook his head. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I had a
+bite before I came out. Our job&rsquo;s a queer kind of job, as you know. A
+lot&rsquo;s left to our discretion, so to speak, but it don&rsquo;t leave us
+much time for lazing about, I can tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate carelessness he
+inquired, &ldquo;Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London again soon?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened. He was very, very fond of his
+only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid not Joe. Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady, keeps
+Daisy pretty tightly tied to her apron-string. She was quite put about that
+week the child was up with us last June.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed? Well, so long!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After his wife had let their friend out, Bunting said cheerfully, &ldquo;Joe
+seems to like our Daisy, eh, Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head scornfully. She did not exactly dislike the
+girl, though she did not hold with the way Bunting&rsquo;s daughter was being
+managed by that old aunt of hers&mdash;an idle, good-for-nothing way, very
+different from the fashion in which she herself had been trained at the
+Foundling, for Mrs. Bunting as a little child had known no other home, no other
+family than those provided by good Captain Coram.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Joe Chandler&rsquo;s too sensible a young chap to be thinking of girls
+yet awhile,&rdquo; she said tartly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt you&rsquo;re right,&rdquo; Bunting agreed. &ldquo;Times be
+changed. In my young days chaps always had time for that. &rsquo;Twas just a
+notion that came into my head, hearing him asking, anxious-like, after
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+About five o&rsquo;clock, after the street lamps were well alight, Mr. Sleuth
+went out, and that same evening there came two parcels addressed to his
+landlady. These parcels contained clothes. But it was quite clear to Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s eyes that they were not new clothes. In fact, they had
+evidently been bought in some good second-hand clothes-shop. A funny thing for
+a real gentleman like Mr. Sleuth to do! It proved that he had given up all hope
+of getting back his lost luggage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the lodger had gone out he had not taken his bag with him, of that Mrs.
+Bunting was positive. And yet, though she searched high and low for it, she
+could not find the place where Mr. Sleuth kept it. And at last, had it not been
+that she was a very clear-headed woman, with a good memory, she would have been
+disposed to think that the bag had never existed, save in her imagination.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But no, she could not tell herself that! She remembered exactly how it had
+looked when Mr. Sleuth had first stood, a strange, queer-looking figure of a
+man, on her doorstep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She further remembered how he had put the bag down on the floor of the top
+front room, and then, forgetting what he had done, how he had asked her
+eagerly, in a tone of angry fear, where the bag was&mdash;only to find it
+safely lodged at his feet!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As time went on Mrs. Bunting thought a great deal about that bag, for, strange
+and amazing fact, she never saw Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s bag again. But, of course,
+she soon formed a theory as to its whereabouts. The brown leather bag which had
+formed Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s only luggage the afternoon of his arrival was almost
+certainly locked up in the lower part of the drawing-room chiffonnier. Mr.
+Sleuth evidently always carried the key of the little corner cupboard about his
+person; Mrs. Bunting had also had a good hunt for that key, but, as was the
+case with the bag, the key disappeared, and she never saw either the one or the
+other again.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<p>
+How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next few days. Already
+life was settling down into a groove. Waiting on Mr. Sleuth was just what Mrs.
+Bunting could manage to do easily, and without tiring herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had at once become clear that the lodger preferred to be waited on only by
+one person, and that person his landlady. He gave her very little trouble.
+Indeed, it did her good having to wait on the lodger; it even did her good that
+he was not like other gentlemen; for the fact occupied her mind, and in a way
+it amused her. The more so that whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of
+those tiresome, disagreeable ways with which landladies are only too familiar,
+and which seem peculiar only to those human beings who also happen to be
+lodgers. To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth did not ask to be called unduly
+early. Bunting and his Ellen had fallen into the way of lying rather late in
+the morning, and it was a great comfort not to have to turn out to make the
+lodger a cup of tea at seven, or even half-past seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom
+required anything before eleven.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But odd he certainly was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought in a book of
+which the queer name was Cruden&rsquo;s Concordance. That and the
+Bible&mdash;Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was a relation between
+the two books&mdash;seemed to be the lodger&rsquo;s only reading. He spent
+hours each day, generally after he had eaten the breakfast which also served
+for luncheon, poring over the Old Testament and over that strange kind of index
+to the Book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for the delicate and yet the all-important question of money, Mr. Sleuth was
+everything&mdash;everything that the most exacting landlady could have wished.
+Never had there been a more confiding or trusting gentleman. On the very first
+day he had been with them he had allowed his money&mdash;the considerable sum
+of one hundred and eighty-four sovereigns&mdash;to lie about wrapped up in
+little pieces of rather dirty newspaper on his dressing-table. That had quite
+upset Mrs. Bunting. She had allowed herself respectfully to point out to him
+that what he was doing was foolish, indeed wrong. But as only answer he had
+laughed, and she had been startled when the loud, unusual and discordant sound
+had issued from his thin lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know those I can trust,&rdquo; he had answered, stuttering rather, as
+was his way when moved. &ldquo;And&mdash;and I assure you, Mrs. Bunting, that I
+hardly have to speak to a human being&mdash;especially to a woman&rdquo; (and
+he had drawn in his breath with a hissing sound) &ldquo;before I know exactly
+what manner of person is before me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It hadn&rsquo;t taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodger had a
+queer kind of fear and dislike of women. When she was doing the staircase and
+landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth reading aloud to himself passages in
+the Bible that were very uncomplimentary to her sex. But Mrs. Bunting had no
+very great opinion of her sister woman, so that didn&rsquo;t put her out.
+Besides, where one&rsquo;s lodger is concerned, a dislike of women is better
+than&mdash;well, than the other thing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about the
+lodger&rsquo;s funny ways? Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric. If he
+hadn&rsquo;t been, as Bunting funnily styled it, &ldquo;just a leetle touched
+upstairs,&rdquo; he wouldn&rsquo;t be here, living this strange, solitary life
+in lodgings. He would be living in quite a different sort of way with some of
+his relatives, or with a friend of his own class.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back&mdash;as even the least
+imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of our own past lives which
+becomes for any reason poignantly memorable&mdash;wondered how soon it was that
+she had discovered that her lodger was given to creeping out of the house at a
+time when almost all living things prefer to sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She brought herself to believe&mdash;but I am inclined to doubt whether she was
+right in so believing&mdash;that the first time she became aware of this
+strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s happened to be during the night
+which preceded the day on which she had observed a very curious circumstance.
+This very curious circumstance was the complete disappearance of one of Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s three suits of clothes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It always passes my comprehension how people can remember, over any length of
+time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that is natural enough, but
+the day, the hour, the minute when these happenings took place! Much as she
+thought about it afterwards, even Mrs. Bunting never quite made up her mind
+whether it was during the fifth or the sixth night of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s stay
+under her roof that she became aware that he had gone out at two in the morning
+and had only come in at five.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But that there did come such a night is certain&mdash;as certain as is the fact
+that her discovery coincided with various occurrences which were destined to
+remain retrospectively memorable.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+It was intensely dark, intensely quiet&mdash;the darkest quietest hour of the
+night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep, dreamless sleep by
+sounds at once unexpected and familiar. She knew at once what those sounds
+were. They were those made by Mr. Sleuth, first coming down the stairs, and
+walking on tiptoe&mdash;she was sure it was on tiptoe&mdash;past her door, and
+finally softly shutting the front door behind him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go to sleep again.
+There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Bunting should waken up too, till
+she heard Mr. Sleuth, three hours later, creep back into the house and so up to
+bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, and not till then, she slept again. But in the morning she felt very
+tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad when Bunting good-naturedly
+suggested that he should go out and do their little bit of marketing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter of catering it
+was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth, and that though he
+always tried to appear pleased. This perfect lodger had one serious fault from
+the point of view of those who keep lodgings. Strange to say, he was a
+vegetarian. He would not eat meat in any form. He sometimes, however,
+condescended to a chicken, and when he did so condescend he generously
+intimated that Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were welcome to a share in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now to-day&mdash;this day of which the happenings were to linger in Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s mind so very long, and to remain so very vivid, it had been
+arranged that Mr. Sleuth was to have some fish for his lunch, while what he
+left was to be &ldquo;done up&rdquo; to serve for his simple supper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knowing that Bunting would be out for at least an hour, for he was a gregarious
+soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops he frequented, Mrs. Bunting rose
+and dressed in a leisurely manner; then she went and &ldquo;did&rdquo; her
+front sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt languid and dull, as one is apt to feel after a broken night, and it
+was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was not likely to ring before
+twelve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through the quiet house.
+She knew it for the front door bell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting frowned. No doubt the ring betokened one of those tiresome people
+who come round for old bottles and such-like fal-lals.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went slowly, reluctantly to the door. And then her face cleared, for it was
+that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waiting outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quickly through the
+moist, foggy air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Joe?&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly. &ldquo;Come in&mdash;do!
+Bunting&rsquo;s out, but he won&rsquo;t be very long now. You&rsquo;ve been
+quite a stranger these last few days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you know why, Mrs. Bunting&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he could mean. Then, suddenly
+she remembered. Why, of course, Joe was on a big job just now&mdash;the job of
+trying to catch The Avenger! Her husband had alluded to the fact again and
+again when reading out to her little bits from the halfpenny evening paper he
+was taking again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She led the way to the sitting-room. It was a good thing Bunting had insisted
+on lighting the fire before he went out, for now the room was nice and
+warm&mdash;and it was just horrible outside. She had felt a chill go right
+through her as she had stood, even for that second, at the front door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she hadn&rsquo;t been alone to feel it, for, &ldquo;I say, it is jolly to
+be in here, out of that awful cold!&rdquo; exclaimed Chandler, sitting down
+heavily in Bunting&rsquo;s easy chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mrs. Bunting bethought herself that the young man was tired, as well
+as cold. He was pale, almost pallid under his usual healthy, tanned
+complexion&mdash;the complexion of the man who lives much out of doors.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t you like me just to make you a cup of tea?&rdquo; she
+said solicitously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, to tell truth, I should be right down thankful for one, Mrs.
+Bunting!&rdquo; Then he looked round, and again he said her name, &ldquo;Mrs.
+Bunting&mdash;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke in so odd, so thick a tone that she turned quickly. &ldquo;Yes, what
+is it, Joe?&rdquo; she asked. And then, in sudden terror, &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve
+never come to tell me that anything&rsquo;s happened to Bunting? He&rsquo;s not
+had an accident?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Goodness, no! Whatever made you think that? But&mdash;but, Mrs. Bunting,
+there&rsquo;s been another of them!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His voice dropped almost to a whisper. He was staring at her with unhappy, it
+seemed to her terror-filled, eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Another of them?&rdquo; She looked at him, bewildered&mdash;at a loss.
+And then what he meant flashed across her&mdash;&ldquo;another of them&rdquo;
+meant another of these strange, mysterious, awful murders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her relief for the moment was so great&mdash;for she really had thought for
+a second that he had come to give her ill news of Bunting&mdash;that the
+feeling that she did experience on hearing this piece of news was actually
+pleasurable, though she would have been much shocked had that fact been brought
+to her notice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Almost in spite of herself, Mrs. Bunting had become keenly interested in the
+amazing series of crimes which was occupying the imagination of the whole of
+London&rsquo;s nether-world. Even her refined mind had busied itself for the
+last two or three days with the strange problem so frequently presented to it
+by Bunting&mdash;for Bunting, now that they were no longer worried, took an
+open, unashamed, intense interest in &ldquo;The Avenger&rdquo; and his doings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She took the kettle off the gas-ring. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a pity Bunting
+isn&rsquo;t here,&rdquo; she said, drawing in her breath. &ldquo;He&rsquo;d
+a-liked so much to hear you tell all about it, Joe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him. &ldquo;Why, you
+do look bad!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad&mdash;very bad indeed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t help it,&rdquo; he said, with a kind of gasp. &ldquo;It
+was your saying that about my telling you all about it that made me turn queer.
+You see, this time I was one of the first there, and it fairly turned me
+sick&mdash;that it did. Oh, it was too awful, Mrs. Bunting! Don&rsquo;t talk of
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at him with sympathetic interest. &ldquo;Why, Joe,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;I never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see, that
+anything could upset you like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This isn&rsquo;t like anything there&rsquo;s ever been before,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;And then&mdash;then&mdash;oh, Mrs. Bunting, &rsquo;twas I that
+discovered the piece of paper this time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it <i>is</i> true,&rdquo; she cried eagerly. &ldquo;It <i>is</i> The
+Avenger&rsquo;s bit of paper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in
+that practical joker.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did,&rdquo; said Chandler reluctantly. &ldquo;You see, there are some
+queer fellows even&mdash;even&mdash;&rdquo; (he lowered his voice, and looked
+round him as if the walls had ears)&mdash;&ldquo;even in the Force, Mrs.
+Bunting, and these murders have fair got on our nerves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, never!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;D&rsquo;you think that a Bobby might
+do a thing like that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn&rsquo;t worth answering. Then,
+&ldquo;It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while the poor
+soul was still warm,&rdquo;&mdash;he shuddered&mdash;&ldquo;that brought me out
+West this morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince Albert Terrace,
+and I had to go and tell him all about it. They never offered me a bit or a
+sup&mdash;I think they might have done that, don&rsquo;t you, Mrs.
+Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said absently. &ldquo;Yes, I do think so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, there, I don&rsquo;t know that I ought to say that,&rdquo; went on
+Chandler. &ldquo;He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very
+considerate-like to me while I was telling him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have a bit of something now?&rdquo; she said suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, I couldn&rsquo;t eat anything,&rdquo; he said hastily. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t feel as if I could ever eat anything any more.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll only make you ill.&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting spoke rather
+crossly, for she was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a bite out of
+the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect you&rsquo;re right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And I&rsquo;ve a
+goodish heavy day in front of me. Been up since four, too&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Four?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Was it then they found&mdash;&rdquo; she
+hesitated a moment, and then said, &ldquo;it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded. &ldquo;It was just a chance I was near by. If I&rsquo;d been half a
+minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have knocked up
+against that&mdash;that monster. But two or three people do think they saw him
+slinking away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What was he like?&rdquo; she asked curiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s hard to answer. You see, there was such an awful fog.
+But there&rsquo;s one thing they all agree about. He was carrying a
+bag&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A bag?&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice. &ldquo;Whatever
+sort of bag might it have been, Joe?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There had come across her&mdash;just right in her middle, like&mdash;such a
+strange sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was at a loss to account for it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a hand-bag,&rdquo; said Joe Chandler vaguely. &ldquo;A woman I
+spoke to&mdash;cross-examining her, like&mdash;who was positive she had seen
+him, said, &lsquo;Just a tall, thin shadow&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he was, a
+tall, thin shadow of a man&mdash;with a bag.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With a bag?&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Bunting absently. &ldquo;How very
+strange and peculiar&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, no, not strange at all. He has to carry the thing he does the deed
+with in something, Mrs. Bunting. We&rsquo;ve always wondered how he hid it.
+They generally throws the knife or fire-arms away, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do they, indeed?&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting still spoke in that absent,
+wondering way. She was thinking that she really must try and see what the
+lodger had done with his bag. It was possible&mdash;in fact, when one came to
+think of it, it was very probable&mdash;that he had just lost it, being so
+forgetful a gentleman, on one of the days he had gone out, as she knew he was
+fond of doing, into the Regent&rsquo;s Park.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll be a description circulated in an hour or two,&rdquo;
+went on Chandler. &ldquo;Perhaps that&rsquo;ll help catch him. There
+isn&rsquo;t a London man or woman, I don&rsquo;t suppose, who wouldn&rsquo;t
+give a good bit to lay that chap by the heels. Well, I suppose I must be going
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you wait a bit longer for Bunting?&rdquo; she said
+hesitatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I can&rsquo;t do that. But I&rsquo;ll come in, maybe, either this
+evening or to-morrow, and tell you any more that&rsquo;s happened. Thanks
+kindly for the tea. It&rsquo;s made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ve had enough to unman you, Joe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aye, that I have,&rdquo; he said heavily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife had quite a little
+tiff&mdash;the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuth became their lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It fell out this way. When he heard who had been there, Bunting was angry that
+Mrs. Bunting hadn&rsquo;t got more details of the horrible occurrence which had
+taken place that morning, out of Chandler.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean to say, Ellen, that you can&rsquo;t even tell me
+where it happened?&rdquo; he said indignantly. &ldquo;I suppose you put
+Chandler off&mdash;that&rsquo;s what you did! Why, whatever did he come here
+for, excepting to tell us all about it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He came to have something to eat and drink,&rdquo; snapped out Mrs.
+Bunting. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what the poor lad came for, if you wants to know.
+He could hardly speak of it at all&mdash;he felt so bad. In fact, he
+didn&rsquo;t say a word about it until he&rsquo;d come right into the room and
+sat down. He told me quite enough!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t he tell you if the piece of paper on which the murderer had
+written his name was square or three-cornered?&rdquo; demanded Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; he did not. And that isn&rsquo;t the sort of thing I should have
+cared to ask him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The more fool you!&rdquo; And then he stopped abruptly. The newsboys
+were coming down the Marylebone Road, shouting out the awful discovery which
+had been made that morning&mdash;that of The Avenger&rsquo;s fifth murder.
+Bunting went out to buy a paper, and his wife took the things he had brought in
+down to the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The noise the newspaper-sellers made outside had evidently wakened Mr. Sleuth,
+for his landlady hadn&rsquo;t been in the kitchen ten minutes before his bell
+rang.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s bell rang again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s breakfast was quite ready, but for the first time since he
+had been her lodger Mrs. Bunting did not answer the summons at once. But when
+there came the second imperative tinkle&mdash;for electric bells had not been
+fitted into that old-fashioned house&mdash;she made up her mind to go upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting, sitting
+comfortably in their parlour, heard his wife stepping heavily under the load of
+the well-laden tray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait a minute!&rdquo; he called out. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll help you,
+Ellen,&rdquo; and he came out and took the tray from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-room floor
+landing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There she stopped him. &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; she whispered quickly, &ldquo;you
+give me that, Bunting. The lodger won&rsquo;t like your going in to him.&rdquo;
+And then, as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, she added
+in a rather acid tone, &ldquo;You might open the door for me, at any rate! How
+can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray on my hands?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised&mdash;rather put
+out. Ellen wasn&rsquo;t exactly what you&rsquo;d call a lively, jolly woman,
+but when things were going well&mdash;as now&mdash;she was generally equable
+enough. He supposed she was still resentful of the way he had spoken to her
+about young Chandler and the new Avenger murder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, he was always for peace, so he opened the drawing-room door, and as
+soon as he had started going downstairs Mrs. Bunting walked into the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then at once there came over her the queerest feeling of relief, of
+lightness of heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As usual, the lodger was sitting at his old place, reading the Bible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow&mdash;she could not have told you why, she would not willingly have
+told herself&mdash;she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth <i>looking different</i>. But
+no, he appeared to be exactly the same&mdash;in fact, as he glanced up at her a
+pleasanter smile than usual lighted up his thin, pallid face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mrs. Bunting,&rdquo; he said genially, &ldquo;I overslept myself
+this morning, but I feel all the better for the rest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad of that, sir,&rdquo; she answered, in a low voice.
+&ldquo;One of the ladies I once lived with used to say, &lsquo;Rest is an
+old-fashioned remedy, but it&rsquo;s the best remedy of all.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden&rsquo;s Concordance off the
+table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady laying the cloth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in the morning. &ldquo;I
+think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you outside the door just
+now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. Bunting helped me up with the tray.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I give you a good deal of trouble,&rdquo; he said
+hesitatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she answered quickly, &ldquo;Oh, no, sir! Not at all, sir! I was only
+saying yesterday that we&rsquo;ve never had a lodger that gave us as little
+trouble as you do, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad of that. I am aware that my habits are somewhat
+peculiar.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of denial to
+this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and truthful woman. It never
+occurred to her to question his statement. Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s habits were
+somewhat peculiar. Take that going out at night, or rather in the early
+morning, for instance? So she remained silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After she had laid the lodger&rsquo;s breakfast on the table she prepared to
+leave the room. &ldquo;I suppose I&rsquo;m not to do your room till you goes
+out, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply. &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never
+want my room done when I am engaged in studying the Scriptures, Mrs. Bunting.
+But I am not going out to-day. I shall be carrying out a somewhat elaborate
+experiment&mdash;upstairs. If I go out at all&rdquo; he waited a moment, and
+again he looked at her fixedly &ldquo;&mdash;I shall wait till night-time to do
+so.&rdquo; And then, coming back to the matter in hand, he added hastily,
+&ldquo;Perhaps you could do my room when I go upstairs, about five
+o&rsquo;clock&mdash;if that time is convenient to you, that is?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes, sir! That&rsquo;ll do nicely!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she did so she took herself wordlessly,
+ruthlessly to task, but she did not face&mdash;even in her inmost
+heart&mdash;the strange tenors and tremors which had so shaken her. She only
+repeated to herself again and again, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got
+upset&mdash;that&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;ve done,&rdquo; and then she spoke aloud,
+&ldquo;I must get myself a dose at the chemist&rsquo;s next time I&rsquo;m out.
+That&rsquo;s what I must do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And just as she murmured the word &ldquo;do,&rdquo; there came a loud double
+knock on the front door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was only the postman&rsquo;s knock, but the postman was an unfamiliar
+visitor in that house, and Mrs. Bunting started violently. She was nervous,
+that&rsquo;s what was the matter with her,&mdash;so she told herself angrily.
+No doubt this was a letter for Mr. Sleuth; the lodger must have relations and
+acquaintances somewhere in the world. All gentlefolk have. But when she picked
+the small envelope off the hall floor, she saw it was a letter from Daisy, her
+husband&rsquo;s daughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bunting!&rdquo; she called out sharply. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a letter for
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She opened the door of their sitting-room and looked in. Yes, there was her
+husband, sitting back comfortably in his easy chair, reading a paper. And as
+she saw his broad, rather rounded back, Mrs. Bunting felt a sudden thrill of
+sharp irritation. There he was, doing nothing&mdash;in fact, doing worse than
+nothing&mdash;wasting his time reading all about those horrid crimes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sighed&mdash;a long, unconscious sigh. Bunting was getting into idle ways,
+bad ways for a man of his years. But how could she prevent it? He had been such
+an active, conscientious sort of man when they had first made acquaintance. . .
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She also could remember, even more clearly than Bunting did himself, that first
+meeting of theirs in the dining-room of No. 90 Cumberland Terrace. As she had
+stood there, pouring out her mistress&rsquo;s glass of port wine, she had not
+been too much absorbed in her task to have a good out-of-her-eye look at the
+spruce, nice, respectable-looking fellow who was standing over by the window.
+How superior he had appeared even then to the man she already hoped he would
+succeed as butler!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To-day, perhaps because she was not feeling quite herself, the past rose before
+her very vividly, and a lump came into her throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Putting the letter addressed to her husband on the table, she closed the door
+softly, and went down into the kitchen; there were various little things to put
+away and clean up, as well as their dinner to cook. And all the time she was
+down there she fixed her mind obstinately, determinedly on Bunting and on the
+problem of Bunting. She wondered what she&rsquo;d better do to get him into
+good ways again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thanks to Mr. Sleuth, their outlook was now moderately bright. A week ago
+everything had seemed utterly hopeless. It seemed as if nothing could save them
+from disaster. But everything was now changed!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps it would be well for her to go and see the new proprietor of that
+registry office, in Baker Street, which had lately changed hands. It would be a
+good thing for Bunting to get even an occasional job&mdash;for the matter of
+that he could now take up a fairly regular thing in the way of waiting. Mrs.
+Bunting knew that it isn&rsquo;t easy to get a man out of idle ways once he has
+acquired those ways.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When, at last, she went upstairs again she felt a little ashamed of what she
+had been thinking, for Bunting had laid the cloth, and laid it very nicely,
+too, and brought up the two chairs to the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ellen?&rdquo; he cried eagerly, &ldquo;here&rsquo;s news! Daisy&rsquo;s
+coming to-morrow! There&rsquo;s scarlet fever in their house. Old Aunt thinks
+she&rsquo;d better come away for a few days. So, you see, she&rsquo;ll be here
+for her birthday. Eighteen, that&rsquo;s what she be on the nineteenth! It do
+make me feel old&mdash;that it do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting put down the tray. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t have the girl here just
+now,&rdquo; she said shortly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve just as much to do as I can
+manage. The lodger gives me more trouble than you seem to think for.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rubbish!&rdquo; he said sharply. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll help you with the
+lodger. It&rsquo;s your own fault you haven&rsquo;t had help with him before.
+Of course, Daisy must come here. Whatever other place could the girl go
+to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting felt pugnacious&mdash;so cheerful as to be almost light-hearted. But as
+he looked across at his wife his feeling of satisfaction vanished.
+Ellen&rsquo;s face was pinched and drawn to-day; she looked ill&mdash;ill and
+horribly tired. It was very aggravating of her to go and behave like
+this&mdash;just when they were beginning to get on nicely again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For the matter of that,&rdquo; he said suddenly, &ldquo;Daisy&rsquo;ll
+be able to help you with the work, Ellen, and she&rsquo;ll brisk us both up a
+bit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer. She sat down heavily at the table. And then she
+said languidly, &ldquo;You might as well show me the girl&rsquo;s
+letter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He handed it across to her, and she read it slowly to herself.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;D<small>EAR</small> F<small>ATHER</small> (it ran)&mdash;I hope this finds you as well at it leaves
+me. Mrs. Puddle&rsquo;s youngest has got scarlet fever, and Aunt thinks I had
+better come away at once, just to stay with you for a few days. Please tell
+Ellen I won&rsquo;t give her no trouble. I&rsquo;ll start at ten if I
+don&rsquo;t hear nothing.&mdash;Your loving daughter,
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;D<small>AISY</small>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I suppose Daisy will have to come here,&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her
+life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to content himself.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by. When dusk fell Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor. She remembered
+that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was a tidy man, was the lodger; he did not throw his things about as so many
+gentlemen do, leaving them all over the place. No, he kept everything
+scrupulously tidy. His clothes, and the various articles Mrs. Bunting had
+bought for him during the first two days he had been there, were carefully
+arranged in the chest of drawers. He had lately purchased a pair of boots.
+Those he had arrived in were peculiar-looking footgear, buff leather shoes with
+rubber soles, and he had told his landlady on that very first day that he never
+wished them to go down to be cleaned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A funny idea&mdash;a funny habit that, of going out for a walk after midnight
+in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk were glad to be at home, snug
+in bed. But then Mr. Sleuth himself admitted that he was a funny sort of
+gentleman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After she had done his bedroom the landlady went into the sitting-room and gave
+it a good dusting. This room was not kept quite as nice as she would have liked
+it to be. Mrs. Bunting longed to give the drawing-room something of a good turn
+out; but Mr. Sleuth disliked her to be moving about in it when he himself was
+in his bedroom; and when up he sat there almost all the time. Delighted as he
+had seemed to be with the top room, he only used it when making his mysterious
+experiments, and never during the day-time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier with longing
+eyes&mdash;she even gave that pretty little piece of furniture a slight shake.
+If only the doors would fly open, as the locked doors of old cupboards
+sometimes do, even after they have been securely fastened, how pleased she
+would be, how much more comfortable somehow she would feel!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+About eight o&rsquo;clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, just for a
+few minutes&rsquo; chat. He had recovered from his agitation of the morning,
+but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Bunting listened in silence,
+intensely interested in spite of herself, while he and Bunting talked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m as right as a trivet now!
+I&rsquo;ve had a good rest&mdash;laid down all this afternoon. You see, the
+Yard thinks there&rsquo;s going to be something on to-night. He&rsquo;s always
+done them in pairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So he has,&rdquo; exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. &ldquo;So he has! Now,
+I never thought o&rsquo; that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster&rsquo;ll
+be on the job again to-night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler nodded. &ldquo;Yes. And I think there&rsquo;s a very good chance of
+his being caught too&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose there&rsquo;ll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should think there will be! How many of our men d&rsquo;you think
+there&rsquo;ll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting shook his head. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; he said helplessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean extra,&rdquo; suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A thousand?&rdquo; ventured Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Five thousand, Mr. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never!&rdquo; exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And even Mrs. Bunting echoed &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; incredulously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!&rdquo;
+Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. &ldquo;Just listen
+to this:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;&lsquo;The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to
+the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any surprise at
+the information that a popular attack has been organised on the Chief
+Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is even talk of an indignation
+mass meeting.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you think of that? That&rsquo;s not a pleasant thing for a
+gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it does seem queer that the police can&rsquo;t catch him, now
+doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; said Bunting argumentatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think it&rsquo;s queer at all,&rdquo; said young Chandler
+crossly. &ldquo;Now you just listen again! Here&rsquo;s a bit of the truth for
+once&mdash;in a newspaper.&rdquo; And slowly he read out:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;&lsquo;The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind
+man&rsquo;s buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes
+bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through the slums of a
+great city.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whatever does that mean?&rdquo; said Bunting. &ldquo;Your hands
+aren&rsquo;t tied, and your eyes aren&rsquo;t bandaged, Joe?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s metaphorical-like that it&rsquo;s intended, Mr. Bunting. We
+haven&rsquo;t got the same facilities&mdash;no, not a quarter of
+them&mdash;that the French &rsquo;tecs have.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: &ldquo;What was that word,
+Joe&mdash;&lsquo;perpetrators&rsquo;? I mean that first bit you read
+out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, turning to her eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then do they think there&rsquo;s more than one of them?&rdquo; she said,
+and a look of relief came over her thin face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s some of our chaps thinks it&rsquo;s a gang,&rdquo; said
+Chandler. &ldquo;They say it can&rsquo;t be the work of one man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do <i>you</i> think, Joe?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don&rsquo;t know what to think. I&rsquo;m fair
+puzzled.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He got up. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you come to the door. I&rsquo;ll shut it all
+right. So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps.&rdquo; As he had done the other
+evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s visitor stopped at the door. &ldquo;Any
+news of Miss Daisy?&rdquo; he asked casually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes; she&rsquo;s coming to-morrow,&rdquo; said her father.
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve got scarlet fever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks
+she&rsquo;d better clear out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The husband and wife went to bed early that night, but Mrs. Bunting found she
+could not sleep. She lay wide awake, hearing the hours, the half-hours, the
+quarters chime out from the belfry of the old church close by.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, just as she was dozing off&mdash;it must have been about one
+o&rsquo;clock&mdash;she heard the sound she had half unconsciously been
+expecting to hear, that of the lodger&rsquo;s stealthy footsteps coming down
+the stairs just outside her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He crept along the passage and let himself out very, very quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did not hear him come in
+again, for she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next morning; odder still, it was
+she, not Bunting, who jumped out of bed, and going out into the passage, picked
+up the newspaper which had just been pushed through the letter-box.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go back at once into her bedroom.
+Instead she lit the gas in the passage, and leaning up against the wall to
+steady herself, for she was trembling with cold and fatigue, she opened the
+paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, there was the heading she sought:
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;T<small>HE</small> A<small>VENGER</small> M<small>URDERS</small>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that followed:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Up to the time of going to press there is little new to report
+concerning the extraordinary series of crimes which are amazing, and, indeed,
+staggering not only London, but the whole civilised world, and which would seem
+to be the work of some woman-hating teetotal fanatic. Since yesterday morning,
+when the last of these dastardly murders was committed, no reliable clue to the
+perpetrator, or perpetrators, has been obtained, though several arrests were
+made in the course of the day. In every case, however, those arrested were able
+to prove a satisfactory alibi.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, a little lower down:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;The excitement grows and grows. It is not too much to say that even a
+stranger to London would know that something very unusual was in the air. As
+for the place where the murder was committed last night&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last night!&rdquo; thought Mrs. Bunting, startled; and then she realised
+that &ldquo;last night,&rdquo; in this connection, meant the night before last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She began the sentence again:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;As for the place where the murder was committed last night, all
+approaches to it were still blocked up to a late hour by hundreds of onlookers,
+though, of course, nothing now remains in the way of traces of the
+tragedy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly and carefully Mrs. Bunting folded the paper up again in its original
+creases, and then she stooped and put it back down on the mat where she had
+found it. She then turned out the gas, and going back into bed she lay down by
+her still sleeping husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything the matter?&rdquo; Bunting murmured, and stirred uneasily.
+&ldquo;Anything the matter, Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She answered in a whisper, a whisper thrilling with a strange gladness,
+&ldquo;No, nothing, Bunting&mdash;nothing the matter! Go to sleep again, my
+dear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They got up an hour later, both in a happy, cheerful mood. Bunting rejoiced at
+the thought of his daughter&rsquo;s coming, and even Daisy&rsquo;s stepmother
+told herself that it would be pleasant having the girl about the house to help
+her a bit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About ten o&rsquo;clock Bunting went out to do some shopping. He brought back
+with him a nice little bit of pork for Daisy&rsquo;s dinner, and three
+mince-pies. He even remembered to get some apples for the sauce.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Just as twelve was striking a four-wheeler drew up to the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It brought Daisy&mdash;pink-cheeked, excited, laughing-eyed Daisy&mdash;a sight
+to gladden any father&rsquo;s heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old Aunt said I was to have a cab if the weather was bad,&rdquo; she
+cried out joyously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a bit of a wrangle over the fare. King&rsquo;s Cross, as all the
+world knows, is nothing like two miles from the Marylebone Road, but the man
+clamoured for one and sixpence, and hinted darkly that he had done the young
+lady a favour in bringing her at all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While he and Bunting were having words, Daisy, leaving them to it, walked up
+the flagged path to the door where her stepmother was awaiting her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they were exchanging a rather frigid kiss, indeed, &rsquo;twas a mere peck
+on Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s part, there fell, with startling suddenness, loud cries
+on the still, cold air. Long-drawn and wailing, they sounded strangely sad as
+they rose and fell across the distant roar of traffic in the Edgware Road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. &ldquo;Why,
+whatever&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cabman lowered his voice. &ldquo;Them&rsquo;s &rsquo;a-crying out that
+&rsquo;orrible affair at King&rsquo;s Cross. He&rsquo;s done for two of
+&rsquo;em this time! That&rsquo;s what I meant when I said I might &rsquo;a got
+a better fare. I wouldn&rsquo;t say nothink before little missy there, but folk
+&rsquo;ave been coming from all over London the last five or six hours; plenty
+of toffs, too&mdash;but there, there&rsquo;s nothing to see now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Another woman murdered last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting felt tremendously thrilled. What had the five thousand constables been
+about to let such a dreadful thing happen?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cabman stared at him, surprised. &ldquo;Two of &rsquo;em, I tell
+yer&mdash;within a few yards of one another. He &rsquo;ave&mdash;got a
+nerve&mdash;But, of course, they was drunk. He are got a down on the
+drink!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have they caught him?&rdquo; asked Bunting perfunctorily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lord, no! They&rsquo;ll never catch &rsquo;im! It must &rsquo;ave
+happened hours and hours ago&mdash;they was both stone cold. One each end of a
+little passage what ain&rsquo;t used no more. That&rsquo;s why they
+didn&rsquo;t find &rsquo;em before.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hoarse cries were coming nearer and nearer&mdash;two news vendors trying to
+outshout each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Orrible discovery near King&rsquo;s Cross!&rdquo; they yelled
+exultingly. &ldquo;The Avenger again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting, with his daughter&rsquo;s large straw hold-all in his hand, ran
+forward into the roadway and recklessly gave a boy a penny for a halfpenny
+paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He felt very much moved and excited. Somehow his acquaintance with young Joe
+Chandler made these murders seem a personal affair. He hoped that Chandler
+would come in soon and tell them all about it, as he had done yesterday morning
+when he, Bunting, had unluckily been out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he walked back into the little hall, he heard Daisy&rsquo;s
+voice&mdash;high, voluble, excited&mdash;giving her stepmother a long account
+of the scarlet fever case, and how at first Old Aunt&rsquo;s neighbours had
+thought it was not scarlet fever at all, but just nettlerash.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as Bunting pushed open the door of the sitting-room, there came a note of
+sharp alarm in his daughter&rsquo;s voice, and he heard her cry, &ldquo;Why,
+Ellen, whatever is the matter? You <i>do</i> look bad!&rdquo; and his wife&rsquo;s
+muffled answer, &ldquo;Open the window&mdash;do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Orrible discovery near King&rsquo;s Cross&mdash;a clue at
+last!&rdquo; yelled the newspaper-boys triumphantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, helplessly, Mrs. Bunting began to laugh. She laughed, and laughed,
+and laughed, rocking herself to and fro as if in an ecstasy of mirth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, father, whatever&rsquo;s the matter with her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy looked quite scared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s in &rsquo;sterics&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it is,&rdquo; he
+said shortly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just get the water-jug. Wait a minute!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting felt very put out. Ellen was ridiculous&mdash;that&rsquo;s what she
+was, to be so easily upset.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lodger&rsquo;s bell suddenly pealed through the quiet house. Either that
+sound, or maybe the threat of the water-jug, had a magical effect on Mrs.
+Bunting. She rose to her feet, still shaking all over, but mentally composed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go up,&rdquo; she said a little chokingly. &ldquo;As for you,
+child, just run down into the kitchen. You&rsquo;ll find a piece of pork
+roasting in the oven. You might start paring the apples for the sauce.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Mrs. Bunting went upstairs her legs felt as if they were made of cotton
+wool. She put out a trembling hand, and clutched at the banister for support.
+But soon, making a great effort over herself, she began to feel more steady;
+and after waiting for a few moments on the landing, she knocked at the door of
+the drawing-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s voice answered her from the bedroom. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not
+well,&rdquo; he called out querulously; &ldquo;I think I&rsquo;ve caught a
+chill. I should be obliged if you would kindly bring me up a cup of tea, and
+put it outside my door, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting turned and went downstairs. She still felt queer and giddy, so
+instead of going into the kitchen, she made the lodger his cup of tea over her
+sitting-room gas-ring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During their midday dinner the husband and wife had a little discussion as to
+where Daisy should sleep. It had been settled that a bed should be made up for
+her in the top back room, but Mrs. Bunting saw reason to change this plan.
+&ldquo;I think &rsquo;twould be better if Daisy were to sleep with me, Bunting,
+and you was to sleep upstairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting felt and looked rather surprised, but he acquiesced. Ellen was probably
+right; the girl would be rather lonely up there, and, after all, they
+didn&rsquo;t know much about the lodger, though he seemed a respectable
+gentleman enough.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy was a good-natured girl; she liked London, and wanted to make herself
+useful to her stepmother. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wash up; don&rsquo;t you bother to
+come downstairs,&rdquo; she said cheerfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting began to walk up and down the room. His wife gave him a furtive glance;
+she wondered what he was thinking about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you get a paper?&rdquo; she said at last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, of course I did,&rdquo; he answered hastily. &ldquo;But I&rsquo;ve
+put it away. I thought you&rsquo;d rather not look at it, as you&rsquo;re that
+nervous.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again she glanced at him quickly, furtively, but he seemed just as
+usual&mdash;he evidently meant just what he said and no more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought they was shouting something in the street&mdash;I mean just
+before I was took bad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was now Bunting&rsquo;s turn to stare at his wife quickly and rather
+furtively. He had felt sure that her sudden attack of queerness, of
+hysterics&mdash;call it what you might&mdash;had been due to the shouting
+outside. She was not the only woman in London who had got the Avenger murders
+on her nerves. His morning paper said quite a lot of women were afraid to go
+out alone. Was it possible that the curious way she had been taken just now had
+had nothing to do with the shouts and excitement outside?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you know what it was they were calling out?&rdquo; he asked
+slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked across at him. She would have given a very great deal to be
+able to lie, to pretend that she did not know what those dreadful cries had
+portended. But when it came to the point she found she could not do so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said dully. &ldquo;I heard a word here and there.
+There&rsquo;s been another murder, hasn&rsquo;t there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two other murders,&rdquo; he said soberly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two? That&rsquo;s worse news!&rdquo; She turned so pale&mdash;a sallow
+greenish-white&mdash;that Bunting thought she was again going queer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ellen?&rdquo; he said warningly, &ldquo;Ellen, now do have a care! I
+can&rsquo;t think what&rsquo;s come over you about these murders. Turn your
+mind away from them, do! We needn&rsquo;t talk about them&mdash;not so much,
+that is&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I wants to talk about them,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Bunting hysterically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The husband and wife were standing, one each side of the table, the man with
+his back to the fire, the woman with her back to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting, staring across at his wife, felt sadly perplexed and disturbed. She
+really did seem ill; even her slight, spare figure looked shrunk. For the first
+time, so he told himself ruefully, Ellen was beginning to look her full age.
+Her slender hands&mdash;she had kept the pretty, soft white hands of the woman
+who has never done rough work&mdash;grasped the edge of the table with a
+convulsive movement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting didn&rsquo;t at all like the look of her. &ldquo;Oh, dear,&rdquo; he
+said to himself, &ldquo;I do hope Ellen isn&rsquo;t going to be ill! That would
+be a to-do just now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me about it,&rdquo; she commanded, in a low voice.
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you see I&rsquo;m waiting to hear? Be quick now,
+Bunting!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There isn&rsquo;t very much to tell,&rdquo; he said reluctantly.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s precious little in this paper, anyway. But the cabman what
+brought Daisy told me&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What I said just now. There&rsquo;s two of &rsquo;em this time, and
+they&rsquo;d both been drinking heavily, poor creatures.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Was it where the others was done?&rdquo; she asked looking at her
+husband fearfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said awkwardly. &ldquo;No, it wasn&rsquo;t, Ellen. It was
+a good bit farther West&mdash;in fact, not so very far from here. Near
+King&rsquo;s Cross&mdash;that&rsquo;s how the cabman knew about it, you see.
+They seems to have been done in a passage which isn&rsquo;t used no
+more.&rdquo; And then, as he thought his wife&rsquo;s eyes were beginning to
+look rather funny, he added hastily. &ldquo;There, that&rsquo;s enough for the
+present! We shall soon be hearing a lot more about it from Joe Chandler.
+He&rsquo;s pretty sure to come in some time to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the five thousand constables weren&rsquo;t no use?&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Bunting slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had relaxed her grip of the table, and was standing more upright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No use at all,&rdquo; said Bunting briefly. &ldquo;He is artful and no
+mistake about it. But wait a minute&mdash;&rdquo; he turned and took up the
+paper which he had laid aside, on a chair. &ldquo;Yes they says here that they
+has a clue.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A clue, Bunting?&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting spoke in a soft, weak, die-away
+voice, and again, stooping somewhat, she grasped the edge of the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her husband was not noticing her now. He was holding the paper close up to
+his eyes, and he read from it, in a tone of considerable satisfaction:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;&lsquo;It is gratifying to be able to state that the police at last
+believe they are in possession of a clue which will lead to the arrest of
+the&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+and then Bunting dropped the paper and rushed round the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wife, with a curious sighing moan, had slipped down on to the floor, taking
+with her the tablecloth as she went. She lay there in what appeared to be a
+dead faint. And Bunting, scared out of his wits, opened the door and screamed
+out, &ldquo;Daisy! Daisy! Come up, child. Ellen&rsquo;s took bad again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Daisy, hurrying in, showed an amount of sense and resource which even at
+this anxious moment roused her fond father&rsquo;s admiration.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get a wet sponge, Dad&mdash;quick!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;a
+sponge,&mdash;and, if you&rsquo;ve got such a thing, a drop o&rsquo; brandy.
+I&rsquo;ll see after her!&rdquo; And then, after he had got the little medicine
+flask, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t think what&rsquo;s wrong with Ellen,&rdquo; said
+Daisy wonderingly. &ldquo;She seemed quite all right when I first came in. She
+was listening, interested-like, to what I was telling her, and then,
+suddenly&mdash;well, you saw how she was took, father? &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t like
+Ellen this, is it now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;No, &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t. But you see,
+child, we&rsquo;ve been going through a pretty bad time&mdash;worse nor I
+should ever have let you know of, my dear. Ellen&rsquo;s just feeling it
+now&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it is. She didn&rsquo;t say nothing, for
+Ellen&rsquo;s a good plucked one, but it&rsquo;s told on her&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+told on her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mrs. Bunting, sitting up, slowly opened her eyes, and instinctively
+put her hand up to her head to see if her hair was all right.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hadn&rsquo;t really been quite &ldquo;off.&rdquo; It would have been better
+for her if she had. She had simply had an awful feeling that she couldn&rsquo;t
+stand up&mdash;more, that she must fall down. Bunting&rsquo;s words touched a
+most unwonted chord in the poor woman&rsquo;s heart, and the eyes which she
+opened were full of tears. She had not thought her husband knew how she had
+suffered during those weeks of starving and waiting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment. To her such betrayal
+betokened &ldquo;foolishness,&rdquo; and so all she said was,
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no need to make a fuss! I only turned over a little queer.
+I never was right off, Daisy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pettishly she pushed away the glass in which Bunting had hurriedly poured a
+little brandy. &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t touch such stuff&mdash;no, not if I was
+dying!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Putting out a languid hand, she pulled herself up, with the help of the table,
+on to her feet. &ldquo;Go down again to the kitchen, child&rdquo;; but there
+was a sob, a kind of tremor in her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t been eating properly, Ellen&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+what&rsquo;s the matter with you,&rdquo; said Bunting suddenly. &ldquo;Now I
+come to think of it, you haven&rsquo;t eat half enough these last two days. I
+always did say&mdash;in old days many a time I telled you&mdash;that a woman
+couldn&rsquo;t live on air. But there, you never believed me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy stood looking from one to the other, a shadow over her bright, pretty
+face. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d no idea you&rsquo;d had such a bad time, father,&rdquo;
+she said feelingly. &ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t you let me know about it? I might
+have got something out of Old Aunt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We didn&rsquo;t want anything of that sort,&rdquo; said her stepmother
+hastily. &ldquo;But of course&mdash;well, I expect I&rsquo;m still feeling the
+worry now. I don&rsquo;t seem able to forget it. Those days of waiting,
+of&mdash;of&mdash;&rdquo; she restrained herself; another moment and the word
+&ldquo;starving&rdquo; would have left her lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But everything&rsquo;s all right now,&rdquo; said Bunting eagerly,
+&ldquo;all right, thanks to Mr. Sleuth, that is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; repeated his wife, in a low, strange tone of voice.
+&ldquo;Yes, we&rsquo;re all right now, and as you say, Bunting, it&rsquo;s all
+along of Mr. Sleuth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She walked across to a chair and sat down on it. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m just a little
+tottery still,&rdquo; she muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Daisy, looking at her, turned to her father and said in a whisper, but not
+so low but that Mrs. Bunting heard her, &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think Ellen
+ought to see a doctor, father? He might give her something that would pull her
+round.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t see no doctor!&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting with sudden
+emphasis. &ldquo;I saw enough of doctors in my last place. Thirty-eight doctors
+in ten months did my poor missis have. Just determined on having &rsquo;em she
+was! Did they save her? No! She died just the same! Maybe a bit sooner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She was a freak, was your last mistress, Ellen,&rdquo; began Bunting
+aggressively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ellen had insisted on staying on in that place till her poor mistress died.
+They might have been married some months before they were married but for that
+fact. Bunting had always resented it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wife smile wanly. &ldquo;We won&rsquo;t have no words about that,&rdquo;
+she said, and again she spoke in a softer, kindlier tone than usual.
+&ldquo;Daisy? If you won&rsquo;t go down to the kitchen again, then I
+must&rdquo;&mdash;she turned to her stepdaughter, and the girl flew out of the
+room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think the child grows prettier every minute,&rdquo; said Bunting
+fondly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Folks are too apt to forget that beauty is but skin deep,&rdquo; said
+his wife. She was beginning to feel better. &ldquo;But still, I do agree,
+Bunting, that Daisy&rsquo;s well enough. And she seems more willing,
+too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say, we mustn&rsquo;t forget the lodger&rsquo;s dinner,&rdquo; Bunting
+spoke uneasily. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a bit of fish to-day, isn&rsquo;t it?
+Hadn&rsquo;t I better just tell Daisy to see to it, and then I can take it up
+to him, as you&rsquo;re not feeling quite the thing, Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m quite well enough to take up Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s
+luncheon,&rdquo; she said quickly. It irritated her to hear her husband speak
+of the lodger&rsquo;s dinner. They had dinner in the middle of the day, but Mr.
+Sleuth had luncheon. However odd he might be, Mrs. Bunting never forgot her
+lodger was a gentleman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After all, he likes me to wait on him, doesn&rsquo;t he? I can manage
+all right. Don&rsquo;t you worry,&rdquo; she added after a long pause.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps because his luncheon was served to him a good deal later than usual,
+Mr. Sleuth ate his nice piece of steamed sole upstairs with far heartier an
+appetite than his landlady had eaten her nice slice of roast pork downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;re feeling a little better, sir,&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting
+had forced herself to say when she first took in his tray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he had answered plaintively, querulously, &ldquo;No, I can&rsquo;t say I
+feel well to-day, Mrs. Bunting. I am tired&mdash;very tired. And as I lay in
+bed I seemed to hear so many sounds&mdash;so much crying and shouting. I trust
+the Marylebone Road is not going to become a noisy thoroughfare, Mrs.
+Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, sir, I don&rsquo;t think that. We&rsquo;re generally reckoned
+very quiet indeed, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She waited a moment&mdash;try as she would, she could not allude to what those
+unwonted shouts and noises had betokened. &ldquo;I expect you&rsquo;ve got a
+chill, sir,&rdquo; she said suddenly. &ldquo;If I was you, I shouldn&rsquo;t go
+out this afternoon; I&rsquo;d just stay quietly indoors. There&rsquo;s a lot of
+rough people about&mdash;&rdquo; Perhaps there was an undercurrent of warning,
+of painful pleading, in her toneless voice which penetrated in some way to the
+brain of the lodger, for Mr. Sleuth looked up, and an uneasy, watchful look
+came into his luminous grey eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bunting. But I think I&rsquo;ll take
+your advice. That is, I will stay quietly at home, I am never at a loss to know
+what to do with myself so long as I can study the Book of Books.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you&rsquo;re not afraid about your eyes, sir?&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Bunting curiously. Somehow she was beginning to feel better. It comforted her
+to be up here, talking to Mr. Sleuth, instead of thinking about him downstairs.
+It seemed to banish the terror which filled her soul&mdash;aye, and her body,
+too&mdash;at other times. When she was with him Mr. Sleuth was so gentle, so
+reasonable, so&mdash;so grateful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor kindly, solitary Mr. Sleuth! This kind of gentleman surely wouldn&rsquo;t
+hurt a fly, let alone a human being. Eccentric&mdash;so much must be admitted.
+But Mrs. Bunting had seen a good deal of eccentric folk, eccentric women rather
+than eccentric men, in her long career as useful maid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Being at ordinary times an exceptionally sensible, well-balanced woman, she had
+never, in old days, allowed her mind to dwell on certain things she had learnt
+as to the aberrations of which human nature is capable&mdash;even well-born,
+well-nurtured, gentle human nature&mdash;as exemplified in some of the
+households where she had served. It would, indeed, be unfortunate if she now
+became morbid or&mdash;or hysterical.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it was in a sharp, cheerful voice, almost the voice in which she had talked
+during the first few days of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s stay in her house, that she
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Well, sir, I&rsquo;ll be up again to clear away in about half
+an hour. And if you&rsquo;ll forgive me for saying so, I hope you will stay in
+and have a rest to-day. Nasty, muggy weather&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it is! If
+there&rsquo;s any little thing you want, me or Bunting can go out and get
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+It must have been about four o&rsquo;clock when there came a ring at the front
+door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The three were sitting chatting together, for Daisy had washed up&mdash;she
+really was saving her stepmother a good bit of trouble&mdash;and the girl was
+now amusing her elders by a funny account of Old Aunt&rsquo;s pernickety ways.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whoever can that be?&rdquo; said Bunting, looking up. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+too early for Joe Chandler, surely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; said his wife, hurriedly jumping up from her
+chair. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go! We don&rsquo;t want no strangers in here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as she stepped down the short bit of passage she said to herself, &ldquo;A
+clue? What clue?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when she opened the front door a glad sigh of relief broke from her.
+&ldquo;Why, Joe? We never thought &rsquo;twas you! But you&rsquo;re very
+welcome, I&rsquo;m sure. Come in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Chandler came in, a rather sheepish look on his good-looking, fair young
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought maybe that Mr. Bunting would like to know&mdash;&rdquo; he
+began, in a loud, cheerful voice, and Mrs. Bunting hurriedly checked him. She
+didn&rsquo;t want the lodger upstairs to hear what young Chandler might be
+going to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk so loud,&rdquo; she said a little sharply. &ldquo;The
+lodger is not very well to-day. He&rsquo;s had a cold,&rdquo; she added
+hastily, &ldquo;and during the last two or three days he hasn&rsquo;t been able
+to go out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wondered at her temerity, her&mdash;her hypocrisy, and that moment, those
+few words, marked an epoch in Ellen Bunting&rsquo;s life. It was the first time
+she had told a bold and deliberate lie. She was one of those women&mdash;there
+are many, many such&mdash;to whom there is a whole world of difference between
+the suppression of the truth and the utterance of an untruth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Chandler paid no heed to her remarks. &ldquo;Has Miss Daisy arrived?&rdquo;
+he asked, in a lower voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She nodded. And then he went through into the room where the father and
+daughter were sitting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Bunting, starting up. &ldquo;Well, Joe? Now you can
+tell us all about that mysterious clue. I suppose it&rsquo;d be too good news
+to expect you to tell us they&rsquo;ve caught him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No fear of such good news as that yet awhile. If they&rsquo;d caught
+him,&rdquo; said Joe ruefully, &ldquo;well, I don&rsquo;t suppose I should be
+here, Mr. Bunting. But the Yard are circulating a description at last.
+And&mdash;well, they&rsquo;ve found his weapon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No?&rdquo; cried Bunting excitedly. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say so!
+Whatever sort of a thing is it? And are they sure &rsquo;tis his?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t sure, but it seems to be likely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting had slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. But she
+was still standing with her back against the door, looking at the group in
+front of her. None of them were thinking of her&mdash;she thanked God for that!
+She could hear everything that was said without joining in the talk and
+excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen to this!&rdquo; cried Joe Chandler exultantly.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t given out yet&mdash;not for the public, that
+is&mdash;but we was all given it by eight o&rsquo;clock this morning. Quick
+work that, eh?&rdquo; He read out:
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;WANTED
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;A man, of age approximately 28, slight in figure, height approximately 5 ft. 8
+in. Complexion dark. No beard or whiskers. Wearing a black diagonal coat, hard
+felt hat, high white collar, and tie. Carried a newspaper parcel. Very
+respectable appearance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting walked forward. She gave a long, fluttering sigh of unutterable
+relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s the chap!&rdquo; said Joe Chandler triumphantly.
+&ldquo;And now, Miss Daisy&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to her jokingly, but there
+was a funny little tremor in his frank, cheerful-sounding voice&mdash;&ldquo;if
+you knows of any nice, likely young fellow that answers to that
+description&mdash;well, you&rsquo;ve only got to walk in and earn your reward
+of five hundred pounds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Five hundred pounds!&rdquo; cried Daisy and her father simultaneously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That&rsquo;s what the Lord Mayor offered yesterday. Some private
+bloke&mdash;nothing official about it. But we of the Yard is barred from taking
+that reward, worse luck. And it&rsquo;s too bad, for we has all the trouble,
+after all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just hand that bit of paper over, will you?&rdquo; said Bunting.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to con it over to myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler threw over the bit of flimsy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A moment later Bunting looked up and handed it back. &ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s
+clear enough, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. And there&rsquo;s hundreds&mdash;nay, thousands&mdash;of young
+fellows that might be a description of,&rdquo; said Chandler sarcastically.
+&ldquo;As a pal of mine said this morning, &lsquo;There isn&rsquo;t a chap will
+like to carry a newspaper parcel after this.&rsquo; And it won&rsquo;t do to
+have a respectable appearance&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy&rsquo;s voice rang out in merry, pealing laughter. She greatly
+appreciated Mr. Chandler&rsquo;s witticism.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why on earth didn&rsquo;t the people who saw him try and catch
+him?&rdquo; asked Bunting suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Mrs. Bunting broke in, in a lower voice, &ldquo;Yes, Joe&mdash;that seems
+odd, don&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe Chandler coughed. &ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s this way,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;No one person did see all that. The man who&rsquo;s described here is
+just made up from the description of two different folk who <i>think</i> they saw him.
+You see, the murders must have taken place&mdash;well, now, let me
+see&mdash;perhaps at two o&rsquo;clock this last time. Two
+o&rsquo;clock&mdash;that&rsquo;s the idea. Well, at such a time as that not
+many people are about, especially on a foggy night. Yes, one woman declares she
+saw a young chap walking away from the spot where &rsquo;twas done; and another
+one&mdash;but that was a good bit later&mdash;says The Avenger passed by her.
+It&rsquo;s mostly her they&rsquo;re following in this &rsquo;ere description.
+And then the boss who has charge of that sort of thing looked up what other
+people had said&mdash;I mean when the other crimes was committed. That&rsquo;s
+how he made up this &lsquo;Wanted.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then The Avenger may be quite a different sort of man?&rdquo; said
+Bunting slowly, disappointedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, of course he may be. But, no; I think that description fits him
+all right,&rdquo; said Chandler; but he also spoke in a hesitating voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You was saying, Joe, that they found a weapon?&rdquo; observed Bunting
+insinuatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was glad that Ellen allowed the discussion to go on&mdash;in fact, that she
+even seemed to take an intelligent interest in it. She had come up close to
+them, and now looked quite her old self again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. They believe they&rsquo;ve found the weapon what he does his awful
+deeds with,&rdquo; said Chandler. &ldquo;At any rate, within a hundred yards of
+that little dark passage where they found the bodies&mdash;one at each end,
+that was&mdash;there was discovered this morning a very peculiar kind o&rsquo;
+knife&mdash;&lsquo;keen as a razor, pointed as a
+dagger&rsquo;&mdash;that&rsquo;s the exact words the boss used when he was
+describing it to a lot of us. He seemed to think a lot more of that clue than
+of the other&mdash;I mean than of the description people gave of the chap who
+walked quickly by with a newspaper parcel. But now there&rsquo;s a pretty job
+in front of us. Every shop where they sell or might a&rsquo; sold, such a thing
+as that knife, including every eating-house in the East End, has got to be
+called at!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whatever for?&rdquo; asked Daisy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, with an idea of finding out if anyone saw such a knife fooling
+about there any time, and, if so, in whose possession it was at the time. But,
+Mr. Bunting&rdquo;&mdash;Chandler&rsquo;s voice changed; it became
+businesslike, official&mdash;&ldquo;they&rsquo;re not going to say anything
+about that&mdash;not in newspapers&mdash;till to-morrow, so don&rsquo;t you go
+and tell anybody. You see, we don&rsquo;t want to frighten the fellow off. If
+he knew they&rsquo;d got his knife&mdash;well, he might just make himself
+scarce, and they don&rsquo;t want that! If it&rsquo;s discovered that any knife
+of that kind was sold, say a month ago, to some customer whose ways are known,
+then&mdash;then&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;ll happen then?&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting, coming nearer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then, nothing&rsquo;ll be put about it in the papers at
+all,&rdquo; said Chandler deliberately. &ldquo;The only objec&rsquo; of letting
+the public know about it would be if nothink was found&mdash;I mean if the
+search of the shops, and so on, was no good. Then, of course, we must try and
+find out someone&mdash;some private person-like, who&rsquo;s watched that knife
+in the criminal&rsquo;s possession. It&rsquo;s there the reward&mdash;the five
+hundred pounds will come in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;d give anything to see that knife!&rdquo; exclaimed Daisy,
+clasping her hands together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You cruel, bloodthirsty, girl!&rdquo; cried her stepmother passionately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They all looked round at her, surprised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, come, Ellen!&rdquo; said Bunting reprovingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it <i>is</i> a horrible idea!&rdquo; said his wife sullenly. &ldquo;To go
+and sell a fellow-being for five hundred pounds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Daisy was offended. &ldquo;Of course I&rsquo;d like to see it!&rdquo; she
+cried defiantly. &ldquo;I never said nothing about the reward. That was Mr.
+Chandler said that! I only said I&rsquo;d like to see the knife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler looked at her soothingly. &ldquo;Well, the day may come when you <i>will</i>
+see it,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A great idea had come into his mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No! What makes you think that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If they catches him, and if you comes along with me to see our Black
+Museum at the Yard, you&rsquo;ll certainly see the knife, Miss Daisy. They
+keeps all them kind of things there. So if, as I say, this weapon <i>should</i> lead
+to the conviction of The Avenger&mdash;well, then, that knife &rsquo;ull be
+there, and you&rsquo;ll see it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Black Museum? Why, whatever do they have a museum in your place
+for?&rdquo; asked Daisy wonderingly. &ldquo;I thought there was only the
+British Museum&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then even Mrs. Bunting, as well as Bunting and Chandler, laughed aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a goosey girl!&rdquo; said her father fondly. &ldquo;Why,
+there&rsquo;s a lot of museums in London; the town&rsquo;s thick with
+&rsquo;em. Ask Ellen there. She and me used to go to them kind of places when
+we was courting&mdash;if the weather was bad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But our museum&rsquo;s the one that would interest Miss Daisy,&rdquo;
+broke in Chandler eagerly. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a regular Chamber of
+&rsquo;Orrors!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Joe, you never told us about that place before,&rdquo; said Bunting
+excitedly. &ldquo;D&rsquo;you really mean that there&rsquo;s a museum where
+they keeps all sorts of things connected with crimes? Things like knives
+murders have been committed with?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Knives?&rdquo; cried Joe, pleased at having become the centre of
+attention, for Daisy had also fixed her blue eyes on him, and even Mrs. Bunting
+looked at him expectantly. &ldquo;Much more than knives, Mr. Bunting! Why,
+they&rsquo;ve got there, in little bottles, the real poison what people have
+been done away with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And can you go there whenever you like?&rdquo; asked Daisy wonderingly.
+She had not realised before what extraordinary and agreeable privileges are
+attached to the position of a detective member of the London Police Force.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I suppose I <i>could</i>&mdash;&rdquo; Joe smiled. &ldquo;Anyway I can
+certainly get leave to take a friend there.&rdquo; He looked meaningly at
+Daisy, and Daisy looked eagerly at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But would Ellen ever let her go out by herself with Mr. Chandler? Ellen was so
+prim, so&mdash;so irritatingly proper. But what was this father was saying?
+&ldquo;D&rsquo;you really mean that, Joe?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, of course I do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then, look here! If it isn&rsquo;t asking too much of a favour, I
+should like to go along there with you very much one day. I don&rsquo;t want to
+wait till The Avenger&rsquo;s caught&rdquo;&mdash;Bunting smiled broadly.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d be quite content as it is with what there is in that museum
+o&rsquo; yours. Ellen, there,&rdquo;&mdash;he looked across at his
+wife&mdash;&ldquo;don&rsquo;t agree with me about such things. Yet I
+don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;m a bloodthirsty man! But I&rsquo;m just terribly
+interested in all that sort of thing&mdash;always have been. I used to
+positively envy the butler in that Balham Mystery!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again a look passed between Daisy and the young man&mdash;it was a look which
+contained and carried a great many things backwards and forwards, such
+as&mdash;&ldquo;Now, isn&rsquo;t it funny that your father should want to go to
+such a place? But still, I can&rsquo;t help it if he does want to go, so we
+must put up with his company, though it would have been much nicer for us to go
+just by our two selves.&rdquo; And then Daisy&rsquo;s look answered quite as
+plainly, though perhaps Joe didn&rsquo;t read her glance quite as clearly as
+she had read his: &ldquo;Yes, it is tiresome. But father means well; and
+&rsquo;twill be very pleasant going there, even if he does come too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what d&rsquo;you say to the day after to-morrow, Mr. Bunting?
+I&rsquo;d call for you here about&mdash;shall we say half-past two?&mdash;and
+just take you and Miss Daisy down to the Yard. &rsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t take very
+long; we could go all the way by bus, right down to Westminster Bridge.&rdquo;
+He looked round at his hostess: &ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t you join us, Mrs.
+Bunting? &rsquo;Tis truly a wonderful interesting place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But his hostess shook her head decidedly. &ldquo;&rsquo;Twould turn me
+sick,&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;to see the bottle of poison what had done
+away with the life of some poor creature!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And as for knives&mdash;!&rdquo; a look of real horror, of startled
+fear, crept over her pale face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, there!&rdquo; said Bunting hastily. &ldquo;Live and let
+live&mdash;that&rsquo;s what I always say. Ellen ain&rsquo;t on in this turn.
+She can just stay at home and mind the cat&mdash;I beg his pardon, I mean the
+lodger!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have Mr. Sleuth laughed at,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting
+darkly. &ldquo;But there! I&rsquo;m sure it&rsquo;s very kind of you, Joe, to
+think of giving Bunting and Daisy such a rare treat&rdquo;&mdash;she spoke
+sarcastically, but none of the three who heard her understood that.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The moment she passed though the great arched door which admits the stranger to
+that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart of that great organism
+which fights the forces of civilised crime, Daisy Bunting felt that she had
+indeed become free of the Kingdom of Romance. Even the lift in which the three
+of them were whirled up to one of the upper floors of the huge building was to
+the girl a new and delightful experience. Daisy had always lived a simple,
+quiet life in the little country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this was the
+first time a lift had come her way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler marched his
+friends down a wide, airy corridor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy clung to her father&rsquo;s arm, a little bewildered, a little oppressed
+by her good fortune. Her happy young voice was stilled by the awe she felt at
+the wonderful place where she found herself, and by the glimpses she caught of
+great rooms full of busy, silent men engaged in unravelling&mdash;or so she
+supposed&mdash;the mysteries of crime.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped short.
+&ldquo;Look in there,&rdquo; he said, in a low voice, addressing the father
+rather than the daughter, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s the Finger-Print Room.
+We&rsquo;ve records here of over two hundred thousand men&rsquo;s and
+women&rsquo;s finger-tips! I expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once
+we&rsquo;ve got the print of a man&rsquo;s five finger-tips, well, he&rsquo;s
+done for&mdash;if he ever does anything else, that is. Once we&rsquo;ve got
+that bit of him registered he can&rsquo;t never escape us&mdash;no, not if he
+tries ever so. But though there&rsquo;s nigh on a quarter of a million records
+in there, yet it don&rsquo;t take&mdash;well, not half an hour, for them to
+tell whether any particular man has ever been convicted before! Wonderful
+thought, ain&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonderful!&rdquo; said Bunting, drawing a deep breath. And then a
+troubled look came over his stolid face. &ldquo;Wonderful, but also a very
+fearful thought for the poor wretches as has got their finger-prints in,
+Joe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe laughed. &ldquo;Agreed!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And the cleverer ones knows
+that only too well. Why, not long ago, one man who knew his record was here
+safe, managed to slash about his fingers something awful, just so as to make a
+blurred impression&mdash;you takes my meaning? But there, at the end of six
+weeks the skin grew all right again, and in exactly the same little creases as
+before!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor devil!&rdquo; said Bunting under his breath, and a cloud even came
+over Daisy&rsquo;s bright eager face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were now going along a narrower passage, and then again they came to a
+half-open door, leading into a room far smaller than that of the Finger-Print
+Identification Room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll glance in there,&rdquo; said Joe briefly,
+&ldquo;you&rsquo;ll see how we finds out all about any man whose finger-tips
+has given him away, so to speak. It&rsquo;s here we keeps an account of what
+he&rsquo;s done, his previous convictions, and so on. His finger-tips are where
+I told you, and his record in there&mdash;just connected by a number.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonderful!&rdquo; said Bunting, drawing in his breath. But Daisy was
+longing to get on&mdash;to get to the Black Museum. All this that Joe and her
+father were saying was quite unreal to her, and, for the matter of that not
+worth taking the trouble to understand. However, she had not long to wait.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A broad-shouldered, pleasant-looking young fellow, who seemed on very friendly
+terms with Joe Chandler, came forward suddenly, and, unlocking a
+common-place-looking door, ushered the little party of three through into the
+Black Museum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment there came across Daisy a feeling of keen disappointment and
+surprise. This big, light room simply reminded her of what they called the
+Science Room in the public library of the town where she lived with Old Aunt.
+Here, as there, the centre was taken up with plain glass cases fixed at a
+height from the floor which enabled their contents to be looked at closely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She walked forward and peered into the case nearest the door. The exhibits
+shown there were mostly small, shabby-looking little things, the sort of things
+one might turn out of an old rubbish cupboard in an untidy house&mdash;old
+medicine bottles, a soiled neckerchief, what looked like a child&rsquo;s broken
+lantern, even a box of pills. . .
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for the walls, they were covered with the queerest-looking objects; bits of
+old iron, odd-looking things made of wood and leather, and so on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was really rather disappointing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Daisy Bunting gradually became aware that standing on a shelf just below
+the first of the broad, spacious windows which made the great room look so
+light and shadowless, was a row of life-size white plaster heads, each head
+slightly inclined to the right. There were about a dozen of these, not
+more&mdash;and they had such odd, staring, helpless, <i>real</i>-looking faces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whatever&rsquo;s those?&rdquo; asked Bunting in a low voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy clung a thought closer to her father&rsquo;s arm. Even she guessed that
+these strange, pathetic, staring faces were the death-masks of those men and
+women who had fulfilled the awful law which ordains that the murderer shall be,
+in his turn, done to death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All hanged!&rdquo; said the guardian of the Black Museum briefly.
+&ldquo;Casts taken after death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting smiled nervously. &ldquo;They don&rsquo;t look dead somehow. They looks
+more as if they were listening,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the fault of Jack Ketch,&rdquo; said the man facetiously.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s his idea&mdash;that of knotting his patient&rsquo;s necktie
+under the left ear! That&rsquo;s what he does to each of the gentlemen to whom
+he has to act valet on just one occasion only. It makes them lean just a bit to
+one side. You look here&mdash;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy and her father came a little closer, and the speaker pointed with his
+finger to a little dent imprinted on the left side of each neck; running from
+this indentation was a curious little furrow, well ridged above, showing how
+tightly Jack Ketch&rsquo;s necktie had been drawn when its wearer was hurried
+through the gates of eternity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They looks foolish-like, rather than terrified, or&mdash;or hurt,&rdquo;
+said Bunting wonderingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was extraordinarily moved and fascinated by those dumb, staring faces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But young Chandler exclaimed in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice, &ldquo;Well,
+a man would look foolish at such a time as that, with all his plans brought to
+naught&mdash;and knowing he&rsquo;s only got a second to live&mdash;now
+wouldn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I suppose he would,&rdquo; said Bunting slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy had gone a little pale. The sinister, breathless atmosphere of the place
+was beginning to tell on her. She now began to understand that the shabby
+little objects lying there in the glass case close to her were each and all
+links in the chain of evidence which, in almost every case, had brought some
+guilty man or woman to the gallows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We had a yellow gentleman here the other day,&rdquo; observed the
+guardian suddenly; &ldquo;one of those Brahmins&mdash;so they calls themselves.
+Well, you&rsquo;d a been quite surprised to see how that heathen took on! He
+declared&mdash;what was the word he used?&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to Chandler.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He said that each of these things, with the exception of the casts, mind
+you&mdash;queer to say, he left them out&mdash;exuded evil, that was the word
+he used! Exuded&mdash;squeezed out it means. He said that being here made him
+feel very bad. And twasn&rsquo;t all nonsense either. He turned quite green
+under his yellow skin, and we had to shove him out quick. He didn&rsquo;t feel
+better till he&rsquo;d got right to the other end of the passage!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There now! Who&rsquo;d ever think of that?&rdquo; said Bunting. &ldquo;I
+should say that man &rsquo;ud got something on his conscience, wouldn&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I needn&rsquo;t stay now,&rdquo; said Joe&rsquo;s good-natured
+friend. &ldquo;You show your friends round, Chandler. You knows the place
+nearly as well as I do, don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled at Joe&rsquo;s visitors, as if to say good-bye, but it seemed that he
+could not tear himself away after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said to Bunting. &ldquo;In this here little case
+are the tools of Charles Peace. I expect you&rsquo;ve heard of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should think I have!&rdquo; cried Bunting eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Many gents as comes here thinks this case the most interesting of all.
+Peace was such a wonderful man! A great inventor they say he would have been,
+had he been put in the way of it. Here&rsquo;s his ladder; you see it folds up
+quite compactly, and makes a nice little bundle&mdash;just like a bundle of old
+sticks any man might have been seen carrying about London in those days without
+attracting any attention. Why, it probably helped him to look like an honest
+working man time and time again, for on being arrested he declared most
+solemnly he&rsquo;d always carried that ladder openly under his arm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The daring of that!&rdquo; cried Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, and when the ladder was opened out it could reach from the ground
+to the second storey of any old house. And, oh! how clever he was! Just open
+one section, and you see the other sections open automatically; so Peace could
+stand on the ground and force the thing quietly up to any window he wished to
+reach. Then he&rsquo;d go away again, having done his job, with a mere bundle
+of old wood under his arm! My word, he was artful! I wonder if you&rsquo;ve
+heard the tale of how Peace once lost a finger. Well, he guessed the constables
+were instructed to look out for a man missing a finger; so what did he
+do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put on a false finger,&rdquo; suggested Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, indeed! Peace made up his mind just to do without a hand altogether.
+Here&rsquo;s his false stump: you see, it&rsquo;s made of wood&mdash;wood and
+black felt? Well, that just held his hand nicely. Why, we considers that one of
+the most ingenious contrivances in the whole museum.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Daisy had let go her hold of her father. With Chandler in delighted
+attendance, she had moved away to the farther end of the great room, and now
+she was bending over yet another glass case. &ldquo;Whatever are those little
+bottles for?&rdquo; she asked wonderingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were five small phials, filled with varying quantities of cloudy liquids.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re full of poison, Miss Daisy, that&rsquo;s what they are.
+There&rsquo;s enough arsenic in that little whack o&rsquo; brandy to do for you
+and me&mdash;aye, and for your father as well, I should say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then chemists shouldn&rsquo;t sell such stuff,&rdquo; said Daisy,
+smiling. Poison was so remote from herself, that the sight of these little
+bottles only brought a pleasant thrill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No more they don&rsquo;t. That was sneaked out of a flypaper, that was.
+Lady said she wanted a cosmetic for her complexion, but what she was really
+going for was flypapers for to do away with her husband. She&rsquo;d got a bit
+tired of him, I suspect.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps he was a horrid man, and deserved to be done away with,&rdquo;
+said Daisy. The idea struck them both as so very comic that they began to laugh
+aloud in unison.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you ever hear what a certain Mrs. Pearce did?&rdquo; asked Chandler,
+becoming suddenly serious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; said Daisy, and she shuddered a little. &ldquo;That was
+the wicked, wicked woman what killed a pretty little baby and its mother.
+They&rsquo;ve got her in Madame Tussaud&rsquo;s. But Ellen, she won&rsquo;t let
+me go to the Chamber of Horrors. She wouldn&rsquo;t let father take me there
+last time I was in London. Cruel of her, I called it. But somehow I don&rsquo;t
+feel as if I wanted to go there now, after having been here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Chandler slowly, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ve a case full of
+relics of Mrs. Pearce. But the pram the bodies were found in, that&rsquo;s at
+Madame Tussaud&rsquo;s&mdash;at least so they claim, I can&rsquo;t say. Now
+here&rsquo;s something just as curious, and not near so dreadful. See that
+man&rsquo;s jacket there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Daisy falteringly. She was beginning to feel oppressed,
+frightened. She no longer wondered that the Indian gentleman had been taken
+queer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A burglar shot a man dead who&rsquo;d disturbed him, and by mistake he
+went and left that jacket behind him. Our people noticed that one of the
+buttons was broken in two. Well, that don&rsquo;t seem much of a clue, does it,
+Miss Daisy? Will you believe me when I tells you that that other bit of button
+was discovered, and that it hanged the fellow? And &rsquo;twas the more
+wonderful because all three buttons was different!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy stared wonderingly, down at the little broken button which had hung a
+man. &ldquo;And whatever&rsquo;s that!&rdquo; she asked, pointing to a piece of
+dirty-looking stuff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Chandler reluctantly, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s rather a
+horrible thing&mdash;that is. That&rsquo;s a bit o&rsquo; shirt that was buried
+with a woman&mdash;buried in the ground, I mean&mdash;after her husband had cut
+her up and tried to burn her. &rsquo;Twas that bit o&rsquo; shirt that brought
+him to the gallows.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I considers your museum&rsquo;s a very horrid place!&rdquo; said Daisy
+pettishly, turning away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She longed to be out in the passage again, away from this brightly lighted,
+cheerful-looking, sinister room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her father was now absorbed in the case containing various types of
+infernal machines. &ldquo;Beautiful little works of art some of them
+are,&rdquo; said his guide eagerly, and Bunting could not but agree.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along&mdash;do, father!&rdquo; said Daisy quickly.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen about enough now. If I was to stay in here much longer
+it &rsquo;ud give me the horrors. I don&rsquo;t want to have no nightmares
+to-night. It&rsquo;s dreadful to think there are so many wicked people in the
+world. Why, we might knock up against some murderer any minute without knowing
+it, mightn&rsquo;t we?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not you, Miss Daisy,&rdquo; said Chandler smilingly. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t suppose you&rsquo;ll ever come across even a common swindler, let
+alone anyone who&rsquo;s committed a murder&mdash;not one in a million does
+that. Why, even I have never had anything to do with a proper murder
+case!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Bunting was in no hurry. He was thoroughly enjoying every moment of the
+time. Just now he was studying intently the various photographs which hung on
+the walls of the Black Museum; especially was he pleased to see those connected
+with a famous and still mysterious case which had taken place not long before
+in Scotland, and in which the servant of the man who died had played a
+considerable part&mdash;not in elucidating, but in obscuring, the mystery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose a good many murderers get off?&rdquo; he said musingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Joe Chandler&rsquo;s friend nodded. &ldquo;I should think they did!&rdquo;
+he exclaimed. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no such thing as justice here in England.
+&rsquo;Tis odds on the murderer every time. &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t one in ten that
+come to the end he should do&mdash;to the gallows, that is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what d&rsquo;you think about what&rsquo;s going on now&mdash;I mean
+about those Avenger murders?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting lowered his voice, but Daisy and Chandler were already moving towards
+the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe he&rsquo;ll ever be caught,&rdquo; said the other
+confidentially. &ldquo;In some ways &rsquo;tis a lot more of a job to catch a
+madman than &rsquo;tis to run down just an ordinary criminal. And, of
+course&mdash;leastways to my thinking&mdash;The Avenger <i>is</i> a madman&mdash;one
+of the cunning, quiet sort. Have you heard about the letter?&rdquo; his voice
+dropped lower.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Bunting, staring eagerly at him. &ldquo;What letter
+d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, there&rsquo;s a letter&mdash;it&rsquo;ll be in this museum some
+day&mdash;which came just before that last double event. &rsquo;Twas signed
+&lsquo;The Avenger,&rsquo; in just the same printed characters as on that bit
+of paper he always leaves behind him. Mind you, it don&rsquo;t follow that it
+actually was The Avenger what sent that letter here, but it looks uncommonly
+like it, and I know that the Boss attaches quite a lot of importance to
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where was it posted?&rdquo; asked Bunting. &ldquo;That might be a
+bit of a clue, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; said the other. &ldquo;They always goes a very long way
+to post anything&mdash;criminals do. It stands to reason they would. But this
+particular one was put in the Edgware Road Post Office.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Close to us?&rdquo; said Bunting. &ldquo;Goodness!
+dreadful!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any of us might knock up against him any minute. I don&rsquo;t suppose
+The Avenger&rsquo;s in any way peculiar-looking&mdash;in fact we know he
+ain&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you think that woman as says she saw him did see him?&rdquo; asked
+Bunting hesitatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Our description was made up from what she said,&rdquo; answered the
+other cautiously. &ldquo;But, there, you can&rsquo;t tell! In a case like that
+it&rsquo;s groping&mdash;groping in the dark all the time&mdash;and it&rsquo;s
+just a lucky accident if it comes out right in the end. Of course, it&rsquo;s
+upsetting us all very much here. You can&rsquo;t wonder at that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, indeed,&rdquo; said Bunting quickly. &ldquo;I give you my word,
+I&rsquo;ve hardly thought of anything else for the last month.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy had disappeared, and when her father joined her in the passage she was
+listening, with downcast eyes, to what Joe Chandler was saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was telling her about his real home, of the place where his mother lived, at
+Richmond&mdash;that it was a nice little house, close to the park. He was
+asking her whether she could manage to come out there one afternoon, explaining
+that his mother would give them tea, and how nice it would be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see why Ellen shouldn&rsquo;t let me,&rdquo; the girl said
+rebelliously. &ldquo;But she&rsquo;s that old-fashioned and pernickety is
+Ellen&mdash;a regular old maid! And, you see, Mr. Chandler, when I&rsquo;m
+staying with them, father don&rsquo;t like for me to do anything that Ellen
+don&rsquo;t approve of. But she&rsquo;s got quite fond of you, so perhaps if
+you ask her&mdash;?&rdquo; She looked at him, and he nodded sagely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you be afraid,&rdquo; he said confidently. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+get round Mrs. Bunting. But, Miss Daisy&rdquo;&mdash;he grew very
+red&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;d just like to ask you a question&mdash;no offence
+meant&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; said Daisy a little breathlessly. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+father close to us, Mr. Chandler. Tell me quick; what is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I take it, by what you said just now, that you&rsquo;ve never
+walked out with any young fellow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy hesitated a moment; then a very pretty dimple came into her cheek.
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said sadly. &ldquo;No, Mr. Chandler, that I have
+not.&rdquo; In a burst of candour she added, &ldquo;You see, I never had the
+chance!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Joe Chandler smiled, well pleased.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<p>
+By what she regarded as a fortunate chance, Mrs. Bunting found herself for
+close on an hour quite alone in the house during her husband&rsquo;s and
+Daisy&rsquo;s jaunt with young Chandler.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth did not often go out in the daytime, but on this particular
+afternoon, after he had finished his tea, when dusk was falling, he suddenly
+observed that he wanted a new suit of clothes, and his landlady eagerly
+acquiesced in his going out to purchase it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as he had left the house, she went quickly up to the drawing-room
+floor. Now had come her opportunity of giving the two rooms a good dusting; but
+Mrs. Bunting knew well, deep in her heart, that it was not so much the dusting
+of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s sitting-room she wanted to do&mdash;as to engage in a
+vague search for&mdash;she hardly knew for what.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the years she had been in service Mrs. Bunting had always had a deep,
+wordless contempt for those of her fellow-servants who read their
+employers&rsquo; private letters, and who furtively peeped into desks and
+cupboards in the hope, more vague than positive, of discovering family
+skeletons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now, with regard to Mr. Sleuth, she was ready, aye, eager, to do herself
+what she had once so scorned others for doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Beginning with the bedroom, she started on a methodical search. He was a very
+tidy gentleman was the lodger, and his few things, under-garments, and so on,
+were in apple-pie order. She had early undertaken, much to his satisfaction, to
+do the very little bit of washing he required done, with her own and
+Bunting&rsquo;s. Luckily he wore soft shirts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At one time Mrs. Bunting had always had a woman in to help her with this
+tiresome weekly job, but lately she had grown quite clever at it herself. The
+only things she had to send out were Bunting&rsquo;s shirts. Everything else
+she managed to do herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the chest of drawers she now turned her attention to the dressing-table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth did not take his money with him when he went out, he generally left
+it in one of the drawers below the old-fashioned looking-glass. And now, in a
+perfunctory way, his landlady pulled out the little drawer, but she did not
+touch what was lying there; she only glanced at the heap of sovereigns and a
+few bits of silver. The lodger had taken just enough money with him to buy the
+clothes he required. He had consulted her as to how much they would cost,
+making no secret of why he was going out, and the fact had vaguely comforted
+Mrs. Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now she lifted the toilet-cover, and even rolled up the carpet a little way,
+but no, there was nothing there, not so much as a scrap of paper. And at last,
+when more or less giving up the search, as she came and went between the two
+rooms, leaving the connecting door wide open, her mind became full of uneasy
+speculation and wonder as to the lodger&rsquo;s past life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Odd Mr. Sleuth must surely always have been, but odd in a sensible sort of way,
+having on the whole the same moral ideals of conduct as have other people of
+his class. He was queer about the drink&mdash;one might say almost crazy on the
+subject&mdash;but there, as to that, he wasn&rsquo;t the only one! She, Ellen
+Bunting, had once lived with a lady who was just like that, who was quite
+crazed, that is, on the question of drink and drunkards&mdash;She looked round
+the neat drawing-room with vague dissatisfaction. There was only one place
+where anything could be kept concealed&mdash;that place was the substantial if
+small mahogany chiffonnier. And then an idea suddenly came to Mrs. Bunting, one
+she had never thought of before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After listening intently for a moment, lest something should suddenly bring Mr.
+Sleuth home earlier than she expected, she went to the corner where the
+chiffonnier stood, and, exerting the whole of her not very great physical
+strength, she tipped forward the heavy piece of furniture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she did so, she heard a queer rumbling sound,&mdash;something rolling about
+on the second shelf, something which had not been there before Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s arrival. Slowly, laboriously, she tipped the chiffonnier
+backwards and forwards&mdash;once, twice, thrice&mdash;satisfied, yet strangely
+troubled in her mind, for she now felt sure that the bag of which the
+disappearance had so surprised her was there, safely locked away by its owner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly a very uncomfortable thought came to Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s mind. She
+hoped Mr. Sleuth would not notice that his bag had shifted inside the cupboard.
+A moment later, with sharp dismay, Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady realised that
+the fact that she had moved the chiffonnier must become known to her lodger,
+for a thin trickle of some dark-coloured liquid was oozing out though the
+bottom of the little cupboard door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stooped down and touched the stuff. It showed red, bright red, on her
+finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting grew chalky white, then recovered herself quickly. In fact the
+colour rushed into her face, and she grew hot all over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was only a bottle of red ink she had upset&mdash;that was all! How could she
+have thought it was anything else?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the more silly of her&mdash;so she told herself in scornful
+condemnation&mdash;because she knew that the lodger used red ink. Certain pages
+of Cruden&rsquo;s Concordance were covered with notes written in Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s peculiar upright handwriting. In fact in some places you
+couldn&rsquo;t see the margin, so closely covered was it with remarks and notes
+of interrogation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth had foolishly placed his bottle of red ink in the
+chiffonnier&mdash;that was what her poor, foolish gentleman had done; and it
+was owing to her inquisitiveness, her restless wish to know things she would be
+none the better, none the happier, for knowing, that this accident had taken
+place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She mopped up with her duster the few drops of ink which had fallen on the
+green carpet and then, still feeling, as she angrily told herself, foolishly
+upset she went once more into the back room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was curious that Mr. Sleuth possessed no notepaper. She would have expected
+him to have made that one of his first purchases&mdash;the more so that paper
+is so very cheap, especially that rather dirty-looking grey Silurian paper.
+Mrs. Bunting had once lived with a lady who always used two kinds of notepaper,
+white for her friends and equals, grey for those whom she called &ldquo;common
+people.&rdquo; She, Ellen Green, as she then was, had always resented the fact.
+Strange she should remember it now, stranger in a way because that employer of
+her&rsquo;s had not been a real lady, and Mr. Sleuth, whatever his
+peculiarities, was, in every sense of the word, a real gentleman. Somehow Mrs.
+Bunting felt sure that if he had bought any notepaper it would have been
+white&mdash;white and probably cream-laid&mdash;not grey and cheap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again she opened the drawer of the old-fashioned wardrobe and lifted up the few
+pieces of underclothing Mr. Sleuth now possessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was nothing there&mdash;nothing, that is, hidden away. When one came
+to think of it there seemed something strange in the notion of leaving all
+one&rsquo;s money where anyone could take it, and in locking up such a
+valueless thing as a cheap sham leather bag, to say nothing of a bottle of ink.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting once more opened out each of the tiny drawers below the
+looking-glass, each delicately fashioned of fine old mahogany. Mr. Sleuth kept
+his money in the centre drawer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The glass had only cost seven-and-sixpence, and, after the auction a dealer had
+come and offered her first fifteen shillings, and then a guinea for it. Not
+long ago, in Baker Street, she had seen a looking-glass which was the very spit
+of this one, labeled &ldquo;Chippendale, Antique. £21 5s 0d.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There lay Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s money&mdash;the sovereigns, as the landlady well
+knew, would each and all gradually pass into her&rsquo;s and Bunting&rsquo;s
+possession, honestly earned by them no doubt but unattainable&mdash;in act
+unearnable&mdash;excepting in connection with the present owner of those dully
+shining gold sovereigns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she went downstairs to await Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she heard the key turn in the door, she came out into the passage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry to say I&rsquo;ve had an accident, sir,&rdquo; she said
+a little breathlessly. &ldquo;Taking advantage of your being out I went up to
+dust the drawing-room, and while I was trying to get behind the chiffonnier it
+tilted. I&rsquo;m afraid, sir, that a bottle of ink that was inside may have
+got broken, for just a few drops oozed out, sir. But I hope there&rsquo;s no
+harm done. I wiped it up as well as I could, seeing that the doors of the
+chiffonnier are locked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her with a wild, almost a terrified glance. But Mrs.
+Bunting stood her ground. She felt far less afraid now than she had felt before
+he came in. Then she had been so frightened that she had nearly gone out of the
+house, on to the pavement, for company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course I had no idea, sir, that you kept any ink in there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She spoke as if she were on the defensive, and the lodger&rsquo;s brow cleared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was aware you used ink, sir,&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting went on, &ldquo;for I
+have seen you marking that book of yours&mdash;I mean the book you read
+together with the Bible. Would you like me to go out and get you another
+bottle, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth. &ldquo;No, I thank you. I will at once
+proceed upstairs and see what damage has been done. When I require you I shall
+ring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shuffled past her, and five minutes later the drawing-room bell did ring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At once, from the door, Mrs. Bunting saw that the chiffonnier was wide open,
+and that the shelves were empty save for the bottle of red ink which had turned
+over and now lay in a red pool of its own making on the lower shelf.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid it will have stained the wood, Mrs. Bunting. Perhaps I
+was ill-advised to keep my ink in there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, sir! That doesn&rsquo;t matter at all. Only a drop or two fell
+out on to the carpet, and they don&rsquo;t show, as you see, sir, for
+it&rsquo;s a dark corner. Shall I take the bottle away? I may as well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth hesitated. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, after a long pause, &ldquo;I
+think not, Mrs. Bunting. For the very little I require it the ink remaining in
+the bottle will do quite well, especially if I add a little water, or better
+still, a little tea, to what already remains in the bottle. I only require it
+to mark up passages which happen to be of peculiar interest in my
+Concordance&mdash;a work, Mrs. Bunting, which I should have taken great
+pleasure in compiling myself had not this&mdash;ah&mdash;this gentleman called
+Cruden, been before.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Not only Bunting, but Daisy also, thought Ellen far pleasanter in her manner
+than usual that evening. She listened to all they had to say about their
+interesting visit to the Black Museum, and did not snub either of
+them&mdash;no, not even when Bunting told of the dreadful, haunting,
+silly-looking death-masks taken from the hanged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But a few minutes after that, when her husband suddenly asked her a question,
+Mrs. Bunting answered at random. It was clear she had not heard the last few
+words he had been saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A penny for your thoughts!&rdquo; he said jocularly. But she shook her
+head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy slipped out of the room, and, five minutes later, came back dressed up in
+a blue-and-white check silk gown.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My!&rdquo; said her father. &ldquo;You do look fine, Daisy. I&rsquo;ve
+never seen you wearing that before.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And a rare figure of fun she looks in it!&rdquo; observed Mrs. Bunting
+sarcastically. And then, &ldquo;I suppose this dressing up means that
+you&rsquo;re expecting someone. I should have thought both of you must have
+seen enough of young Chandler for one day. I wonder when that young chap does
+his work&mdash;that I do! He never seems too busy to come and waste an hour or
+two here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But that was the only nasty thing Ellen said all that evening. And even Daisy
+noticed that her stepmother seemed dazed and unlike herself. She went about her
+cooking and the various little things she had to do even more silently than was
+her wont.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet under that still, almost sullen, manner, how fierce was the storm of dread,
+of sombre anguish, and, yes, of sick suspense, which shook her soul, and which
+so far affected her poor, ailing body that often she felt as if she could not
+force herself to accomplish her simple round of daily work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After they had finished supper Bunting went out and bought a penny evening
+paper, but as he came in he announced, with a rather rueful smile, that he had
+read so much of that nasty little print this last week or two that his eyes
+hurt him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me read aloud a bit to you, father,&rdquo; said Daisy eagerly, and
+he handed her the paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely had Daisy opened her lips when a loud ring and a knock echoed through
+the house.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was only Joe. Somehow, even Bunting called him &ldquo;Joe&rdquo; now, and no
+longer &ldquo;Chandler,&rdquo; as he had mostly used to do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting had opened the front door only a very little way. She wasn&rsquo;t
+going to have any strangers pushing in past her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To her sharpened, suffering senses her house had become a citadel which must be
+defended; aye, even if the besiegers were a mighty horde <i>with right on their
+side</i>. And she was always expecting that first single spy who would herald the
+battalion against whom her only weapon would be her woman&rsquo;s wit and
+cunning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when she saw who stood there smiling at her, the muscles of her face
+relaxed, and it lost the tense, anxious, almost agonised look it assumed the
+moment she turned her back on her husband and stepdaughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Joe,&rdquo; she whispered, for she had left the door open behind
+her, and Daisy had already begun to read aloud, as her father had bidden her.
+&ldquo;Come in, do! It&rsquo;s fairly cold to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A glance at his face had shown her that there was no fresh news.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe Chandler walked in, past her, into the little hall. Cold? Well, he
+didn&rsquo;t feel cold, for he had walked quickly to be the sooner where he was
+now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nine days had gone by since that last terrible occurrence, the double murder
+which had been committed early in the morning of the day Daisy had arrived in
+London. And though the thousands of men belonging to the Metropolitan
+Police&mdash;to say nothing of the smaller, more alert body of detectives
+attached to the Force&mdash;were keenly on the alert, not one but had begun to
+feel that there was nothing to be alert about. Familiarity, even with horror,
+breeds contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But with the public it was far otherwise. Each day something happened to revive
+and keep alive the mingled horror and interest this strange, enigmatic series
+of crimes had evoked. Even the more sober organs of the Press went on
+attacking, with gathering severity and indignation, the Commissioner of Police;
+and at the huge demonstration held in Victoria Park two days before violent
+speeches had also been made against the Home Secretary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that. The little house in the
+Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isle of dreams, to which his
+thoughts were ever turning when he had a moment to spare from what had grown to
+be a wearisome, because an unsatisfactory, job. He secretly agreed with one of
+his pals who had exclaimed, and that within twenty-four hours of the last
+double crime, &ldquo;Why, &rsquo;twould be easier to find a needle in a rick
+o&rsquo; hay than this&mdash;bloke!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now&mdash;after nine
+long, empty days had gone by?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat. Then he
+put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs. Bunting to wait a
+moment. From where he stood in the hall the father and daughter made a pleasant
+little picture of contented domesticity. Joe Chandler&rsquo;s honest heart
+swelled at the sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which her stepmother
+and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the left side of the fire, while
+Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortable arm-chair, was listening, his hand
+to his ear, in an attitude&mdash;as it was the first time she had caught him
+doing it, the fact brought a pang to Mrs. Bunting&mdash;which showed that age
+was beginning to creep over the listener.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One of Daisy&rsquo;s duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of reading
+the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her accomplishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy had been asking, &ldquo;Shall I
+read this, father?&rdquo; And Bunting had answered quickly, &ldquo;Aye, do, my
+dear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the door, he had
+only just nodded his head. The young man was becoming so frequent a visitor as
+to be almost one of themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy read out:
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;T<small>HE</small> A<small>VENGER</small>: A&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly. Bravely,
+however, she went on. &ldquo;A the-o-ry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go in&mdash;do!&rdquo; whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. &ldquo;Why
+should we stay out here in the cold? It&rsquo;s ridiculous.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to interrupt Miss Daisy,&rdquo; whispered Chandler
+back, rather hoarsely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ll hear it all the better in the room. Don&rsquo;t think
+she&rsquo;ll stop because of you, bless you! There&rsquo;s nothing shy about
+our Daisy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young man resented the tart, short tone. &ldquo;Poor little girl!&rdquo; he
+said to himself tenderly. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what it is having a stepmother,
+instead of a proper mother.&rdquo; But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and then he was
+pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a bright blush came over her
+pretty face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Joe begs you won&rsquo;t stop yet awhile. Go on with your
+reading,&rdquo; commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly. &ldquo;Now, Joe, you can go and
+sit over there, close to Daisy, and then you won&rsquo;t miss a word.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticed that, but
+he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he went and sat on a chair
+just behind Daisy. From there he could note with reverent delight the charming
+way her fair hair grew upwards from the nape of her slender neck.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;T<small>HE</small> A<small>VENGER</small>: A T<small>HE-O-RY</small>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+began Daisy again, clearing her throat.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;D<small>EAR</small> S<small>IR</small>&mdash;I have a suggestion to put forward for which I think
+there is a great deal to be said. It seems to me very probable that The
+Avenger&mdash;to give him the name by which he apparently wishes to be
+known&mdash;comprises in his own person the peculiarities of Jekyll and Hyde,
+Mr. Louis Stevenson&rsquo;s now famous hero.<br/>
+    &ldquo;The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet, pleasant-looking
+gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End of London. He has, however, a
+tragedy in his past life. He is the husband of a dipsomaniac wife. She is, of
+course, under care, and is never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe
+with his widowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister. They notice that he has
+become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life, occupying
+himself each day with some harmless hobby. On foggy nights, once the quiet
+household is plunged in sleep, he creeps out of the house, maybe between one
+and two o&rsquo;clock, and swiftly makes his way straight to what has become
+The Avenger&rsquo;s murder area. Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her
+with Judas-like gentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly
+home again. After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, once more the
+quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother, esteemed and even
+beloved by a large circle of friends and acquaintances. Meantime, the police
+are searching about the scene of the tragedy for what they regard as the usual
+type of criminal lunatic.<br/>
+    &ldquo;I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess that I am
+amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries to the part of London
+where these murders have been actually committed. I am quite sure from all that
+has come out&mdash;and we must remember that full information is never given to
+the newspapers&mdash;The Avenger should be sought for in the West and not in
+the East End of London&mdash;Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very
+truly&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Daisy hesitated, and then with an effort she brought out the word
+&ldquo;Gab-o-ri-you,&rdquo; said she.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a funny name!&rdquo; said Bunting wonderingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Joe broke in: &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the name of a French chap what wrote
+detective stories,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Pretty good, some of them are,
+too!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then this Gaboriyou has come over to study these Avenger murders, I take
+it?&rdquo; said Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; Joe spoke with confidence. &ldquo;Whoever&rsquo;s written
+that silly letter just signed that name for fun.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a silly letter,&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting had broken in resentfully.
+&ldquo;I wonder a respectable paper prints such rubbish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fancy if The Avenger did turn out to be a gentleman!&rdquo; cried Daisy,
+in an awe-struck voice. &ldquo;There&rsquo;d be a how-to-do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There may be something in the notion,&rdquo; said her father
+thoughtfully. &ldquo;After all, the monster must be somewhere. This very minute
+he must be somewhere a-hiding of himself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course he&rsquo;s somewhere,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting scornfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had just heard Mr. Sleuth moving overhead. &rsquo;Twould soon be time for
+the lodger&rsquo;s supper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hurried on: &ldquo;But what I do say is that&mdash;that&mdash;he has
+nothing to do with the West End. Why, they say it&rsquo;s a sailor from the
+Docks&mdash;that&rsquo;s a good bit more likely, I take it. But there,
+I&rsquo;m fair sick of the whole subject! We talk of nothing else in this
+house. The Avenger this&mdash;The Avenger that&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect Joe has something to tell us new to-night,&rdquo; said Bunting
+cheerfully. &ldquo;Well, Joe, is there anything new?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say, father, just listen to this!&rdquo; Daisy broke in excitedly. She
+read out:
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;B<small>LOODHOUNDS TO BE</small> S<small>ERIOUSLY</small>
+C<small>ONSIDERED</small>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bloodhounds?&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Bunting, and there was terror in her
+tone. &ldquo;Why bloodhounds? That do seem to me a most horrible idea!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting looked across at her, mildly astonished. &ldquo;Why, &rsquo;twould be a
+very good idea, if &rsquo;twas possible to have bloodhounds in a town. But,
+there, how can that be done in London, full of butchers&rsquo; shops, to say
+nothing of slaughter-yards and other places o&rsquo; that sort?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Daisy went on, and to her stepmother&rsquo;s shrinking ear there seemed a
+horrible thrill of delight; of gloating pleasure, in her fresh young voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hark to this,&rdquo; she said:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;A man who had committed a murder in a lonely wood near Blackburn was
+traced by the help of a bloodhound, and thanks to the sagacious instincts of
+the animal, the miscreant was finally convicted and hanged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;La, now! Who&rsquo;d ever have thought of such a thing?&rdquo; Bunting
+exclaimed, in admiration. &ldquo;The newspapers do have some useful hints in
+sometimes, Joe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But young Chandler shook his head. &ldquo;Bloodhounds ain&rsquo;t no
+use,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;no use at all! If the Yard was to listen to all the
+suggestions that the last few days have brought in&mdash;well, all I can say is
+our work would be cut out for us&mdash;not but what it&rsquo;s cut out for us
+now, if it comes to that!&rdquo; He sighed ruefully. He was beginning to feel
+very tired; if only he could stay in this pleasant, cosy room listening to
+Daisy Bunting reading on and on for ever, instead of having to go out, as he
+would presently have to do, into the cold and foggy night!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe Chandler was fast becoming very sick of his new job. There was a lot of
+unpleasantness attached to the business, too. Why, even in the house where he
+lived, and in the little cook-shop where he habitually took his meals, the
+people round him had taken to taunt him with the remissness of the police. More
+than that one of his pals, a man he&rsquo;d always looked up to, because the
+young fellow had the gift of the gab, had actually been among those who had
+spoken at the big demonstration in Victoria Park, making a violent speech, not
+only against the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, but also against the
+Home Secretary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Daisy, like most people who believe themselves blessed with the possession
+of an accomplishment, had no mind to leave off reading just yet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s another notion!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Another
+letter, father!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;P<small>ARDON TO</small> A<small>CCOMPLICES</small>.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;D<small>EAR</small> S<small>IR</small>&mdash;During the last day or two several of the more
+Intelligent of my acquaintances have suggested that The Avenger, whoever he may
+be, must be known to a certain number of persons. It is impossible that the
+perpetrator of such deeds, however nomad he may be in his habits&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I wonder what &lsquo;nomad&rsquo; can be?&rdquo; Daisy interrupted
+herself, and looked round at her little audience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve always declared the fellow had all his senses about
+him,&rdquo; observed Bunting confidently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;&mdash;however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat
+where his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person who knows the
+terrible secret is evidently withholding information in expectation of a
+reward, or maybe because, being an accessory after the fact, he or she is now
+afraid of the consequences. My suggestion, Sir, is that the Home Secretary
+promise a free pardon. The more so that only thus can this miscreant be brought
+to justice. Unless he was caught red-handed in the act, it will be exceedingly
+difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for English law looks
+very askance at circumstantial evidence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something worth listening to in that letter,&rdquo; said
+Joe, leaning forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as she turned her
+gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he was saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Mr. Chandler?&rdquo; she said interrogatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, d&rsquo;you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in a
+railway carriage? He took refuge with someone&mdash;a woman his mother had
+known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time. But at last she gave him
+up, and she got a big reward, too!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;d like to give anybody up for a
+reward,&rdquo; said Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting,&rdquo; said Chandler confidently.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d only be doing what it&rsquo;s the plain duty of
+everyone&mdash;everyone, that is, who&rsquo;s a good citizen. And you&rsquo;d
+be getting something for doing it, which is more than most people gets as does
+their duty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common
+informer,&rdquo; went on Bunting obstinately. &ldquo;And no man &rsquo;ud care
+to be called that! It&rsquo;s different for you, Joe,&rdquo; he added hastily.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your job to catch those who&rsquo;ve done anything wrong. And
+a man&rsquo;d be a fool who&rsquo;d take refuge&mdash;like with you. He&rsquo;d
+be walking into the lion&rsquo;s mouth&mdash;&rdquo; Bunting laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: &ldquo;If I&rsquo;d done anything I
+wouldn&rsquo;t mind going for help to Mr. Chandler,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, &ldquo;No. And if you did you needn&rsquo;t
+be afraid I&rsquo;d give you up, Miss Daisy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting, sitting
+with bowed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience and anger, and, it
+seemed to those listening, of pain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Ellen, don&rsquo;t you feel well?&rdquo; asked Bunting quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a spasm, a sharp stitch in my side, like,&rdquo; answered the poor
+woman heavily. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s over now. Don&rsquo;t mind me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I don&rsquo;t believe&mdash;no, that I don&rsquo;t&mdash;that
+there&rsquo;s anybody in the world who knows who The Avenger is,&rdquo; went on
+Chandler quickly. &ldquo;It stands to reason that anybody&rsquo;d give him
+up&mdash;in their own interest, if not in anyone else&rsquo;s. Who&rsquo;d
+shelter such a creature? Why, &rsquo;twould be dangerous to have him in the
+house along with one!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it&rsquo;s your idea that he&rsquo;s not responsible for the wicked
+things he does?&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at
+Chandler with eager, anxious eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d be sorry to think he wasn&rsquo;t responsible enough to
+hang!&rdquo; said Chandler deliberately. &ldquo;After all the trouble
+he&rsquo;s been giving us, too!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hanging&rsquo;d be too good for that chap,&rdquo; said Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not if he&rsquo;s not responsible,&rdquo; said his wife sharply.
+&ldquo;I never heard of anything so cruel&mdash;that I never did! If the
+man&rsquo;s a madman, he ought to be in an asylum&mdash;that&rsquo;s where he
+ought to be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hark to her now!&rdquo; Bunting looked at his Ellen with amusement.
+&ldquo;Contrary isn&rsquo;t the word for her! But there, I&rsquo;ve noticed the
+last few days that she seemed to be taking that monster&rsquo;s part.
+That&rsquo;s what comes of being a born total abstainer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting had got up from her chair. &ldquo;What nonsense you do
+talk!&rdquo; she said angrily. &ldquo;Not but what it&rsquo;s a good thing if
+these murders have emptied the public-houses of women for a bit.
+England&rsquo;s drink is England&rsquo;s shame&mdash;I&rsquo;ll never depart
+from that! Now, Daisy, child, get up, do! Put down that paper. We&rsquo;ve
+heard quite enough. You can be laying the cloth while I goes down the
+kitchen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, you mustn&rsquo;t be forgetting the lodger&rsquo;s supper,&rdquo;
+called out Bunting. &ldquo;Mr. Sleuth don&rsquo;t always ring&mdash;&rdquo; he
+turned to Chandler. &ldquo;For one thing, he&rsquo;s often out about this
+time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not often&mdash;just now and again, when he wants to buy
+something,&rdquo; snapped out Mrs. Bunting. &ldquo;But I hadn&rsquo;t forgot
+his supper. He never do want it before eight o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me take up the lodger&rsquo;s supper, Ellen,&rdquo; Daisy&rsquo;s
+eager voice broke in. She had got up in obedience to her stepmother, and was
+now laying the cloth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not! I told you he only wanted me to wait on him. You have
+your work cut out looking after things down here&mdash;that&rsquo;s where I
+wants you to help me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler also got up. Somehow he didn&rsquo;t like to be doing nothing while
+Daisy was so busy. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, looking across at Mrs. Bunting,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d forgotten about your lodger. Going on all right, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never knew so quiet and well-behaved a gentleman,&rdquo; said Bunting.
+&ldquo;He turned our luck, did Mr. Sleuth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wife left the room, and after she had gone Daisy laughed.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll hardly believe it, Mr. Chandler, but I&rsquo;ve never seen
+this wonderful lodger. Ellen keeps him to herself, that she does! If I was
+father I&rsquo;d be jealous!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both men laughed. Ellen? No, the idea was too funny.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All I can say is, I think Daisy ought to go. One can&rsquo;t always do
+just what one wants to do&mdash;not in this world, at any rate!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting did not seem to be addressing anyone in particular, though both
+her husband and her stepdaughter were in the room. She was standing by the
+table, staring straight before her, and as she spoke she avoided looking at
+either Bunting or Daisy. There was in her voice a tone of cross decision, of
+thin finality, with which they were both acquainted, and to which each listener
+knew the other would have to bow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was silence for a moment, then Daisy broke out passionately, &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t see why I should go if I don&rsquo;t want to!&rdquo; she cried.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll allow I&rsquo;ve been useful to you, Ellen?
+&rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t even as if you was quite well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am quite well&mdash;perfectly well!&rdquo; snapped out Mrs. Bunting,
+and she turned her pale, drawn face, and looked angrily at her stepdaughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t often I has a chance of being with you and
+father.&rdquo; There were tears in Daisy&rsquo;s voice, and Bunting glanced
+deprecatingly at his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An invitation had come to Daisy&mdash;an invitation from her own dead
+mother&rsquo;s sister, who was housekeeper in a big house in Belgrave Square.
+&ldquo;The family&rdquo; had gone away for the Christmas holidays, and Aunt
+Margaret&mdash;Daisy was her godchild&mdash;had begged that her niece might
+come and spend two or three days with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the girl had already had more than one taste of what life was like in the
+great gloomy basement of 100 Belgrave Square. Aunt Margaret was one of those
+old-fashioned servants for whom the modern employer is always sighing. While
+&ldquo;the family&rdquo; were away it was her joy&mdash;she regarded it as a
+privilege&mdash;to wash sixty-seven pieces of very valuable china contained in
+two cabinets in the drawing-room; she also slept in every bed by turns, to keep
+them all well aired. These were the two duties with which she intended her
+young niece to assist her, and Daisy&rsquo;s soul sickened at the prospect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the matter had to be settled at once. The letter had come an hour ago,
+containing a stamped telegraph form, and Aunt Margaret was not one to be
+trifled with.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since breakfast the three had talked of nothing else, and from the very first
+Mrs. Bunting had said that Daisy ought to go&mdash;that there was no doubt
+about it, that it did not admit of discussion. But discuss it they all did, and
+for once Bunting stood up to his wife. But that, as was natural, only made his
+Ellen harder and more set on her own view.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What the child says is true,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t
+as if you was quite well. You&rsquo;ve been took bad twice in the last few
+days&mdash;you can&rsquo;t deny of it, Ellen. Why shouldn&rsquo;t I just take a
+bus and go over and see Margaret? I&rsquo;d tell her just how it is.
+She&rsquo;d understand, bless you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have you doing nothing of the sort!&rdquo; cried Mrs.
+Bunting, speaking almost as passionately as her stepdaughter had done.
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t I a right to be ill, haven&rsquo;t I a right to be took
+bad, aye, and to feel all right again&mdash;same as other people?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy turned round and clasped her hands. &ldquo;Oh, Ellen!&rdquo; she cried;
+&ldquo;do say that you can&rsquo;t spare me! I don&rsquo;t want to go across to
+that horrid old dungeon of a place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do as you like,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting sullenly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m fair
+tired of you both! There&rsquo;ll come a day, Daisy, when you&rsquo;ll know,
+like me, that money is the main thing that matters in this world; and when your
+Aunt Margaret&rsquo;s left her savings to somebody else just because you
+wouldn&rsquo;t spend a few days with her this Christmas, then you&rsquo;ll know
+what it&rsquo;s like to go without&mdash;you&rsquo;ll know what a fool you
+were, and that nothing can&rsquo;t alter it any more!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, with victory actually in her grasp, poor Daisy saw it snatched from
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ellen is right,&rdquo; Bunting said heavily. &ldquo;Money does
+matter&mdash;a terrible deal&mdash;though I never thought to hear Ellen say
+&rsquo;twas the only thing that mattered. But &rsquo;twould be
+foolish&mdash;very, very foolish, my girl, to offend your Aunt Margaret.
+It&rsquo;ll only be two days after all&mdash;two days isn&rsquo;t a very long
+time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Daisy did not hear her father&rsquo;s last words. She had already rushed
+from the room, and gone down to the kitchen to hide her childish tears of
+disappointment&mdash;the childish tears which came because she was beginning to
+be a woman, with a woman&rsquo;s natural instinct for building her own human
+nest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Margaret was not one to tolerate the comings of any strange young man, and
+she had a peculiar dislike to the police.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;d ever have thought she&rsquo;d have minded as much as
+that!&rdquo; Bunting looked across at Ellen deprecatingly; already his heart
+was misgiving him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s plain enough why she&rsquo;s become so fond of us all of a
+sudden,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting sarcastically. And as her husband stared at
+her uncomprehendingly, she added, in a tantalising tone, &ldquo;as plain as the
+nose on your face, my man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I daresay I&rsquo;m a bit
+slow, Ellen, but I really don&rsquo;t know what you&rsquo;d be at?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you remember telling me before Daisy came here that Joe
+Chandler had become sweet on her last summer? I thought it only foolishness
+then, but I&rsquo;ve come round to your view&mdash;that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting nodded his head slowly. Yes, Joe had got into the way of coming very
+often, and there had been the expedition to that gruesome Scotland Yard museum,
+but somehow he, Bunting, had been so interested in the Avenger murders that he
+hadn&rsquo;t thought of Joe in any other connection&mdash;not this time, at any
+rate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And do you think Daisy likes him?&rdquo; There was an unwonted tone of
+excitement, of tenderness, in Bunting&rsquo;s voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wife looked over at him; and a thin smile, not an unkindly smile by any
+means, lit up her pale face. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never been one to
+prophesy,&rdquo; she answered deliberately. &ldquo;But this I don&rsquo;t mind
+telling you, Bunting&mdash;Daisy&rsquo;ll have plenty o&rsquo; time to get
+tired of Joe Chandler before they two are dead. Mark my words!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, she might do worse,&rdquo; said Bunting ruminatingly.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s as steady as God makes them, and he&rsquo;s already earning
+thirty-two shillings a week. But I wonder how Old Aunt&rsquo;d like the notion?
+I don&rsquo;t see her parting with Daisy before she must.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t let no old aunt interfere with me about such a thing as
+that!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Bunting. &ldquo;No, not for millions of gold!&rdquo;
+And Bunting looked at her in silent wonder. Ellen was singing a very different
+tune now to what she&rsquo;d sung a few minutes ago, when she was so keen about
+the girl going to Belgrave Square.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If she still seems upset while she&rsquo;s having her dinner,&rdquo;
+said his wife suddenly, &ldquo;well, you just wait till I&rsquo;ve gone out for
+something, and then you just say to her, &lsquo;Absence makes the heart grow
+fonder&rsquo;&mdash;just that, and nothing more! She&rsquo;ll take it from you.
+And I shouldn&rsquo;t be surprised if it comforted her quite a lot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For the matter of that, there&rsquo;s no reason why Joe Chandler
+shouldn&rsquo;t go over and see her there,&rdquo; said Bunting hesitatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes, there is,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting, smiling shrewdly.
+&ldquo;Plenty of reason. Daisy&rsquo;ll be a very foolish girl if she allows
+her aunt to know any of her secrets. I&rsquo;ve only seen that woman once, but
+I know exactly the sort Margaret is. She&rsquo;s just waiting for Old Aunt to
+drop off and then she&rsquo;ll want to have Daisy herself&mdash;to wait on her,
+like. She&rsquo;d turn quite nasty if she thought there was a young fellow what
+stood in her way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She glanced at the clock, the pretty little eight-day clock which had been a
+wedding present from a kind friend of her last mistress. It had mysteriously
+disappeared during their time of trouble, and had as mysteriously reappeared
+three or four days after Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s arrival.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve time to go out with that telegram,&rdquo; she said
+briskly&mdash;somehow she felt better, different to what she had done the last
+few days&mdash;&ldquo;and then it&rsquo;ll be done. It&rsquo;s no good having
+more words about it, and I expect we should have plenty more words if I wait
+till the child comes upstairs again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not speak unkindly, and Bunting looked at her rather wonderingly. Ellen
+very seldom spoke of Daisy as &ldquo;the child&rdquo;&mdash;in fact, he could
+only remember her having done so once before, and that was a long time ago.
+They had been talking over their future life together, and she had said, very
+solemnly, &ldquo;Bunting, I promise I will do my duty&mdash;as much as lies in
+my power, that is&mdash;by the child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Ellen had not had much opportunity of doing her duty by Daisy. As not
+infrequently happens with the duties that we are willing to do, that particular
+duty had been taken over by someone else who had no mind to let it go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What shall I do if Mr. Sleuth rings?&rdquo; asked Bunting, rather
+nervously. It was the first time since the lodger had come to them that Ellen
+had offered to go out in the morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hesitated. In her anxiety to have the matter of Daisy settled, she had
+forgotten Mr. Sleuth. Strange that she should have done so&mdash;strange, and,
+to herself, very comfortable and pleasant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, well, you can just go up and knock at the door and say I&rsquo;ll be
+back in a few minutes&mdash;that I had to go out with a message. He&rsquo;s
+quite a reasonable gentleman.&rdquo; She went into the back room to put on her
+bonnet and thick jacket for it was very cold&mdash;getting colder every minute.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she stood, buttoning her gloves&mdash;she wouldn&rsquo;t have gone out
+untidy for the world&mdash;Bunting suddenly came across to her. &ldquo;Give us
+a kiss, old girl,&rdquo; he said. And his wife turned up her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One &rsquo;ud think it was catching!&rdquo; she said, but there was a
+lilt in her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it is,&rdquo; Bunting briefly answered. &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t that old
+cook get married just after us? She&rsquo;d never &rsquo;a thought of it if it
+hadn&rsquo;t been for you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But once she was out, walking along the damp, uneven pavement, Mr. Sleuth
+revenged himself for his landlady&rsquo;s temporary forgetfulness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the last two days the lodger had been queer, odder than usual, unlike
+himself, or, rather, very much as he had been some ten days ago, just before
+that double murder had taken place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The night before, while Daisy was telling all about the dreadful place to which
+Joe Chandler had taken her and her father, Mrs. Bunting had heard Mr. Sleuth
+moving about overhead, restlessly walking up and down his sitting-room. And
+later, when she took up his supper, she had listened a moment outside the door,
+while he read aloud some of the texts his soul delighted in&mdash;terrible
+texts telling of the grim joys attendant on revenge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting was so absorbed in her thoughts, so possessed with the curious
+personality of her lodger, that she did not look where she was going, and
+suddenly a young woman bumped up against her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She started violently and looked round, dazed, as the young person muttered a
+word of apology;&mdash;then she again fell into deep thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a good thing Daisy was going away for a few days; it made the problem of
+Mr. Sleuth and his queer ways less disturbing. She, Ellen, was sorry she had
+spoken so sharp-like to the girl, but after all it wasn&rsquo;t wonderful that
+she had been snappy. This last night she had hardly slept at all. Instead, she
+had lain awake listening&mdash;and there is nothing so tiring as to lie awake
+listening for a sound that never comes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house had remained so still you could have heard a pin drop. Mr. Sleuth,
+lying snug in his nice warm bed upstairs, had not stirred. Had he stirred his
+landlady was bound to have heard him, for his bed was, as we know, just above
+hers. No, during those long hours of darkness Daisy&rsquo;s light, regular
+breathing was all that had fallen on Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then her mind switched off Mr. Sleuth. She made a determined effort to
+expel him, to toss him, as it were, out of her thoughts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed strange that The Avenger had stayed his hand, for, as Joe had said
+only last evening, it was full time that he should again turn that awful,
+mysterious searchlight of his on himself. Mrs. Bunting always visioned The
+Avenger as a black shadow in the centre a bright blinding light&mdash;but the
+shadow had no form or definite substance. Sometimes he looked like one thing,
+sometimes like another . . .
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting had now come to the corner which led up the street where there was
+a Post Office. But instead of turning sharp to the left she stopped short for a
+minute.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke and even
+self-loathing. It was dreadful that she, of all women, should have longed to
+hear that another murder had been committed last night!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet such was the shameful fact. She had listened all through breakfast hoping
+to hear the dread news being shouted outside; yes, and more or less during the
+long discussion which had followed on the receipt of Margaret&rsquo;s letter
+she had been hoping&mdash;hoping against hope&mdash;that those dreadful
+triumphant shouts of the newspaper-sellers still might come echoing down the
+Marylebone Road. And yet hypocrite that she was, she had reproved Bunting when
+he had expressed, not disappointment exactly&mdash;but, well, surprise, that
+nothing had happened last night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now her mind switched off to Joe Chandler. Strange to think how afraid she had
+been of that young man! She was no longer afraid of him, or hardly at all. He
+was dotty&mdash;that&rsquo;s what was the matter with him, dotty with love for
+rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little Daisy. Anything might now go on, right under Joe
+Chandler&rsquo;s very nose&mdash;but, bless you, he&rsquo;d never see it! Last
+summer, when this affair, this nonsense of young Chandler and Daisy had begun,
+she had had very little patience with it all. In fact, the memory of the way
+Joe had gone on then, the tiresome way he would be always dropping in, had been
+one reason (though not the most important reason of all) why she had felt so
+terribly put about at the idea of the girl coming again. But now? Well, now she
+had become quite tolerant, quite kindly&mdash;at any rate as far as Joe
+Chandler was concerned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wondered why.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t do Joe a bit of harm not to see the girl for a
+couple of days. In fact &rsquo;twould be a very good thing, for then he&rsquo;d
+think of Daisy&mdash;think of her to the exclusion of all else. Absence does
+make the heart grow fonder&mdash;at first, at any rate. Mrs. Bunting was well
+aware of that. During the long course of hers and Bunting&rsquo;s mild
+courting, they&rsquo;d been separated for about three months, and it was that
+three months which had made up her mind for her. She had got so used to Bunting
+that she couldn&rsquo;t do without him, and she had felt&mdash;oddest fact of
+all&mdash;acutely, miserably jealous. But she hadn&rsquo;t let him know
+that&mdash;no fear!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course, Joe mustn&rsquo;t neglect his job&mdash;that would never do. But
+what a good thing it was, after all, that he wasn&rsquo;t like some of those
+detective chaps that are written about in stories&mdash;the sort of chaps that
+know everything, see everything, guess everything&mdash;even where there
+isn&rsquo;t anything to see, or know, or guess!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why, to take only one little fact&mdash;Joe Chandler had never shown the
+slightest curiosity about their lodger. . . .
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting pulled herself together with a start, and hurried quickly on.
+Bunting would begin to wonder what had happened to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went into the Post Office and handed the form to the young woman without a
+word. Margaret, a sensible woman, who was accustomed to manage other
+people&rsquo;s affairs, had even written out the words: &ldquo;Will be with you
+to tea.&mdash;DAISY.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a comfort to have the thing settled once for all. If anything horrible
+was going to happen in the next two or three days&mdash;it was just as well
+Daisy shouldn&rsquo;t be at home. Not that there was any <i>real</i> danger that
+anything would happen,&mdash;Mrs. Bunting felt sure of that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally counting
+up the number of murders The Avenger had committed. Nine, or was it ten? Surely
+by now The Avenger must be avenged? Surely by now, if&mdash;as that writer in
+the newspaper had suggested&mdash;he was a quiet, blameless gentleman living in
+the West End, whatever vengeance he had to wreak, must be satisfied?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn&rsquo;t do for the lodger to ring
+before she had got back. Bunting would never know how to manage Mr. Sleuth,
+especially if Mr. Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Mrs. Bunting put the key into the front door lock and passed into the house.
+Then her heart stood still with fear and terror. There came the sound of
+voices&mdash;of voices she thought she did not know&mdash;in the sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She opened the door, and then drew a long breath. It was only Joe
+Chandler&mdash;Joe, Daisy, and Bunting, talking together. They stopped rather
+guiltily as she came in, but not before she had heard Chandler utter the words:
+&ldquo;That don&rsquo;t mean nothing! I&rsquo;ll just run out and send another
+saying you won&rsquo;t come, Miss Daisy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then the strangest smile came over Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s face. There had
+fallen on her ear the still distant, but unmistakable, shouts which betokened
+that something <i>had</i> happened last night&mdash;something which made it worth
+while for the newspaper-sellers to come crying down the Marylebone Road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; she said a little breathlessly. &ldquo;Well, Joe? I suppose
+you&rsquo;ve brought us news? I suppose there&rsquo;s been another?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at her, surprised. &ldquo;No, that there hasn&rsquo;t, Mrs.
+Bunting&mdash;not as far as I know, that is. Oh, you&rsquo;re thinking of those
+newspaper chaps? They&rsquo;ve got to cry out something,&rdquo; he grinned.
+&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;a thought folk was so bloodthirsty.
+They&rsquo;re just shouting out that there&rsquo;s been an arrest; but we
+don&rsquo;t take no stock of that. It&rsquo;s a Scotchman what gave himself up
+last night at Dorking. He&rsquo;d been drinking, and was a-pitying of himself.
+Why, since this business began, there&rsquo;s been about twenty arrests, but
+they&rsquo;ve all come to nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Ellen, you looks quite sad, quite disappointed,&rdquo; said Bunting
+jokingly. &ldquo;Come to think of it, it&rsquo;s high time The Avenger was at
+work again.&rdquo; He laughed as he made his grim joke. Then turned to young
+Chandler: &ldquo;Well, <i>you&rsquo;ll</i> be glad when its all over, my lad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad in a way,&rdquo; said Chandler unwillingly. &ldquo;But one
+&rsquo;ud have liked to have caught him. One doesn&rsquo;t like to know such a
+creature&rsquo;s at large, now, does one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting had taken off her bonnet and jacket. &ldquo;I must just go and see
+about Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s breakfast,&rdquo; she said in a weary, dispirited
+voice, and left them there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt disappointed, and very, very depressed. As to the plot which had been
+hatching when she came in, that had no chance of success; Bunting would never
+dare let Daisy send out another telegram contradicting the first. Besides,
+Daisy&rsquo;s stepmother shrewdly suspected that by now the girl herself
+wouldn&rsquo;t care to do such a thing. Daisy had plenty of sense tucked away
+somewhere in her pretty little head. If it ever became her fate to live as a
+married woman in London, it would be best to stay on the right side of Aunt
+Margaret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother&rsquo;s heart became very
+soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready. In fact, there was
+nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s two eggs. Feeling suddenly more
+cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took the tray upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As it was rather late, I didn&rsquo;t wait for you to ring, sir,&rdquo;
+she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the lodger looked up from the table where, as usual, he was studying with
+painful, almost agonising intentness, the Book. &ldquo;Quite right, Mrs.
+Bunting&mdash;quite right! I have been pondering over the command, &lsquo;Work
+while it is yet light.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir?&rdquo; she said, and a queer, cold feeling stole over her
+heart. &ldquo;Yes, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;The spirit is willing, but the flesh&mdash;the flesh is
+weak,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth, with a heavy sigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You studies too hard, and too long&mdash;that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s
+ailing you, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+When Mrs. Bunting went down again she found that a great deal had been settled
+in her absence; among other things, that Joe Chandler was going to escort Miss
+Daisy across to Belgrave Square. He could carry Daisy&rsquo;s modest bag, and
+if they wanted to ride instead of walk, why, they could take the bus from Baker
+Street Station to Victoria&mdash;that would land them very near Belgrave
+Square.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Daisy seemed quite willing to walk; she hadn&rsquo;t had a walk, she
+declared, for a long, long time&mdash;and then she blushed rosy red, and even
+her stepmother had to admit to herself that Daisy was very nice looking, not at
+all the sort of girl who ought to be allowed to go about the London streets by
+herself.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Daisy&rsquo;s father and stepmother stood side by side at the front door,
+watching the girl and young Chandler walk off into the darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A yellow pall of fog had suddenly descended on London, and Joe had come a full
+half-hour before they expected him, explaining, rather lamely, that it was the
+fog which had brought him so soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If we was to have waited much longer, perhaps, &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t
+have been possible to walk a yard,&rdquo; he explained, and they had accepted,
+silently, his explanation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope it&rsquo;s quite safe sending her off like that?&rdquo; Bunting
+looked deprecatingly at his wife. She had already told him more than once that
+he was too fussy about Daisy, that about his daughter he was like an old hen
+with her last chicken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s safer than she would be, with you or me. She couldn&rsquo;t
+have a smarter young fellow to look after her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll be awful thick at Hyde Park Corner,&rdquo; said Bunting.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s always worse there than anywhere else. If I was Joe I&rsquo;d
+&rsquo;a taken her by the Underground Railway to Victoria&mdash;that &rsquo;ud
+been the best way, considering the weather &rsquo;tis.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t think anything of the weather, bless you!&rdquo; said
+his wife. &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll walk and walk as long as there&rsquo;s a glimmer
+left for &rsquo;em to steer by. Daisy&rsquo;s just been pining to have a walk
+with that young chap. I wonder you didn&rsquo;t notice how disappointed they
+both were when you was so set on going along with them to that horrid
+place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;D&rsquo;you really mean that, Ellen?&rdquo; Bunting looked upset.
+&ldquo;I understood Joe to say he liked my company.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, did you?&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting dryly. &ldquo;I expect he liked it
+just about as much as we liked the company of that old cook who would go out
+with us when we was courting. It always was a wonder to me how the woman could
+force herself upon two people who didn&rsquo;t want her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m Daisy&rsquo;s father; and an old friend of
+Chandler,&rdquo; said Bunting remonstratingly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m quite different
+from that cook. She was nothing to us, and we was nothing to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;d have liked to be something to you, I make no doubt,&rdquo;
+observed his Ellen, shaking her head, and her husband smiled, a little
+foolishly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time they were back in their nice, cosy sitting-room, and a feeling of
+not altogether unpleasant lassitude stole over Mrs. Bunting. It was a comfort
+to have Daisy out of her way for a bit. The girl, in some ways, was very wide
+awake and inquisitive, and she had early betrayed what her stepmother thought
+to be a very unseemly and silly curiosity concerning the lodger. &ldquo;You
+might just let me have one peep at him, Ellen?&rdquo; she had pleaded, only
+that morning. But Ellen had shaken her head. &ldquo;No, that I won&rsquo;t!
+He&rsquo;s a very quiet gentleman; but he knows exactly what he likes, and he
+don&rsquo;t like anyone but me waiting on him. Why, even your father&rsquo;s
+hardly seen him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But that, naturally, had only increased Daisy&rsquo;s desire to view Mr.
+Sleuth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was another reason why Mrs. Bunting was glad that her stepdaughter had
+gone away for two days. During her absence young Chandler was far less likely
+to haunt them in the way he had taken to doing lately, the more so that, in
+spite of what she had said to her husband, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that Daisy
+would ask Joe Chandler to call at Belgrave Square. &rsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t be
+human nature&mdash;at any rate, not girlish human nature&mdash;not to do so,
+even if Joe&rsquo;s coming did anger Aunt Margaret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, it was pretty safe that with Daisy away they, the Buntings, would be rid
+of that young chap for a bit, and that would be a good thing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Daisy wasn&rsquo;t there to occupy the whole of his attention, Mrs.
+Bunting felt queerly afraid of Chandler. After all, he was a detective&mdash;it
+was his job to be always nosing about, trying to find out things. And, though
+she couldn&rsquo;t fairly say to herself that he had done much of that sort of
+thing in her house, he might start doing it any minute. And
+then&mdash;then&mdash;where would she, and&mdash;and Mr. Sleuth, be?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She thought of the bottle of red ink&mdash;of the leather bag which must be
+hidden somewhere&mdash;and her heart almost stopped beating. Those were the
+sort of things which, in the stories Bunting was so fond of reading, always led
+to the detection of famous criminals. . . .
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s bell for tea rang that afternoon far earlier than usual. The
+fog had probably misled him, and made him think it later than it was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she went up, &ldquo;I would like a cup of tea now, and just one piece of
+bread-and-butter,&rdquo; the lodger said wearily. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel
+like having anything else this afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a horrible day,&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting observed, in a cheerier
+voice than usual. &ldquo;No wonder you don&rsquo;t feel hungry, sir. And then
+it isn&rsquo;t so very long since you had your dinner, is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said absently. &ldquo;No, it isn&rsquo;t, Mrs.
+Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went down, made the tea, and brought it up again. And then, as she came
+into the room, she uttered an exclamation of sharp dismay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth was dressed for going out. He was wearing his long Inverness cloak,
+and his queer old high hat lay on the table, ready for him to put on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re never going out this afternoon, sir?&rdquo; she asked
+falteringly. &ldquo;Why, the fog&rsquo;s awful; you can&rsquo;t see a yard
+ahead of you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unknown to herself, Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s voice had risen almost to a scream.
+She moved back, still holding the tray, and stood between the door and her
+lodger, as if she meant to bar his way&mdash;to erect between Mr. Sleuth and
+the dark, foggy world outside a living barrier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The weather never affects me at all,&rdquo; he said sullenly; and he
+looked at her with so wild and pleading a look in his eyes that, slowly,
+reluctantly, she moved aside. As she did so she noticed for the first time that
+Mr. Sleuth held something in his right hand. It was the key of the chiffonnier
+cupboard. He had been on his way there when her coming in had disturbed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very kind of you to be so concerned about me,&rdquo; he
+stammered, &ldquo;but&mdash;but, Mrs. Bunting, you must excuse me if I say that
+I do not welcome such solicitude. I prefer to be left alone. I&mdash;I cannot
+stay in your house if I feel that my comings and goings are watched&mdash;spied
+upon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pulled herself together. &ldquo;No one spies upon you, sir,&rdquo; she
+said, with considerable dignity. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve done my best to satisfy
+you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have&mdash;you have!&rdquo; he spoke in a distressed, apologetic
+tone. &ldquo;But you spoke just now as if you were trying to prevent my doing
+what I wish to do&mdash;indeed, what I have to do. For years I have been
+misunderstood&mdash;persecuted&rdquo;&mdash;he waited a moment, then in a
+hollow voice added the one word, &ldquo;tortured! Do not tell me that you are
+going to add yourself to the number of my tormentors, Mrs. Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stared at him helplessly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you be afraid I&rsquo;ll ever
+be that, sir. I only spoke as I did because&mdash;well, sir, because I thought
+it really wasn&rsquo;t safe for a gentleman to go out this afternoon. Why,
+there&rsquo;s hardly anyone about, though we&rsquo;re so near Christmas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked across to the window and looked out. &ldquo;The fog is clearing
+somewhat; Mrs. Bunting,&rdquo; but there was no relief in his voice, rather was
+there disappointment and dread.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Plucking up courage, she followed him. Yes, Mr. Sleuth was right. The fog was
+lifting&mdash;rolling off in that sudden, mysterious way in which local fogs
+sometimes do lift in London.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned sharply from the window. &ldquo;Our conversation has made me forget
+an important thing, Mrs. Bunting. I should be glad if you would just leave out
+a glass of milk and some bread-and-butter for me this evening. I shall not
+require supper when I come in, for after my walk I shall probably go straight
+upstairs to carry through a very difficult experiment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very good, sir.&rdquo; And then Mrs. Bunting left the lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when she found herself downstairs in the fog-laden hall, for it had drifted
+in as she and her husband had stood at the door seeing Daisy off, instead of
+going in to Bunting she did a very odd thing&mdash;a thing she had never
+thought of doing in her life before. She pressed her hot forehead against the
+cool bit of looking-glass let into the hat-and-umbrella stand. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t know what to do!&rdquo; she moaned to herself, and then, &ldquo;I
+can&rsquo;t bear it! I can&rsquo;t bear it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But though she felt that her secret suspense and trouble was becoming
+intolerable, the one way in which she could have ended her misery never
+occurred to Mrs. Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that a woman has
+betrayed one who has taken refuge with her. The timorous and cautious woman has
+not infrequently hunted a human being fleeing from his pursuer from her door,
+but she has not revealed the fact that he was ever there. In fact, it may
+almost be said that such betrayal has never taken place unless the betrayer has
+been actuated by love of gain, or by a longing for revenge. So far, perhaps
+because she is subject rather than citizen, her duty as a component part of
+civilised society weighs but lightly on woman&rsquo;s shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then&mdash;and then, in a sort of way, Mrs. Bunting had become attached to
+Mr. Sleuth. A wan smile would sometimes light up his sad face when he saw her
+come in with one of his meals, and when this happened Mrs. Bunting felt
+pleased&mdash;pleased and vaguely touched. In between those&mdash;those
+dreadful events outside, which filled her with such suspicion, such anguish and
+such suspense, she never felt any fear, only pity, for Mr. Sleuth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Often and often, when lying wide awake at night, she turned over the strange
+problem in her mind. After all, the lodger must have lived <i>somewhere</i> during his
+forty-odd years of life. She did not even know if Mr. Sleuth had any brothers
+or sisters; friends she knew he had none. But, however odd and eccentric he
+was, he had evidently, or so she supposed, led a quiet, undistinguished kind of
+life, till&mdash;till now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What had made him alter all of a sudden&mdash;if, that is, he had altered? That
+was what Mrs. Bunting was always debating fitfully with herself; and, what was
+more, and very terribly, to the point, having altered, why should he not in
+time go back to what he evidently had been&mdash;that is, a blameless, quiet
+gentleman?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If only he would! If only he would!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she stood in the hall, cooling her hot forehead, all these thoughts, these
+hopes and fears, jostled at lightning speed through her brain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She remembered what young Chandler had said the other day&mdash;that there had
+never been, in the history of the world, so strange a murderer as The Avenger
+had proved himself to be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She and Bunting, aye, and little Daisy too, had hung, fascinated, on
+Joe&rsquo;s words, as he had told them of other famous series of murders which
+had taken place in the past, not only in England but abroad&mdash;especially
+abroad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One woman, whom all the people round her believed to be a kind, respectable
+soul, had poisoned no fewer than fifteen people in order to get their insurance
+money. Then there had been the terrible tale of an apparently respectable,
+contented innkeeper and his wife, who, living at the entrance to a wood, killed
+all those humble travellers who took shelter under their roof, simply for their
+clothes, and any valuables they possessed. But in all those stories the
+murderer or murderers always had a very strong motive, the motive being, in
+almost every case, a wicked lust for gold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, after having passed her handkerchief over her forehead, she went into
+the room where Bunting was sitting smoking his pipe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The fog&rsquo;s lifting a bit,&rdquo; she said in an ill-assured voice.
+&ldquo;I hope that by this time Daisy and that Joe Chandler are right out of
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the other shook his head silently. &ldquo;No such luck!&rdquo; he said
+briefly. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know what it&rsquo;s like in Hyde Park, Ellen.
+I expect &rsquo;twill soon be just as heavy here as &rsquo;twas half an hour
+ago!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wandered over to the window, and pulled the curtain back. &ldquo;Quite a
+lot of people have come out, anyway,&rdquo; she observed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a fine Christmas show in the Edgware Road. I was thinking
+of asking if you wouldn&rsquo;t like to go along there with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said dully. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m quite content to stay at
+home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was listening&mdash;listening for the sounds which would betoken that the
+lodger was coming downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she heard the cautious, stuffless tread of his rubber-soled shoes
+shuffling along the hall. But Bunting only woke to the fact when the front door
+shut to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s never Mr. Sleuth going out?&rdquo; He turned on his wife,
+startled. &ldquo;Why, the poor gentleman&rsquo;ll come to harm&mdash;that he
+will! One has to be wide awake on an evening like this. I hope he hasn&rsquo;t
+taken any of his money out with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t the first time Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s been out in a
+fog,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting sombrely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow she couldn&rsquo;t help uttering these over-true words. And then she
+turned, eager and half frightened, to see how Bunting had taken what she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he looked quite placid, as if he had hardly heard her. &ldquo;We
+don&rsquo;t get the good old fogs we used to get&mdash;not what people used to
+call &lsquo;London particulars.&rsquo; I expect the lodger feels like Mrs.
+Crowley&mdash;I&rsquo;ve often told you about her, Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Crowley had been one of Bunting&rsquo;s ladies, one of those he had liked
+best&mdash;a cheerful, jolly lady, who used often to give her servants what she
+called a treat. It was seldom the kind of treat they would have chosen for
+themselves, but still they appreciated her kind thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Crowley used to say,&rdquo; went on Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic
+way, &ldquo;that she never minded how bad the weather was in London, so long as
+it was London and not the country. Mr. Crowley, he liked the country best, but
+Mrs. Crowley always felt dull-like there. Fog never kept her from going
+out&mdash;no, that it didn&rsquo;t. She wasn&rsquo;t a bit afraid.
+But&mdash;&rdquo; he turned round and looked at his wife&mdash;&ldquo;I am a
+bit surprised at Mr. Sleuth. I should have thought him a timid kind of
+gentleman&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He waited a moment, and she felt forced to answer him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t exactly call him timid,&rdquo; she said, in a low
+voice, &ldquo;but he is very quiet, certainly. That&rsquo;s why he dislikes
+going out when there are a lot of people bustling about the streets. I
+don&rsquo;t suppose he&rsquo;ll be out long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hoped with all her soul that Mr. Sleuth would be in very soon&mdash;that he
+would be daunted by the now increasing gloom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow she did not feel she could sit still for very long. She got up, and
+went over to the farthest window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fog had lifted, certainly. She could see the lamp-lights on the other side
+of the Marylebone Road, glimmering redly; and shadowy figures were hurrying
+past, mostly making their way towards the Edgware Road, to see the Christmas
+shops.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last to his wife&rsquo;s relief, Bunting got up too. He went over to the
+cupboard where he kept his little store of books, and took one out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I&rsquo;ll read a bit,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Seems a long time
+since I&rsquo;ve looked at a book. The papers was so jolly interesting for a
+bit, but now there&rsquo;s nothing in &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wife remained silent. She knew what he meant. A good many days had gone by
+since the last two Avenger murders, and the papers had very little to say about
+them that they hadn&rsquo;t said in different language a dozen times before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went into her bedroom and came back with a bit of plain sewing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting was fond of sewing, and Bunting liked to see her so engaged. Since
+Mr. Sleuth had come to be their lodger she had not had much time for that sort
+of work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was funny how quiet the house was without either Daisy, or&mdash;or the
+lodger, in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she let her needle remain idle, and the bit of cambric slipped down on
+her knee, while she listened, longingly, for Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s return home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as the minutes sped by she fell to wondering with a painful wonder if she
+would ever see her lodger again, for, from what she knew of Mr. Sleuth, Mrs.
+Bunting felt sure that if he got into any kind of&mdash;well, trouble outside,
+he would never betray where he had lived during the last few weeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way as he had
+come. And Bunting would never suspect, would never know, until,
+perhaps&mdash;God, what a horrible thought&mdash;a picture published in some
+newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting&rsquo;s knowledge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But if that happened&mdash;if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass, she
+made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything. She also would pretend
+to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the astounding revelation.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There he is at last, and I&rsquo;m glad of it, Ellen.
+&rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t a night you would wish a dog to be out in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting&rsquo;s voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and look at
+his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the evening paper he held
+in his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his nice arm-chair.
+He looked very well&mdash;well and ruddy. Mrs. Bunting stared across at him
+with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of resentment. And this was very
+curious, for she was, in her own dry way, very fond of Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for
+himself all right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. &ldquo;I
+can&rsquo;t think why he wanted to go out in such weather,&rdquo; he said
+impatiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, that&rsquo;s true enough. Still, &rsquo;twould be a very bad thing
+for us if anything happened to him. This lodger&rsquo;s the first bit of luck
+we&rsquo;ve had for a terrible long time, Ellen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair. She remained silent
+for a moment. What Bunting had said was too obvious to be worth answering. Also
+she was listening, following in imagination her lodger&rsquo;s quick,
+singularly quiet progress&mdash;&ldquo;stealthy&rdquo; she called it to
+herself&mdash;through the fog-filled, lamp-lit hall. Yes, now he was going up
+the staircase. What was that Bunting was saying?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t safe for decent folk to be out in such weather&mdash;no,
+that it ain&rsquo;t, not unless they have something to do that won&rsquo;t wait
+till to-morrow.&rdquo; The speaker was looking straight into his wife&rsquo;s
+narrow, colourless face. Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to prove
+himself right. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a good mind to speak to him about it, that I
+have! He ought to be told that it isn&rsquo;t safe&mdash;not for the sort of
+man he is&mdash;to be wandering about the streets at night. I read you out the
+accidents in <i>Lloyd&rsquo;s</i>&mdash;shocking, they were, and all brought about by
+the fog! And then, that horrid monster &rsquo;ull soon be at his work
+again&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Monster?&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was trying to hear the lodger&rsquo;s footsteps overhead. She was very
+curious to know whether he had gone into his nice sitting-room, or straight
+upstairs, to that cold experiment-room, as he now always called it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her husband went on as if he had not heard her, and she gave up trying to
+listen to what was going on above.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It wouldn&rsquo;t be very pleasant to run up against such a party as
+that in the fog, eh, Ellen?&rdquo; He spoke as if the notion had a certain
+pleasant thrill in it after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What stuff you do talk!&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting sharply. And then she
+got up. Her husband&rsquo;s remarks had disturbed her. Why couldn&rsquo;t they
+talk of something pleasant when they did have a quiet bit of time together?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting looked down again at his paper, and she moved quietly about the room.
+Very soon it would be time for supper, and to-night she was going to cook her
+husband a nice piece of toasted cheese. That fortunate man, as she was fond of
+telling him, with mingled contempt and envy, had the digestion of an ostrich,
+and yet he was rather fanciful, as gentlemen&rsquo;s servants who have lived in
+good places often are.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, Bunting was very lucky in the matter of his digestion. Mrs. Bunting prided
+herself on having a nice mind, and she would never have allowed an unrefined
+word&mdash;such a word as &ldquo;stomach,&rdquo; for instance, to say nothing
+of an even plainer term&mdash;to pass her lips, except, of course, to a doctor
+in a sick-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady did not go down at once into her cold kitchen;
+instead, with a sudden furtive movement, she opened the door leading into her
+bedroom, and then, closing the door quietly, stepped back into the darkness,
+and stood motionless, listening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first she heard nothing, but gradually there stole on her listening ears the
+sound of someone moving softly about in the room just overhead, that is, in Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s bedroom. But, try as she might, it was impossible for her to
+guess what the lodger was doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she heard him open the door leading out on the little landing. She
+could hear the stairs creaking. That meant, no doubt, that Mr. Sleuth would
+pass the rest of the evening in the cheerless room above. He hadn&rsquo;t spent
+any time up there for quite a long while&mdash;in fact, not for nearly ten
+days. &rsquo;Twas odd he chose to-night, when it was so foggy, to carry out an
+experiment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She groped her way to a chair and sat down. She felt very tired&mdash;strangely
+tired, as if she had gone through some great physical exertion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, it was true that Mr. Sleuth had brought her and Bunting luck, and it was
+wrong, very wrong, of her ever to forget that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she sat there she also reminded herself, and not for the first time, what
+the lodger&rsquo;s departure would mean. It would almost certainly mean ruin;
+just as his staying meant all sorts of good things, of which physical comfort
+was the least. If Mr. Sleuth stayed on with them, as he showed every intention
+of doing, it meant respectability, and, above all, security.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting thought of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s money. He never received a letter,
+and yet he must have some kind of income&mdash;so much was clear. She supposed
+he went and drew his money, in sovereigns, out of a bank as he required it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her mind swung round, consciously, deliberately, away from Mr. Sleuth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Avenger? What a strange name! Again she assured herself that there would
+come a time when The Avenger, whoever he was, must feel satiated; when he would
+feel himself to be, so to speak, avenged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To go back to Mr. Sleuth; it was lucky that the lodger seemed so pleased, not
+only with the rooms, but with his landlord and landlady&mdash;indeed, there was
+no real reason why Mr. Sleuth should ever wish to leave such nice lodgings.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly stood up. She made a strong effort, and shook off her
+awful sense of apprehension and unease. Feeling for the handle of the door
+giving into the passage she turned it, and then, with light, firm steps, she
+went down into the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they had first taken the house, the basement had been made by her care, if
+not into a pleasant, then, at any rate, into a very clean place. She had had it
+whitewashed, and against the still white walls the gas stove loomed up, a great
+square of black iron and bright steel. It was a large gas-stove, the kind for
+which one pays four shillings a quarter rent to the gas company, and here, in
+the kitchen, there was no foolish shilling-in-the-slot arrangement. Mrs.
+Bunting was too shrewd a woman to have anything to do with that kind of
+business. There was a proper gas-meter, and she paid for what she consumed
+after she had consumed it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Putting her candle down on the well-scrubbed wooden table, she turned up the
+gas-jet, and blew out the candle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, lighting one of the gas-rings, she put a frying-pan on the stove, and
+once more her mind reverted, as if in spite of herself, to Mr. Sleuth. Never
+had there been a more confiding or trusting gentleman than the lodger, and yet
+in some ways he was so secret, so&mdash;so peculiar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She thought of the bag&mdash;that bag which had rumbled about so queerly in the
+chiffonnier. Something seemed to tell her that tonight the lodger had taken
+that bag out with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she thrust away the thought of the bag almost violently from her mind,
+and went back to the more agreeable thought of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s income, and
+of how little trouble he gave. Of course, the lodger was eccentric, otherwise
+he wouldn&rsquo;t be their lodger at all&mdash;he would be living in quite a
+different sort of way with some of his relations, or with a friend in his own
+class.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While these thoughts galloped disconnectedly through her mind, Mrs. Bunting
+went on with her cooking, preparing the cheese, cutting it up into little
+shreds, carefully measuring out the butter, doing everything, as was always her
+way, with a certain delicate and cleanly precision.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, while in the middle of toasting the bread on which was to be poured
+the melted cheese, she suddenly heard sounds which startled her, made her feel
+uncomfortable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked up and listened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy
+night&mdash;going out, as he had done the other evening, for a second time? But
+no; the sounds she heard, the sounds of now familiar footsteps, did not
+continue down the passage leading to the front door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead&mdash;Why, what was this she heard now? She began to listen so intently
+that the bread she was holding at the end of the toasting-fork grew quite
+black. With a start she became aware that this was so, and she frowned, vexed
+with herself. That came of not attending to one&rsquo;s work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done. He was coming
+down into the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on the kitchen
+stairs, and Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s heart began to beat as if in response. She put
+out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of the fact that the cheese would
+stiffen and spoil in the cold air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she turned and faced the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the door opened, and
+revealed, as she had at once known and feared it would do, the lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth looked even odder than usual. He was clad in a plaid dressing-gown,
+which she had never seen him wear before, though she knew that he had purchased
+it not long after his arrival. In his hand was a lighted candle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing in it, the
+lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir? What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn&rsquo;t ring,
+sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting held her ground in front of the stove. Mr. Sleuth had no business
+to come like this into her kitchen, and she intended to let him know that such
+was her view.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I&mdash;I didn&rsquo;t ring,&rdquo; he stammered awkwardly.
+&ldquo;The truth is, I didn&rsquo;t know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. Please
+excuse my costume. My gas-stove has gone wrong, or, rather, that
+shilling-in-the-slot arrangement has done so. So I came down to see if you had
+a gas-stove. I am going to ask you to allow me to use it to-night for an
+important experiment I wish to make.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s heart was beating quickly&mdash;quickly. She felt horribly
+troubled, unnaturally so. Why couldn&rsquo;t Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s experiment wait
+till the morning? She stared at him dubiously, but there was that in his face
+that made her at once afraid and pitiful. It was a wild, eager, imploring look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, certainly, sir; but you will find it very cold down here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems most pleasantly warm,&rdquo; he observed, his voice full of
+relief, &ldquo;warm and cosy, after my cold room upstairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Warm and cosy? Mrs. Bunting stared at him in amazement. Nay, even that
+cheerless room at the top of the house must be far warmer and more cosy than
+this cold underground kitchen could possibly be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make you a fire, sir. We never use the grate, but it&rsquo;s
+in perfect order, for the first thing I did after I came into the house was to
+have the chimney swept. It was terribly dirty. It might have set the house on
+fire.&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s housewifely instincts were roused. &ldquo;For
+the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in your bedroom this cold
+night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By no means&mdash;I would prefer not. I certainly do not want a fire
+there. I dislike an open fire, Mrs. Bunting. I thought I had told you as
+much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth frowned. He stood there, a strange-looking figure, his candle still
+alight, just inside the kitchen door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t be very long, sir. Just about a quarter of an hour. You
+could come down then. I&rsquo;ll have everything quite tidy for you. Is there
+anything I can do to help you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not require the use of your kitchen yet&mdash;thank you all the
+same, Mrs. Bunting. I shall come down later&mdash;altogether later&mdash;after
+you and your husband have gone to bed. But I should be much obliged if you
+would see that the gas people come to-morrow and put my stove in order. It
+might be done while I am out. That the shilling-in-the-slot machine should go
+wrong is very unpleasant. It has upset me greatly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps Bunting could put it right for you, sir. For the matter of that,
+I could ask him to go up now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, I don&rsquo;t want anything of that sort done to-night. Besides,
+he couldn&rsquo;t put it right. I am something of an expert, Mrs. Bunting, and
+I have done all I could. The cause of the trouble is quite simple. The machine
+is choked up with shillings; a very foolish plan, so I always felt it to
+be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth spoke pettishly, with far more heat than he was wont to speak, but
+Mrs. Bunting sympathised with him in this matter. She had always suspected that
+those slot machines were as dishonest as if they were human. It was dreadful,
+the way they swallowed up the shillings! She had had one once, so she knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as if he were divining her thoughts, Mr. Sleuth walked forward and stared
+at the stove. &ldquo;Then you haven&rsquo;t got a slot machine?&rdquo; he said
+wonderingly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m very glad of that, for I expect my experiment
+will take some time. But, of course, I shall pay you something for the use of
+the stove, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, sir, I wouldn&rsquo;t think of charging you anything for that.
+We don&rsquo;t use our stove very much, you know, sir. I&rsquo;m never in the
+kitchen a minute longer than I can help this cold weather.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting was beginning to feel better. When she was actually in Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s presence her morbid fears would be lulled, perhaps because his
+manner almost invariably was gentle and very quiet. But still there came over
+her an eerie feeling, as, with him preceding her, they made a slow progress to
+the ground floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once there, the lodger courteously bade his landlady good-night, and proceeded
+upstairs to his own apartments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting returned to the kitchen. Again she lighted the stove; but she felt
+unnerved, afraid of she knew not what. As she was cooking the cheese, she tried
+to concentrate her mind on what she was doing, and on the whole she succeeded.
+But another part of her mind seemed to be working independently, asking her
+insistent questions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The place seemed to her alive with alien presences, and once she caught herself
+listening&mdash;which was absurd, for, of course, she could not hope to hear
+what Mr. Sleuth was doing two, if not three, flights upstairs. She wondered in
+what the lodger&rsquo;s experiments consisted. It was odd that she had never
+been able to discover what it was he really did with that big gas-stove. All
+she knew was that he used a very high degree of heat.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The Buntings went to bed early that night. But Mrs. Bunting made up her mind to
+keep awake. She was set upon knowing at what hour of the night the lodger would
+come down into her kitchen to carry through his experiment, and, above all, she
+was anxious to know how long he would stay there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she had had a long and a very anxious day, and presently she fell asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The church clock hard by struck two, and, suddenly Mrs. Bunting awoke. She felt
+put out, sharply annoyed with herself. How could she have dropped off like
+that? Mr. Sleuth must have been down and up again hours ago!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, gradually, she became aware that there was a faint acrid odour in the
+room. Elusive, intangible, it yet seemed to encompass her and the snoring man
+by her side, almost as a vapour might have done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting sat up in bed and sniffed; and then, in spite of the cold, she
+quietly crept out of her nice, warm bedclothes, and crawled along to the bottom
+of the bed. When there, Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady did a very curious thing;
+she leaned over the brass rail and put her face close to the hinge of the door
+giving into the hall. Yes, it was from here that this strange, horrible odor
+was coming; the smell must be very strong in the passage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As, shivering, she crept back under the bedclothes, she longed to give her
+sleeping husband a good shake, and in fancy she heard herself saying,
+&ldquo;Bunting, get up! There&rsquo;s something strange and dreadful going on
+downstairs which we ought to know about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as she lay there, by her husband&rsquo;s side, listening with painful
+intentness for the slightest sound, she knew very well that she would do
+nothing of the sort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What if the lodger did make a certain amount of mess&mdash;a certain amount of
+smell&mdash;in her nice clean kitchen? Was he not&mdash;was he not an almost
+perfect lodger? If they did anything to upset him, where could they ever hope
+to get another like him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Three o&rsquo;clock struck before Mrs. Bunting heard slow, heavy steps creaking
+up the kitchen stairs. But Mr. Sleuth did not go straight up to his own
+quarters, as she had expected him to do. Instead, he went to the front door,
+and, opening it, put on the chain. Then he came past her door, and she
+thought&mdash;but could not be sure&mdash;that he sat down on the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of ten minutes or so she heard him go down the passage again. Very
+softly he closed the front door. By then she had divined why the lodger had
+behaved in this funny fashion. He wanted to get the strong, acrid smell of
+burning&mdash;was it of burning wool?&mdash;out of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting, lying there in the darkness, listening to the lodger creeping
+upstairs, felt as if she herself would never get rid of the horrible odour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting felt herself to be all smell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the unhappy woman fell into a deep, troubled sleep; and then she
+dreamed a most terrible and unnatural dream. Hoarse voices seemed to be
+shouting in her ear: &ldquo;The Avenger close here! The Avenger close
+here!&rdquo; &ldquo;&rsquo;Orrible murder off the Edgware Road!&rdquo;
+&ldquo;The Avenger at his work again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And even in her dream Mrs. Bunting felt angered&mdash;angered and impatient.
+She knew so well why she was being disturbed by this horrid nightmare! It was
+because of Bunting&mdash;Bunting, who could think and talk of nothing else than
+those frightful murders, in which only morbid and vulgar-minded people took any
+interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking to her about
+it:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ellen&rdquo;&mdash;so she heard Bunting murmur in her
+ear&mdash;&ldquo;Ellen, my dear, I&rsquo;m just going to get up to get a paper.
+It&rsquo;s after seven o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The shouting&mdash;nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet smote on
+her shrinking ears. Pushing back her hair off her forehead with both hands, she
+sat up and listened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse&mdash;reality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why couldn&rsquo;t Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and let his
+poor wife go on dreaming? The most awful dream would have been easier to bear
+than this awakening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heard her husband go to the front door, and, as he bought the paper,
+exchange a few excited words with the newspaper-seller. Then he came back.
+There was a pause, and she heard him lighting the gas-ring in the sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting always made his wife a cup of tea in the morning. He had promised to do
+this when they first married, and he had never yet broken his word. It was a
+very little thing and a very usual thing, no doubt, for a kind husband to do,
+but this morning the knowledge that he was doing it brought tears to Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s pale blue eyes. This morning he seemed to be rather longer than
+usual over the job.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When, at last, he came in with the little tray, Bunting found his wife lying
+with her face to the wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s your tea, Ellen,&rdquo; he said, and there was a thrill of
+eager, nay happy, excitement in his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned herself round and sat up. &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; she asked.
+&ldquo;Well? Why don&rsquo;t you tell me about it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought you was asleep,&rdquo; he stammered out. &ldquo;I thought,
+Ellen, you never heard nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How could I have slept through all that din? Of course I heard. Why
+don&rsquo;t you tell me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve hardly had time to glance at the paper myself,&rdquo; he said
+slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You was reading it just now,&rdquo; she said severely, &ldquo;for I
+heard the rustling. You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring.
+Don&rsquo;t tell me! What was that they was shouting about the Edgware
+Road?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Bunting, &ldquo;as you do know, I may as well tell
+you. The Avenger&rsquo;s moving West&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he&rsquo;s doing.
+Last time &rsquo;twas King&rsquo;s Cross&mdash;now &rsquo;tis the Edgware Road.
+I said he&rsquo;d come our way, and he <i>has</i> come our way!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You just go and get me that paper,&rdquo; she commanded. &ldquo;I wants
+to see for myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting went into the next room; then he came back and handed her silently the
+odd-looking, thin little sheet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, whatever&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;This ain&rsquo;t
+our paper!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Course not,&rdquo; he answered, a trifle crossly.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a special early edition of the Sun, just because of The
+Avenger. Here&rsquo;s the bit about it&rdquo;&mdash;he showed her the exact
+spot. But she would have found it, even by the comparatively bad light of the
+gas-jet now flaring over the dressing-table, for the news was printed in large,
+clear characters:&mdash; </p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Once more the murder fiend who chooses to call himself The Avenger has
+escaped detection. While the whole attention of the police, and of the great
+army of amateur detectives who are taking an interest in this strange series of
+atrocious crimes, were concentrating their attention round the East End and
+King&rsquo;s Cross, he moved swiftly and silently Westward. And, choosing a
+time when the Edgware Road is at its busiest and most thronged, did another
+human being to death with lightning-like quickness and savagery.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Within fifty yards of the deserted warehouse yard where he had lured his
+victim to destruction were passing up and down scores of happy, busy people,
+intent on their Christmas shopping. Into that cheerful throng he must have
+plunged within a moment of committing his atrocious crime. And it was only
+owing to the merest accident that the body was discovered as soon as it
+was&mdash;that is, just after midnight.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Dr. Dowtray, who was called to the spot at once, is of opinion that the
+woman had been dead at least three hours, if not four. It was at first
+thought&mdash;we were going to say, hoped&mdash;that this murder had nothing to
+do with the series which is now puzzling and horrifying the whole of the
+civilised world. But no&mdash;pinned on the edge of the dead woman&rsquo;s
+dress was the usual now familiar triangular piece of grey paper&mdash;the
+grimmest visiting card ever designed by the wit of man! And this time The
+Avenger has surpassed himself as regards his audacity and daring&mdash;so cold
+in its maniacal fanaticism and abhorrent wickedness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the time that Mrs. Bunting was reading with slow, painful intentness, her
+husband was looking at her, longing, yet afraid, to burst out with a new idea
+which he was burning to confide even to his Ellen&rsquo;s unsympathetic ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, when she had quite finished, she looked up defiantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you anything better to do than to stare at me like
+that?&rdquo; she said irritably. &ldquo;Murder or no murder, I&rsquo;ve got to
+get up! Go away&mdash;do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting went off into the next room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After he had gone, his wife lay back and closed her eyes. She tried to think of
+nothing. Nay, more&mdash;so strong, so determined was her will that for a few
+moments she actually did think of nothing. She felt terribly tired and weak,
+brain and body both quiescent, as does a person who is recovering from a long,
+wearing illness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently detached, puerile thoughts drifted across the surface of her mind
+like little clouds across a summer sky. She wondered if those horrid newspaper
+men were allowed to shout in Belgrave Square; she wondered if, in that case,
+Margaret, who was so unlike her brother-in-law, would get up and buy a paper.
+But no. Margaret was not one to leave her nice warm bed for such a silly reason
+as that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Was it to-morrow Daisy was coming back? Yes&mdash;to-morrow, not to-day. Well,
+that was a comfort, at any rate. What amusing things Daisy would be able to
+tell about her visit to Margaret! The girl had an excellent gift of mimicry.
+And Margaret, with her precise, funny ways, her perpetual talk about &ldquo;the
+family,&rdquo; lent herself to the cruel gift.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s mind&mdash;her poor, weak, tired
+mind&mdash;wandered off to young Chandler. A funny thing love was, when you
+came to think of it&mdash;which she, Ellen Bunting, didn&rsquo;t often do.
+There was Joe, a likely young fellow, seeing a lot of young women, and pretty
+young women, too,&mdash;quite as pretty as Daisy, and ten times more
+artful&mdash;and yet there! He passed them all by, had done so ever since last
+summer, though you might be sure that they, artful minxes, by no manner of
+means passed him by,&mdash;without giving them a thought! As Daisy wasn&rsquo;t
+here, he would probably keep away to-day. There was comfort in that thought,
+too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat up, and memory returned in a dreadful turgid flood.
+If Joe <i>did</i> come in, she must nerve herself to hear all that&mdash;that talk
+there&rsquo;d be about The Avenger between him and Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly she dragged herself out of bed, feeling exactly as if she had just
+recovered from an illness which had left her very weak, very, very tired in
+body and soul.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stood for a moment listening&mdash;listening, and shivering, for it was
+very cold. Considering how early it still was, there seemed a lot of coming and
+going in the Marylebone Road. She could hear the unaccustomed sounds through
+her closed door and the tightly fastened windows of the sitting-room. There
+must be a regular crowd of men and women, on foot and in cabs, hurrying to the
+scene of The Avenger&rsquo;s last extraordinary crime.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heard the sudden thud made by their usual morning paper falling from the
+letter-box on to the floor of the hall, and a moment later came the sound of
+Bunting quickly, quietly going out and getting it. She visualised him coming
+back, and sitting down with a sigh of satisfaction by the newly-lit fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Languidly she began dressing herself to the accompaniment of distant tramping
+and of noise of passing traffic, which increased in volume and in sound as the
+moments slipped by.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+When Mrs. Bunting went down into her kitchen everything looked just as she had
+left it, and there was no trace of the acrid smell she had expected to find
+there. Instead, the cavernous, whitewashed room was full of fog, but she
+noticed that, though the shutters were bolted and barred as she had left them,
+the windows behind them had been widely opened to the air. She had left them
+shut.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Making a &ldquo;spill&rdquo; out of a twist of newspaper&mdash;she had been
+taught the art as a girl by one of her old mistresses&mdash;she stooped and
+flung open the oven-door of her gas-stove. Yes, it was as she had expected, a
+fierce heat had been generated there since she had last used the oven, and
+through to the stone floor below had fallen a mass of black, gluey soot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting took the ham and eggs that she had bought the previous day for her
+own and Bunting&rsquo;s breakfast upstairs, and broiled them over the gas-ring
+in their sitting-room. Her husband watched her in surprised silence. She had
+never done such a thing before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t stay down there,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;it was so cold
+and foggy. I thought I&rsquo;d make breakfast up here, just for to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said kindly; &ldquo;that&rsquo;s quite right, Ellen. I
+think you&rsquo;ve done quite right, my dear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, when it came to the point, his wife could not eat any of the nice
+breakfast she had got ready; she only had another cup of tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you&rsquo;re ill, Ellen?&rdquo; Bunting asked
+solicitously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said shortly; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not ill at all.
+Don&rsquo;t be silly! The thought of that horrible thing happening so close by
+has upset me, and put me off my food. Just hark to them now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Through their closed windows penetrated the sound of scurrying feet and loud,
+ribald laughter. What a crowd; nay, what a mob, must be hastening busily to and
+from the spot where there was now nothing to be seen!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting made her husband lock the front gate. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want
+any of those ghouls in here!&rdquo; she exclaimed angrily. And then,
+&ldquo;What a lot of idle people there are in the world!&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Bunting began moving about the room restlessly. He would go to the window;
+stand there awhile staring out at the people hurrying past; then, coming back
+to the fireplace, sit down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he could not stay long quiet. After a glance at his paper, up he would rise
+from his chair, and go to the window again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you&rsquo;d stay still,&rdquo; his wife said at last. And then, a
+few minutes later, &ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t you better put your hat and coat on and
+go out?&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting, with a rather shamed expression, did put on his hat and coat and
+go out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he did so he told himself that, after all, he was but human; it was natural
+that he should be thrilled and excited by the dreadful, extraordinary thing
+which had just happened close by. Ellen wasn&rsquo;t reasonable about such
+things. How queer and disagreeable she had been that very morning&mdash;angry
+with him because he had gone out to hear what all the row was about, and even
+more angry when he had come back and said nothing, because he thought it would
+annoy her to hear about it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Bunting forced herself to go down again into the kitchen, and
+as she went through into the low, whitewashed place, a tremor of fear, of quick
+terror, came over her. She turned and did what she had never in her life done
+before, and what she had never heard of anyone else doing in a kitchen. She
+bolted the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, having done this, finding herself at last alone, shut off from everybody,
+she was still beset by a strange, uncanny dread. She felt as if she were locked
+in with an invisible presence, which mocked and jeered, reproached and
+threatened her, by turns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why had she allowed, nay encouraged, Daisy to go away for two days? Daisy, at
+any rate, was company&mdash;kind, young, unsuspecting company. With Daisy she
+could be her old sharp self. It was such a comfort to be with someone to whom
+she not only need, but ought to, say nothing. When with Bunting she was pursued
+by a sick feeling of guilt, of shame. She was the man&rsquo;s wedded
+wife&mdash;in his stolid way he was very kind to her, and yet she was keeping
+from him something he certainly had a right to know.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not for worlds, however, would she have told Bunting of her dreadful
+suspicion&mdash;nay, of her almost certainty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she went across to the door and unlocked it. Then she went upstairs and
+turned out her bedroom. That made her feel a little better.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She longed for Bunting to return, and yet in a way she was relieved by his
+absence. She would have liked to feel him near by, and yet she welcomed
+anything that took her husband out of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as Mrs. Bunting swept and dusted, trying to put her whole mind into what
+she was doing, she was asking herself all the time what was going on upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a good rest the lodger was having! But there, that was only natural. Mr.
+Sleuth, as she well knew, had been up a long time last night, or rather this
+morning.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Suddenly, the drawing-room bell rang. But Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady did not
+go up, as she generally did, before getting ready the simple meal which was the
+lodger&rsquo;s luncheon and breakfast combined. Instead, she went downstairs
+again and hurriedly prepared the lodger&rsquo;s food.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, very slowly, with her heart beating queerly, she walked up, and just
+outside the sitting-room&mdash;for she felt sure that Mr. Sleuth had got up,
+that he was there already, waiting for her&mdash;she rested the tray on the top
+of the banisters and listened. For a few moments she heard nothing; then
+through the door came the high, quavering voice with which she had become so
+familiar:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;She saith to him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in
+secret is pleasant. But he knoweth not that the dead are there, and that her
+guests are in the depths of hell.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a long pause. Mrs. Bunting could hear the leaves of her Bible being
+turned over, eagerly, busily; and then again Mr. Sleuth broke out, this time in
+a softer voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;She hath cast down many wounded from her; yea, many strong men
+have been slain by her.&rsquo;&rdquo; And in a softer, lower, plaintive tone
+came the words: &ldquo;&lsquo;I applied my heart to know, and to search, and to
+seek out wisdom and the reason of things; and to know the wickedness of folly,
+even of foolishness and madness.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as she stood there listening, a feeling of keen distress, of spiritual
+oppression, came over Mrs. Bunting. For the first time in her life she visioned
+the infinite mystery, the sadness and strangeness, of human life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Mr. Sleuth&mdash;poor unhappy, distraught Mr. Sleuth! An overwhelming pity
+blotted out for a moment the fear, aye, and the loathing, she had been feeling
+for her lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She knocked at the door, and then she took up her tray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo; Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s voice sounded feebler,
+more toneless than usual.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned the handle of the door and walked in. The lodger was not sitting in
+his usual place; he had taken the little round table on which his candle
+generally rested when he read in bed, out of his bedroom, and placed it over by
+the drawing-room window. On it were placed, open, the Bible and the
+Concordance. But as his landlady came in, Mr. Sleuth hastily closed the Bible,
+and began staring dreamily out of the window, down at the sordid, hurrying
+crowd of men and women which now swept along the Marylebone Road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There seem a great many people out today,&rdquo; he observed, without
+looking round.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir, there do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting began busying herself with laying the cloth and putting out the
+breakfast-lunch, and as she did so she was seized with a mortal, instinctive
+terror of the man sitting there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last Mr. Sleuth got up and turned round. She forced herself to look at him.
+How tired, how worn, he looked, and&mdash;how strange!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walking towards the table on which lay his meal, he rubbed his hands together
+with a nervous gesture&mdash;it was a gesture he only made when something had
+pleased, nay, satisfied him. Mrs. Bunting, looking at him, remembered that he
+had rubbed his hands together thus when he had first seen the room upstairs,
+and realised that it contained a large gas-stove and a convenient sink.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What Mr. Sleuth was doing now also reminded her in an odd way of a play she had
+once seen&mdash;a play to which a young man had taken her when she was a girl,
+unnumbered years ago, and which had thrilled and fascinated her. &ldquo;Out,
+out, damned spot!&rdquo; that was what the tall, fierce, beautiful lady who had
+played the part of a queen had said, twisting her hands together just as the
+lodger was doing now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a fine day,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth, sitting down and
+unfolding his napkin. &ldquo;The fog has cleared. I do not know if you will
+agree with me, Mrs. Bunting, but I always feel brighter when the sun is
+shining, as it is now, at any rate, trying to shine.&rdquo; He looked at her
+inquiringly, but Mrs. Bunting could not speak. She only nodded. However, that
+did not affect Mr. Sleuth adversely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had acquired a great liking and respect for this well-balanced, taciturn
+woman. She was the first woman for whom he had experienced any such feeling for
+many years past.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked down at the still covered dish, and shook his head. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t feel as if I could eat very much to-day,&rdquo; he said
+plaintively. And then he suddenly took a half-sovereign out of his waistcoat
+pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat Mr. Sleuth
+had been wearing the day before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly allowed
+me to make of your kitchen last night?&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;I tried
+to make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but&mdash;well, the truth is I
+was carrying out a very elaborate experiment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took the coin. The
+fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against her palm were icy
+cold&mdash;cold and clammy. Mr. Sleuth was evidently not well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball hanging in the
+smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady, and threw blood-red
+gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of gold she was holding in her
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household, but, of
+course, there was far greater animation outside the little house than was
+usually the case.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some days, the whole
+of London seemed to be making holiday in that part of the town.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Bunting at last came back, his wife listened silently while he told her of
+the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere. And then, after he had been
+talking a long while, she suddenly shot a strange look at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you went to see the place?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And guiltily he acknowledged that he had done so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, there wasn&rsquo;t anything much to see&mdash;not now. But, oh,
+Ellen, the daring of him! Why, Ellen, if the poor soul had had time to cry
+out&mdash;which they don&rsquo;t believe she had&mdash;it&rsquo;s impossible
+someone wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;a heard her. They say that if he goes on doing it
+like that&mdash;in the afternoon, like&mdash;he never <i>will</i> be caught. He must
+have just got mixed up with all the other people within ten seconds of what
+he&rsquo;d done!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the afternoon Bunting bought papers recklessly&mdash;in fact, he must
+have spent the best part of six-pence. But in spite of all the supposed and
+suggested clues, there was nothing&mdash;nothing at all new to read, less, in
+fact than ever before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The police, it was clear, were quite at a loss, and Mrs. Bunting began to feel
+curiously better, less tired, less ill, less&mdash;less terrified than she had
+felt through the morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then something happened which broke with dramatic suddenness the quietude
+of the day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had had their tea, and Bunting was reading the last of the papers he had
+run out to buy, when suddenly there came a loud, thundering, double knock at
+the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. &ldquo;Why, whoever can that be?&rdquo; she
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as Bunting got up she added quickly, &ldquo;You just sit down again.
+I&rsquo;ll go myself. Sounds like someone after lodgings. I&rsquo;ll soon send
+them to the right-about!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she left the room, but not before there had come another loud double
+knock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting opened the front door. In a moment she saw that the person who
+stood there was a stranger to her. He was a big, dark man, with fierce, black
+moustaches. And somehow&mdash;she could not have told you why&mdash;he
+suggested a policeman to Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This notion of hers was confirmed by the very first words he uttered. For,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m here to execute a warrant!&rdquo; he exclaimed in a
+theatrical, hollow tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a weak cry of protest Mrs. Bunting suddenly threw out her arms as if to
+bar the way; she turned deadly white&mdash;but then, in an instant the supposed
+stranger&rsquo;s laugh rang out, with loud, jovial, familiar sound!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There now, Mrs. Bunting! I never thought I&rsquo;d take you in as well
+as all that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Joe Chandler&mdash;Joe Chandler dressed up, as she knew he sometimes,
+not very often, did dress up in the course of his work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting began laughing&mdash;laughing helplessly, hysterically, just as
+she had done on the morning of Daisy&rsquo;s arrival, when the
+newspaper-sellers had come shouting down the Marylebone Road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s all this about?&rdquo; Bunting came out
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Young Chandler ruefully shut the front door. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t mean to
+upset her like this,&rdquo; he said, looking foolish; &ldquo;&rsquo;twas just
+my silly nonsense, Mr. Bunting.&rdquo; And together they helped her into the
+sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, once there, poor Mrs. Bunting went on worse than ever; she threw her black
+apron over her face, and began to sob hysterically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I made sure she&rsquo;d know who I was when I spoke,&rdquo; went on the
+young fellow apologetically. &ldquo;But, there now, I <i>have</i> upset her. I <i>am</i>
+sorry!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It don&rsquo;t matter!&rdquo; she exclaimed, throwing the apron off her
+face, but the tears were still streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and
+laughed by turns. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t matter one little bit, Joe! &rsquo;Twas
+stupid of me to be so taken aback. But, there, that murder that&rsquo;s
+happened close by, it&rsquo;s just upset me&mdash;upset me altogether
+to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Enough to upset anyone&mdash;that was,&rdquo; acknowledged the young man
+ruefully. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve only come in for a minute, like. I haven&rsquo;t no
+right to come when I&rsquo;m on duty like this&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe Chandler was looking longingly at what remains of the meal were still on
+the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can take a minute just to have a bite and a sup,&rdquo; said Bunting
+hospitably; &ldquo;and then you can tell us any news there is, Joe. We&rsquo;re
+right in the middle of everything now, ain&rsquo;t we?&rdquo; He spoke with
+evident enjoyment, almost pride, in the gruesome fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe nodded. Already his mouth was full of bread-and-butter. He waited a moment,
+and then: &ldquo;Well I have got one piece of news&mdash;not that I suppose
+it&rsquo;ll interest <i>you</i> very much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They both looked at him&mdash;Mrs. Bunting suddenly calm, though her breast
+still heaved from time to time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Our Boss has resigned!&rdquo; said Joe Chandler slowly, impressively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No! Not the Commissioner o&rsquo; Police?&rdquo; exclaimed Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, he has. He just can&rsquo;t bear what&rsquo;s said about us any
+longer&mdash;and I don&rsquo;t wonder! He done his best, and so&rsquo;s we all.
+The public have just gone daft&mdash;in the West End, that is, to-day. As for
+the papers, well, they&rsquo;re something cruel&mdash;that&rsquo;s what they
+are. And the ridiculous ideas they print! You&rsquo;d never believe the things
+they asks us to do&mdash;and quite serious-like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; questioned Mrs. Bunting. She really wanted
+to know.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, the <i>Courier</i> declares that there ought to be a house-to-house
+investigation&mdash;all over London. Just think of it! Everybody to let the
+police go all over their house, from garret to kitchen, just to see if The
+Avenger isn&rsquo;t concealed there. Dotty, I calls it! Why, &rsquo;twould take
+us months and months just to do that one job in a town like London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to see them dare come into my house!&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Bunting angrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all along of them blarsted papers that The Avenger went to
+work a different way this time,&rdquo; said Chandler slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting had pushed a tin of sardines towards his guest, and was eagerly
+listening. &ldquo;How d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+take your meaning, Joe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you see, it&rsquo;s this way. The newspapers was always saying how
+extraordinary it was that The Avenger chose such a peculiar time to do his
+deeds&mdash;I mean, the time when no one&rsquo;s about the streets. Now,
+doesn&rsquo;t it stand to reason that the fellow, reading all that, and seeing
+the sense of it, said to himself, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll go on another tack this
+time&rsquo;? Just listen to this!&rdquo; He pulled a strip of paper, part of a
+column cut from a newspaper, out of his pocket:
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;&lsquo;A<small>N EX</small>-L<small>ORD</small> M<small>AYOR OF</small>
+L<small>ONDON ON</small> T<small>HE</small> A<small>VENGER</small>
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Will the murderer be caught? Yes,&rsquo; replied Sir John,
+&lsquo;he will certainly be caught&mdash;probably when he commits his next
+crime. A whole army of bloodhounds, metaphorical and literal, will be on his
+track the moment he draws blood again. With the whole community against him, he
+cannot escape, <i>especially when it be remembered that he chooses the quietest
+hour in the twenty-four to commit his crimes</i>.<br/>
+    &ldquo;&lsquo;Londoners are now in such a state of nerves&mdash;if I may use
+the expression, in such a state of funk&mdash;that every passer-by, however
+innocent, is looked at with suspicion by his neighbour if his avocation happens
+to take him abroad between the hours of one and three in the morning.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to gag that ex-Lord Mayor!&rdquo; concluded Joe Chandler
+wrathfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just then the lodger&rsquo;s bell rang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me go up, my dear,&rdquo; said Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wife still looked pale and shaken by the fright she had had.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she said hastily. &ldquo;You stop down here, and talk to
+Joe. I&rsquo;ll look after Mr. Sleuth. He may be wanting his supper just a bit
+earlier than usual to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly, painfully, again feeling as if her legs were made of cotton wool, she
+dragged herself up to the first floor, knocked at the door, and then went in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You did ring, sir?&rdquo; she said, in her quiet, respectful way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She thought&mdash;but, as she reminded herself afterwards, it might have been
+just her idea, and nothing else&mdash;that for the first time the lodger looked
+frightened&mdash;frightened and cowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I heard a noise downstairs,&rdquo; he said fretfully, &ldquo;and I
+wanted to know what it was all about. As I told you, Mrs. Bunting, when I first
+took these rooms, quiet is essential to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was just a friend of ours, sir. I&rsquo;m sorry you were disturbed.
+Would you like the knocker taken off to-morrow? Bunting&rsquo;ll be pleased to
+do it if you don&rsquo;t like to hear the sound of the knocks.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, I wouldn&rsquo;t put you to such trouble as that.&rdquo; Mr.
+Sleuth looked quite relieved. &ldquo;Just a friend of yours, was it, Mrs.
+Bunting? He made a great deal of noise.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a young fellow,&rdquo; she said apologetically. &ldquo;The son of
+one of Bunting&rsquo;s old friends. He often comes here, sir; but he never did
+give such a great big double knock as that before. I&rsquo;ll speak to him
+about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, Mrs. Bunting. I would really prefer you did nothing of the kind.
+It was just a passing annoyance&mdash;nothing more!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She waited a moment. How strange that Mr. Sleuth said nothing of the hoarse
+cries which had made of the road outside a perfect Bedlam every hour or two
+throughout that day. But no, Mr. Sleuth made no allusion to what might well
+have disturbed any quiet gentleman at his reading.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought maybe you&rsquo;d like to have supper a little earlier
+to-night, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just when you like, Mrs. Bunting&mdash;just when it&rsquo;s convenient.
+I do not wish to put you out in any way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt herself dismissed, and going out quietly, closed the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she did so, she heard the front door banging to. She sighed&mdash;Joe
+Chandler was really a very noisy young fellow.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting slept well the night following that during which the lodger had
+been engaged in making his mysterious experiments in her kitchen. She was so
+tired, so utterly exhausted, that sleep came to her the moment she laid her
+head upon her pillow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps that was why she rose so early the next morning. Hardly giving herself
+time to swallow the tea Bunting had made and brought her, she got up and
+dressed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had suddenly come to the conclusion that the hall and staircase required a
+thorough &ldquo;doing down,&rdquo; and she did not even wait till they had
+eaten their breakfast before beginning her labours. It made Bunting feel quite
+uncomfortable. As he sat by the fire reading his morning paper&mdash;the paper
+which was again of such absorbing interest&mdash;he called out,
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no need for so much hurry, Ellen. Daisy&rsquo;ll be back
+to-day. Why don&rsquo;t you wait till she&rsquo;s come home to help you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But from the hall where she was busy dusting, sweeping, polishing, his
+wife&rsquo;s voice came back: &ldquo;Girls ain&rsquo;t no good at this sort of
+work. Don&rsquo;t you worry about me. I feel as if I&rsquo;d enjoy doing an
+extra bit of cleaning to-day. I don&rsquo;t like to feel as anyone could come
+in and see my place dirty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No fear of that!&rdquo; Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck
+him. &ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t you afraid of waking the lodger?&rdquo; he called out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night,&rdquo; she
+answered quickly. &ldquo;As it is, I study him over-much; it&rsquo;s a long,
+long time since I&rsquo;ve done this staircase down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left the
+sitting-room door wide open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn&rsquo;t like to get up
+and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn&rsquo;t read
+with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had never known Ellen
+make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he looked up and frowned rather
+crossly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that Ellen was
+standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;do! Ain&rsquo;t you finished yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was only resting a minute,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t
+tell me nothing. I&rsquo;d like to know if there&rsquo;s anything&mdash;I mean
+anything new&mdash;in the paper this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her unusual
+curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting suddenly uneasy.
+&ldquo;Come in&mdash;do!&rdquo; he repeated sharply. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve done
+quite enough&mdash;and before breakfast, too. &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t necessary.
+Come in and shut that door.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She came in, and did what she had never done before&mdash;brought the broom
+with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she sat down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I&rsquo;ll make breakfast up here,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I feel cold, Bunting.&rdquo; And her husband stared at her
+surprised, for drops of perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He got up. &ldquo;All right. I&rsquo;ll go down and bring the eggs up.
+Don&rsquo;t you worry. For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if
+you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said obstinately. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather do my own work.
+You just bring them up here&mdash;that&rsquo;ll be all right. To-morrow morning
+we&rsquo;ll have Daisy to help see to things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair,&rdquo; he suggested
+kindly. &ldquo;You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen. I never see&rsquo;d
+such a woman!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room with
+languid steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took two steps
+towards her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show you the most interesting bit&rdquo; he said eagerly.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the piece headed, &lsquo;Our Special Investigator.&rsquo; You
+see, they&rsquo;ve started a special investigator of their own, and he&rsquo;s
+got hold of a lot of little facts the police seem to have overlooked. The man
+who writes all that&mdash;I mean the Special Investigator&mdash;was a famous
+&rsquo;tec in his time, and he&rsquo;s just come back out of his retirement
+o&rsquo; purpose to do this bit of work for the paper. You read what he
+says&mdash;I shouldn&rsquo;t be a bit surprised if he ends by getting that
+reward! One can see he just loves the work of tracking people down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to be proud of in such a job,&rdquo; said his wife
+listlessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll have something to be proud of if he catches The
+Avenger!&rdquo; cried Bunting. He was too keen about this affair to be put off
+by Ellen&rsquo;s contradictory remarks. &ldquo;You just notice that bit about
+the rubber soles. Now, no one&rsquo;s thought o&rsquo; that. I&rsquo;ll just
+tell Chandler&mdash;he don&rsquo;t seem to me to be half awake, that young man
+don&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him! How
+about those eggs, Bunting? I feel quite ready for my breakfast even if you
+don&rsquo;t&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly described to
+himself as &ldquo;Ellen&rsquo;s snarling voice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled. There was something
+queer about her, and he couldn&rsquo;t make it out. He didn&rsquo;t mind it
+when she spoke sharply and nastily to him. He was used to that. But now she was
+so up and down; so different from what she used to be! In old days she had
+always been the same, but now a man never knew where to have her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as he went downstairs he pondered uneasily over his wife&rsquo;s changed
+ways and manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Take the question of his easy chair. A very small matter, no doubt, but he had
+never known Ellen sit in that chair&mdash;no, not even once, for a minute,
+since it had been purchased by her as a present for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had been so happy, so happy, and so&mdash;so restful, during that first
+week after Mr. Sleuth had come to them. Perhaps it was the sudden, dramatic
+change from agonising anxiety to peace and security which had been too much for
+Ellen&mdash;yes, that was what was the matter with her, that and the universal
+excitement about these Avenger murders, which were shaking the nerves of all
+London. Even Bunting, unobservant as he was, had come to realise that his wife
+took a morbid interest in these terrible happenings. And it was the more queer
+of her to do so that at first she refused to discuss them, and said openly that
+she was utterly uninterested in murder or crime of any sort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He, Bunting, had always had a mild pleasure in such things. In his time he had
+been a great reader of detective tales, and even now he thought there was no
+pleasanter reading. It was that which had first drawn him to Joe Chandler, and
+made him welcome the young chap as cordially as he had done when they first
+came to London.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But though Ellen had tolerated, she had never encouraged, that sort of talk
+between the two men. More than once she had exclaimed reproachfully: &ldquo;To
+hear you two, one would think there was no nice, respectable, quiet people left
+in the world!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now all that was changed. She was as keen as anyone could be to hear the
+latest details of an Avenger crime. True, she took her own view of any theory
+suggested. But there! Ellen always had had her own notions about everything
+under the sun. Ellen was a woman who thought for herself&mdash;a clever woman,
+not an everyday woman by any manner of means.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While these thoughts were going disconnectedly through his mind, Bunting was
+breaking four eggs into a basin. He was going to give Ellen a nice little
+surprise&mdash;to cook an omelette as a French chef had once taught him to do,
+years and years ago. He didn&rsquo;t know how she would take his doing such a
+thing after what she had said; but never mind, she would enjoy the omelette
+when done. Ellen hadn&rsquo;t been eating her food properly of late.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And when he went up again, his wife, to his relief, and, it must be admitted,
+to his surprise, took it very well. She had not even noticed how long he had
+been downstairs, for she had been reading with intense, painful care the column
+that the great daily paper they took in had allotted to the one-time famous
+detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+According to this Special Investigator&rsquo;s own account he had discovered
+all sorts of things that had escaped the eye of the police and of the official
+detectives. For instance, owing, he admitted, to a fortunate chance, he had
+been at the place where the two last murders had been committed very soon after
+the double crime had been discovered&mdash;in fact within half an hour, and he
+had found, or so he felt sure, on the slippery, wet pavement imprints of the
+murderer&rsquo;s right foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The paper reproduced the impression of a half-worn rubber sole. At the same
+time, he also admitted&mdash;for the Special Investigator was very honest, and
+he had a good bit of space to fill in the enterprising paper which had engaged
+him to probe the awful mystery&mdash;that there were thousands of rubber soles
+being worn in London. . . .
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And when she came to that statement Mrs. Bunting looked up, and there came a
+wan smile over her thin, closely-shut lips. It was quite true&mdash;that about
+rubber soles; there were thousands of rubber soles being worn just now. She
+felt grateful to the Special Investigator for having stated the fact so
+clearly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The column ended up with the words:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten days
+ago. To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public inquiry could be held
+at once. Say, on the very day the discovery of a fresh murder is made. In that
+way alone would it be possible to weigh and sift the evidence offered by
+members of the general public. For when a week or more has elapsed, and these
+same people have been examined and cross-examined in private by the police,
+their impressions have had time to become blurred and hopelessly confused. On
+that last occasion but one there seems no doubt that several people, at any
+rate two women and one man, actually saw the murderer hurrying from the scene
+of his atrocious double crime&mdash;this being so, to-day&rsquo;s investigation
+may be of the highest value and importance. To-morrow I hope to give an account
+of the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements made during
+its course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had gone on
+reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment. At last he said rather crossly,
+&ldquo;Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute! The omelette I&rsquo;ve cooked
+for you will be just like leather if you don&rsquo;t eat it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But once his wife had eaten her breakfast&mdash;and, to Bunting&rsquo;s
+mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette untouched&mdash;she
+took the paper up again. She turned over the big sheets, until she found, at
+the foot of one of the ten columns devoted to The Avenger and his crimes, the
+information she wanted, and then uttered an exclamation under her breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What Mrs. Bunting had been looking for&mdash;what at last she had
+found&mdash;was the time and place of the inquest which was to be held that
+day. The hour named was a rather odd time&mdash;two o&rsquo;clock in the
+afternoon, but, from Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s point of view, it was most
+convenient.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By two o&rsquo;clock, nay, by half-past one, the lodger would have had his
+lunch; by hurrying matters a little she and Bunting would have had their
+dinner, and&mdash;and Daisy wasn&rsquo;t coming home till tea-time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She got up out of her husband&rsquo;s chair. &ldquo;I think you&rsquo;re
+right,&rdquo; she said, in a quick, hoarse tone. &ldquo;I mean about me seeing
+a doctor, Bunting. I think I will go and see a doctor this very
+afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t you like me to go with you?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, that I wouldn&rsquo;t. In fact I wouldn&rsquo;t go at all you was to
+go with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said vexedly. &ldquo;Please yourself, my dear; you
+know best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should think I did know best where my own health is concerned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even Bunting was incensed by this lack of gratitude. &ldquo;&rsquo;Twas I said,
+long ago, you ought to go and see the doctor; &rsquo;twas you said you
+wouldn&rsquo;t!&rdquo; he exclaimed pugnaciously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ve never said you was never right, have I? At any rate,
+I&rsquo;m going.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you a pain anywhere?&rdquo; He stared at her with a look of real
+solicitude on his fat, phlegmatic face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow Ellen didn&rsquo;t look right, standing there opposite him. Her
+shoulders seemed to have shrunk; even her cheeks had fallen in a little. She
+had never looked so bad&mdash;not even when they had been half starving, and
+dreadfully, dreadfully worked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said briefly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a pain in my head, at
+the back of my neck. It doesn&rsquo;t often leave me; it gets worse when
+anything upsets me, like I was upset last night by Joe Chandler.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was a silly ass to come and do a thing like that!&rdquo; said Bunting
+crossly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d a good mind to tell him so, too. But I must say,
+Ellen, I wonder he took you in&mdash;he didn&rsquo;t me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you had no chance he should&mdash;you knew who it was,&rdquo; she
+said slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting remained silent, for Ellen was right. Joe Chandler had already
+spoken when he, Bunting, came out into the hall, and saw their cleverly
+disguised visitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Those big black moustaches,&rdquo; he went on complainingly, &ldquo;and
+that black wig&mdash;why, &rsquo;twas too ridic&rsquo;lous&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+what I call it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not to anyone who didn&rsquo;t know Joe,&rdquo; she said sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t know. He didn&rsquo;t look like a real
+man&mdash;nohow. If he&rsquo;s a wise lad, he won&rsquo;t let our Daisy ever
+see him looking like that!&rdquo; and Bunting laughed, a comfortable laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had thought a good deal about Daisy and young Chandler the last two days,
+and, on the whole, he was well pleased. It was a dull, unnatural life the girl
+was leading with Old Aunt. And Joe was earning good money. They wouldn&rsquo;t
+have long to wait, these two young people, as a beau and his girl often have to
+wait, as he, Bunting, and Daisy&rsquo;s mother had had to do, for ever so long
+before they could be married. No, there was no reason why they shouldn&rsquo;t
+be spliced quite soon&mdash;if so the fancy took them. And Bunting had very
+little doubt that so the fancy would take Joe, at any rate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was plenty of time. Daisy wouldn&rsquo;t be eighteen till the week
+after next. They might wait till she was twenty. By that time Old Aunt might be
+dead, and Daisy might have come into quite a tidy little bit of money.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you smiling at?&rdquo; said his wife sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he shook himself. &ldquo;I&mdash;smiling? At nothing that I knows
+of.&rdquo; Then he waited a moment. &ldquo;Well, if you will know, Ellen, I was
+just thinking of Daisy and that young chap Joe Chandler. He is gone on her,
+ain&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone?&rdquo; And then Mrs. Bunting laughed, a queer, odd, not unkindly
+laugh. &ldquo;Gone, Bunting?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;Why, he&rsquo;s out
+o&rsquo; sight&mdash;right, out of sight!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then hesitatingly, and looking narrowly at her husband, she went on, twisting a
+bit of her black apron with her fingers as she spoke:&mdash;&ldquo;I suppose
+he&rsquo;ll be going over this afternoon to fetch her? Or&mdash;or d&rsquo;you
+think he&rsquo;ll have to be at that inquest, Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Inquest? What inquest?&rdquo; He looked at her puzzled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, the inquest on them bodies found in the passage near by
+King&rsquo;s Cross.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no; he&rsquo;d have no call to be at the inquest. For the matter
+o&rsquo; that, I know he&rsquo;s going over to fetch Daisy. He said so last
+night&mdash;just when you went up to the lodger.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s just as well.&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting spoke with considerable
+satisfaction. &ldquo;Otherwise I suppose you&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; had to go. I
+wouldn&rsquo;t like the house left&mdash;not with us out of it. Mr. Sleuth
+<i>would</i> be upset if there came a ring at the door.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I won&rsquo;t leave the house, don&rsquo;t you be afraid,
+Ellen&mdash;not while you&rsquo;re out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not even if I&rsquo;m out a good while, Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No fear. Of course, you&rsquo;ll be a long time if it&rsquo;s your idea
+to see that doctor at Ealing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at her questioningly, and Mrs. Bunting nodded. Somehow nodding
+didn&rsquo;t seem as bad as speaking a lie.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Any ordeal is far less terrifying, far easier to meet with courage, when it is
+repeated, than is even a milder experience which is entirely novel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting had already attended an inquest, in the character of a witness,
+and it was one of the few happenings of her life which was sharply etched
+against the somewhat blurred screen of her memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a country house where the then Ellen Green had been staying for a fortnight
+with her elderly mistress, there had occurred one of those sudden, pitiful
+tragedies which occasionally destroy the serenity, the apparent decorum, of a
+large, respectable household.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The under-housemaid, a pretty, happy-natured girl, had drowned herself for love
+of the footman, who had given his sweetheart cause for bitter jealousy. The
+girl had chosen to speak of her troubles to the strange lady&rsquo;s maid
+rather than to her own fellow-servants, and it was during the conversation the
+two women had had together that the girl had threatened to take her own life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Mrs. Bunting put on her outdoor clothes, preparatory to going out, she
+recalled very clearly all the details of that dreadful affair, and of the part
+she herself had unwillingly played in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She visualised the country inn where the inquest on that poor, unfortunate
+creature had been held.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The butler had escorted her from the Hall, for he also was to give evidence,
+and as they came up there had been a look of cheerful animation about the inn
+yard; people coming and going, many women as well as men, village folk, among
+whom the dead girl&rsquo;s fate had aroused a great deal of interest, and the
+kind of horror which those who live on a dull countryside welcome rather than
+avoid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everyone there had been particularly nice and polite to her, to Ellen Green;
+there had been a time of waiting in a room upstairs in the old inn, and the
+witnesses had been accommodated, not only with chairs, but with cake and wine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She remembered how she had dreaded being a witness, how she had felt as if she
+would like to run away from her nice, easy place, rather than have to get up
+and tell the little that she knew of the sad business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it had not been so very dreadful after all. The coroner had been a
+kindly-spoken gentleman; in fact he had complimented her on the clear, sensible
+way she had given her evidence concerning the exact words the unhappy girl had
+used.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One thing Ellen Green had said, in answer to a question put by an inquisitive
+juryman, had raised a laugh in the crowded, low-ceilinged room. &ldquo;Ought
+not Miss Ellen Green,&rdquo; so the man had asked, &ldquo;to have told someone
+of the girl&rsquo;s threat? If she had done so, might not the girl have been
+prevented from throwing herself into the lake?&rdquo; And she, the witness, had
+answered, with some asperity&mdash;for by that time the coroner&rsquo;s kind
+manner had put her at her ease&mdash;that she had not attached any importance
+to what the girl had threatened to do, never believing that any young woman
+could be so silly as to drown herself for love!
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Vaguely Mrs. Bunting supposed that the inquest at which she was going to be
+present this afternoon would be like that country inquest of long ago.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had been no mere perfunctory inquiry; she remembered very well how little by
+little that pleasant-spoken gentleman, the coroner, had got the whole truth
+out&mdash;the story, that is, of how that horrid footman, whom she, Ellen
+Green, had disliked from the first minute she had set eyes on him, had taken up
+with another young woman. It had been supposed that this fact would not be
+elicited by the coroner; but it had been, quietly, remorselessly; more, the
+dead girl&rsquo;s letters had been read out&mdash;piteous, queerly expressed
+letters, full of wild love and bitter, threatening jealousy. And the jury had
+censured the young man most severely; she remembered the look on his face when
+the people, shrinking back, had made a passage for him to slink out of the
+crowded room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Come to think of it now, it was strange she had never told Bunting that
+long-ago tale. It had occurred years before she knew him, and somehow nothing
+had ever happened to make her tell him about it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wondered whether Bunting had ever been to an inquest. She longed to ask
+him. But if she asked him now, this minute, he might guess where she was
+thinking of going.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, while still moving about her bedroom, she shook her head&mdash;no,
+no, Bunting would never guess such a thing; he would never, never suspect her
+of telling him a lie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stop&mdash;had she told a lie? She did mean to go to the doctor after the
+inquest was finished&mdash;if there was time, that is. She wondered uneasily
+how long such an inquiry was likely to last. In this case, as so very little
+had been discovered, the proceedings would surely be very formal&mdash;formal
+and therefore short.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She herself had one quite definite object&mdash;that of hearing the evidence of
+those who believed they had seen the murderer leaving the spot where his
+victims lay weltering in their still flowing blood. She was filled with a
+painful, secret, and, yes, eager curiosity to hear how those who were so
+positive about the matter would describe the appearance of The Avenger. After
+all, a lot of people must have seen him, for, as Bunting had said only the day
+before to young Chandler, The Avenger was not a ghost; he was a living man with
+some kind of hiding-place where he was known, and where he spent his time
+between his awful crimes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she came back to the sitting-room, her extreme pallor struck her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Ellen,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it is time you went to the doctor.
+You looks just as if you was going to a funeral. I&rsquo;ll come along with you
+as far as the station. You&rsquo;re going by train, ain&rsquo;t you? Not by
+bus, eh? It&rsquo;s a very long way to Ealing, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There you go! Breaking your solemn promise to me the very first
+minute!&rdquo; But somehow she did not speak unkindly, only fretfully and
+sadly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting hung his head. &ldquo;Why, to be sure I&rsquo;d gone and clean
+forgot the lodger! But will you be all right, Ellen? Why not wait till
+to-morrow, and take Daisy with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like doing my own business in my own way, and not in someone
+else&rsquo;s way!&rdquo; she snapped out; and then more gently, for Bunting
+really looked concerned, and she did feel very far from well, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+be all right, old man. Don&rsquo;t you worry about me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she turned to go across to the door, she drew the black shawl she had put
+over her long jacket more closely round her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt ashamed, deeply ashamed, of deceiving so kind a husband. And yet, what
+could she do? How could she share her dreadful burden with poor Bunting? Why,
+&rsquo;twould be enough to make a man go daft. Even she often felt as if she
+could stand it no longer&mdash;as if she would give the world to tell
+someone&mdash;anyone&mdash;what it was that she suspected, what deep in her
+heart she so feared to be the truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, unknown to herself, the fresh outside air, fog-laden though it was, soon
+began to do her good. She had gone out far too little the last few days, for
+she had had a nervous terror of leaving the house unprotected, as also a great
+unwillingness to allow Bunting to come into contact with the lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she reached the Underground station she stopped short. There were two ways
+of getting to St. Pancras&mdash;she could go by bus, or she could go by train.
+She decided on the latter. But before turning into the station her eyes strayed
+over the bills of the early afternoon papers lying on the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two words,
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+T<small>HE</small> A<small>VENGER</small>,
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+stared up at her in varying type.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drawing her black shawl yet a little closer about her shoulders, Mrs. Bunting
+looked down at the placards. She did not feel inclined to buy a paper, as many
+of the people round her were doing. Her eyes were smarting, even now, from
+their unaccustomed following of the close print in the paper Bunting took in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly she turned, at last, into the Underground station.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+And now a piece of extraordinary good fortune befell Mrs. Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The third-class carriage in which she took her place happened to be empty, save
+for the presence of a police inspector. And once they were well away she
+summoned up courage, and asked him the question she knew she would have to ask
+of someone within the next few minutes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can you tell me,&rdquo; she said, in a low voice, &ldquo;where death
+inquests are held&rdquo;&mdash;she moistened her lips, waited a moment, and
+then concluded&mdash;&ldquo;in the neighbourhood of King&rsquo;s Cross?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man turned and, looked at her attentively. She did not look at all the sort
+of Londoner who goes to an inquest&mdash;there are many such&mdash;just for the
+fun of the thing. Approvingly, for he was a widower, he noted her neat black
+coat and skirt; and the plain Princess bonnet which framed her pale, refined
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to the Coroner&rsquo;s Court myself.&rdquo; he said
+good-naturedly. &ldquo;So you can come along of me. You see there&rsquo;s that
+big Avenger inquest going on to-day, so I think they&rsquo;ll have had to make
+other arrangements for&mdash;hum, hum&mdash;ordinary cases.&rdquo; And as she
+looked at him dumbly, he went on, &ldquo;There&rsquo;ll be a mighty crowd of
+people at The Avenger inquest&mdash;a lot of ticket folk to be accommodated, to
+say nothing of the public.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the inquest I&rsquo;m going to,&rdquo; faltered Mrs.
+Bunting. She could scarcely get the words out. She realised with acute
+discomfort, yes, and shame, how strange, how untoward, was that which she was
+going to do. Fancy a respectable woman wanting to attend a murder inquest!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the last few days all her perceptions had become sharpened by suspense
+and fear. She realised now, as she looked into the stolid face of her unknown
+friend, how she herself would have regarded any woman who wanted to attend such
+an inquiry from a simple, morbid feeling of curiosity. And yet&mdash;and yet
+that was just what she was about to do herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got a reason for wanting to go there,&rdquo; she murmured. It
+was a comfort to unburden herself this little way even to a stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said reflectively. &ldquo;A&mdash;a relative connected
+with one of the two victims&rsquo; husbands, I presume?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Mrs. Bunting bent her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Going to give evidence?&rdquo; he asked casually, and then he turned and
+looked at Mrs. Bunting with far more attention than he had yet done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no!&rdquo; There was a world of horror, of fear in the
+speaker&rsquo;s voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the inspector felt concerned and sorry. &ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t seen her for
+quite a long time, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never had, seen her. I&rsquo;m from the country.&rdquo; Something
+impelled Mrs. Bunting to say these words. But she hastily corrected herself,
+&ldquo;At least, I was.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will he be there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at him dumbly; not in the least knowing to whom he was alluding.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean the husband,&rdquo; went on the inspector hastily. &ldquo;I felt
+sorry for the last poor chap&mdash;I mean the husband of the last one&mdash;he
+seemed so awfully miserable. You see, she&rsquo;d been a good wife and a good
+mother till she took to the drink.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It always is so,&rdquo; breathed out Mrs. Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aye.&rdquo; He waited a moment. &ldquo;D&rsquo;you know anyone about the
+court?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, don&rsquo;t you worry. I&rsquo;ll take you in along o&rsquo; me.
+You&rsquo;d never get in by yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They got out; and oh, the comfort of being in some one&rsquo;s charge, of
+having a determined man in uniform to look after one! And yet even now there
+was to Mrs. Bunting something dream-like, unsubstantial about the whole
+business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he knew&mdash;if he only knew what I know!&rdquo; she kept saying
+over and over again to herself as she walked lightly by the big, burly form of
+the police inspector.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t far&mdash;not three minutes,&rdquo; he said
+suddenly. &ldquo;Am I walking too quick for you, ma&rsquo;am?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not at all. I&rsquo;m a quick walker.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then suddenly they turned a corner and came on a mass of people, a densely
+packed crowd of men and women, staring at a mean-looking little door sunk into
+a high wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better take my arm,&rdquo; the inspector suggested. &ldquo;Make way
+there! Make way!&rdquo; he cried authoritatively; and he swept her through the
+serried ranks which parted at the sound of his voice, at the sight of his
+uniform.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lucky you met me,&rdquo; he said, smiling. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d never have
+got through alone. And &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t a nice crowd, not by any manner of
+means.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The small door opened just a little way, and they found themselves on a narrow
+stone-flagged path, leading into a square yard. A few men were out there,
+smoking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before preceding her into the building which rose at the back of the yard, Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s kind new friend took out his watch. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+another twenty minutes before they&rsquo;ll begin,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s the mortuary&rdquo;&mdash;he pointed with his thumb to a
+low room built out to the right of the court. &ldquo;Would you like to go in
+and see them?&rdquo; he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no!&rdquo; she cried, in a tone of extreme horror. And he looked
+down at her with sympathy, and with increased respect. She was a nice,
+respectable woman, she was. She had not come here imbued with any morbid,
+horrible curiosity, but because she thought it her duty to do so. He suspected
+her of being sister-in-law to one of The Avenger&rsquo;s victims.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They walked through into a big room or hall, now full of men talking in subdued
+yet eager, animated tones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;d better sit down here,&rdquo; he said considerately,
+and, leading her to one of the benches that stood out from the whitewashed
+walls&mdash;&ldquo;unless you&rsquo;d rather be with the witnesses, that
+is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But again she said, &ldquo;Oh, no!&rdquo; And then, with an effort,
+&ldquo;Oughtn&rsquo;t I to go into the court now, if it&rsquo;s likely to be so
+full?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you worry,&rdquo; he said kindly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see you
+get a proper place. I must leave you now for a minute, but I&rsquo;ll come back
+in good time and look after you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She raised the thick veil she had pulled down over her face while they were
+going through that sinister, wolfish-looking crowd outside, and looked about
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many of the gentlemen&mdash;they mostly wore tall hats and good
+overcoats&mdash;standing round and about her looked vaguely familiar. She
+picked out one at once. He was a famous journalist, whose shrewd, animated face
+was familiar to her owing to the fact that it was widely advertised in
+connection with a preparation for the hair&mdash;the preparation which in
+happier, more prosperous days Bunting had had great faith in, and used, or so
+he always said, with great benefit to himself. This gentleman was the centre of
+an eager circle; half a dozen men were talking to him, listening deferentially
+when he spoke, and each of these men, so Mrs. Bunting realised, was a Somebody.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How strange, how amazing, to reflect that from all parts of London, from their
+doubtless important avocations, one unseen, mysterious beckoner had brought all
+these men here together, to this sordid place, on this bitterly cold, dreary
+day. Here they were, all thinking of, talking of, evoking one unknown,
+mysterious personality&mdash;that of the shadowy and yet terribly real human
+being who chose to call himself The Avenger. And somewhere, not so very far
+away from them all The Avenger was keeping these clever, astute, highly trained
+minds&mdash;aye, and bodies, too&mdash;at bay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even Mrs. Bunting, sitting here unnoticed, realised the irony of her presence
+among them.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that she had been sitting there a long time&mdash;it
+was really about a quarter of an hour&mdash;when her official friend came back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better come along now,&rdquo; he whispered; &ldquo;it&rsquo;ll begin
+soon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps, and so into
+the Coroner&rsquo;s Court.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike a chapel, the
+more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, a gallery evidently set
+aside for the general public, for it was now crammed to its utmost capacity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces. Had it not been
+for her good fortune in meeting the man she was now following, it was there
+that she would have had to try and make her way. And she would have failed.
+Those people had rushed in the moment the doors were opened, pushing, fighting
+their way in a way she could never have pushed or fought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were just a few women among them, set, determined-looking women,
+belonging to every class, but made one by their love of sensation and their
+power of forcing their way in where they wanted to be. But the women were few;
+the great majority of those standing there were men&mdash;men who were also
+representative of every class of Londoner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or three steps below
+the surrounding gallery. Just now it was comparatively clear of people, save
+for the benches on which sat the men who were to compose the jury. Some way
+from these men, huddled together in a kind of big pew, stood seven
+people&mdash;three women and four men.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;D&rsquo;you see the witnesses?&rdquo; whispered the inspector, pointing
+these out to her. He supposed her to know one of them with familiar knowledge,
+but, if that were so, she made no sign.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of little platform, on
+which stood a desk and an arm-chair. Mrs. Bunting guessed rightly that it was
+there the coroner would sit. And to the left of the platform was the
+witness-stand, also raised considerably above the jury.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring than the scene of
+the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on that bright April day, in the
+village inn. There the coroner had sat on the same level as the jury, and the
+witnesses had simply stepped forward one by one, and taken their place before
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking round her fearfully, Mrs. Bunting thought she would surely die if ever
+she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in that curious box-like stand, and
+she stared across at the bench where sat the seven witnesses with a feeling of
+sincere pity in her heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted. Each woman witness looked
+eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be the centre of attention and
+attraction to the general public. It was plain each was enjoying her part of
+important, if humble, actress in the thrilling drama which was now absorbing
+the attention of all London&mdash;it might almost be said of the whole world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking at these women, Mrs. Bunting wondered vaguely which was which. Was it
+that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person who had certainly, or almost
+certainly, seen The Avenger within ten seconds of the double crime being
+committed? The woman who, aroused by one of his victims&rsquo; cry of terror,
+had rushed to her window and seen the murderer&rsquo;s shadowy form pass
+swiftly by in the fog?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet another woman, so Mrs. Bunting now remembered, had given a most
+circumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, it was
+supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Those two women now before her had been interrogated and cross-examined again
+and again, not only by the police, but by representatives of every newspaper in
+London. It was from what they had both said&mdash;unluckily their accounts
+materially differed&mdash;that that official description of The Avenger had
+been worked up&mdash;that which described him as being a good-looking,
+respectable young fellow of twenty-eight, carrying a newspaper parcel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a boon companion of
+the dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gaze on another
+unfamiliar sight. Specially prominent, running indeed through the whole length
+of the shut-in space, that is, from the coroner&rsquo;s high dais right across
+to the opening in the wooden barrier, was an ink-splashed table at which, when
+she had first taken her place, there had been sitting three men busily
+sketching; but now every seat at the table was occupied by tired,
+intelligent-looking men, each with a notebook, or with some loose sheets of
+paper, before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Them&rsquo;s the reporters,&rdquo; whispered her friend. &ldquo;They
+don&rsquo;t like coming till the last minute, for they has to be the last to
+go. At an ordinary inquest there are only two&mdash;maybe
+three&mdash;attending, but now every paper in the kingdom has pretty well
+applied for a pass to that reporters&rsquo; table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked consideringly down into the well of the court. &ldquo;Now let me see
+what I can do for you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he beckoned to the coroner&rsquo;s officer: &ldquo;Perhaps you could put
+this lady just over there, in a corner by herself? Related to a relation of the
+deceased, but doesn&rsquo;t want to be&mdash;&rdquo; He whispered a word or
+two, and the other nodded sympathetically, and looked at Mrs. Bunting with
+interest. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll put her just here,&rdquo; he muttered.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no one coming there to-day. You see, there are only seven
+witnesses&mdash;sometimes we have a lot more than that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where the seven
+witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready&mdash;aye, more than
+ready&mdash;to play their part.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs. Bunting, but soon those
+who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realised that she had nothing
+to do with the case. She was evidently there as a spectator, and, more
+fortunate than most, she had a &ldquo;friend at court,&rdquo; and so was able
+to sit comfortably, instead of having to stand in the crowd.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was not long left in isolation. Very soon some of the important-looking
+gentlemen she had seen downstairs came into the court, and were ushered over to
+her seat while two or three among them, including the famous writer whose face
+was so familiar that it almost seemed to Mrs. Bunting like that of a kindly
+acquaintance, were accommodated at the reporters&rsquo; table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen, the Coroner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The jury stood up, shuffling their feet, and then sat down again; over the
+spectators there fell a sudden silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then what immediately followed recalled to Mrs. Bunting, for the first
+time, that informal little country inquest of long ago.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+First came the &ldquo;Oyez! Oyez!&rdquo; the old Norman-French summons to all
+whose business it is to attend a solemn inquiry into the death&mdash;sudden,
+unexplained, terrible&mdash;of a fellow-being.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The jury&mdash;there were fourteen of them&mdash;all stood up again. They
+raised their hands and solemnly chanted together the curious words of their
+oath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then came a quick, informal exchange of sentences &rsquo;twixt the coroner and
+his officer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, everything was in order. The jury had viewed the bodies&mdash;he quickly
+corrected himself&mdash;the body, for, technically speaking, the inquest just
+about to be held only concerned one body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, amid a silence so absolute that the slightest rustle could be heard
+through the court, the coroner&mdash;a clever-looking gentleman, though not so
+old as Mrs. Bunting thought he ought to have been to occupy so important a
+position on so important a day&mdash;gave a little history, as it were, of the
+terrible and mysterious Avenger crimes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke very clearly, warming to his work as he went on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He told them that he had been present at the inquest held on one of The
+Avenger&rsquo;s former victims. &ldquo;I only went through professional
+curiosity,&rdquo; he threw in by way of parenthesis, &ldquo;little thinking,
+gentlemen, that the inquest on one of these unhappy creatures would ever be
+held in my court.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On and on, he went, though he had, in truth, but little to say, and though that
+little was known to every one of his listeners.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting heard one of the older gentlemen sitting near her whisper to
+another: &ldquo;Drawing it out all he can; that&rsquo;s what he&rsquo;s doing.
+Having the time of his life, evidently!&rdquo; And then the other whispered
+back, so low that she could only just catch the words, &ldquo;Aye, aye. But
+he&rsquo;s a good chap&mdash;I knew his father; we were at school together.
+Takes his job very seriously, you know&mdash;he does to-day, at any
+rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+She was listening intently, waiting for a word, a sentence, which would relieve
+her hidden terrors, or, on the other hand, confirm them. But the word, the
+sentence, was never uttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet, at the very end of his long peroration, the coroner did throw out a
+hint which might mean anything&mdash;or nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am glad to say that we hope to obtain such evidence to-day as will in
+time lead to the apprehension of the miscreant who has committed, and is still
+committing, these terrible crimes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting stared uneasily up into the coroner&rsquo;s firm,
+determined-looking face. What did he mean by that? Was there any new
+evidence&mdash;evidence of which Joe Chandler, for instance, was ignorant? And,
+as if in answer to the unspoken question, her heart gave a sudden leap, for a
+big, burly man had taken his place in the witness-box&mdash;a policeman who had
+not been sitting with the other witnesses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But soon her uneasy terror became stilled. This witness was simply the
+constable who had found the first body. In quick, business-like tones he
+described exactly what had happened to him on that cold, foggy morning ten days
+ago. He was shown a plan, and he marked it slowly, carefully, with a thick
+finger. That was the exact place&mdash;no, he was making a mistake&mdash;that
+was the place where the other body had lain. He explained apologetically that
+he had got rather mixed up between the two bodies&mdash;that of Johanna Cobbett
+and Sophy Hurtle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then the coroner intervened authoritatively: &ldquo;For the purpose of this
+inquiry,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we must, I think, for a moment consider the two
+murders together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After that, the witness went on far more comfortably; and as he proceeded, in a
+quick monotone, the full and deadly horror of The Avenger&rsquo;s acts came
+over Mrs. Bunting in a great seething flood of sick fear and&mdash;and, yes,
+remorse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Up to now she had given very little thought&mdash;if, indeed, any
+thought&mdash;to the drink-sodden victims of The Avenger. It was he who had
+filled her thoughts,&mdash;he and those who were trying to track him down. But
+now? Now she felt sick and sorry she had come here to-day. She wondered if she
+would ever be able to get the vision the policeman&rsquo;s words had conjured
+up out of her mind&mdash;out of her memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then there came an eager stir of excitement and of attention throughout the
+whole court, for the policeman had stepped down out of the witness-box, and one
+of the women witnesses was being conducted to his place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked with interest and sympathy at the woman, remembering how
+she herself had trembled with fear, trembled as that poor, bedraggled,
+common-looking person was trembling now. The woman had looked so cheerful,
+so&mdash;so well pleased with herself till a minute ago, but now she had become
+very pale, and she looked round her as a hunted animal might have done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the coroner was very kind, very soothing and gentle in his manner, just as
+that other coroner had been when dealing with Ellen Green at the inquest on
+that poor drowned girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn words of the
+oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story. At once Mrs.
+Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimed to have seen The Avenger
+from her bedroom window. Gaining confidence, as she went on, the witness
+described how she had heard a long-drawn, stifled screech, and, aroused from
+deep sleep, had instinctively jumped out of bed and rushed to her window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk. &ldquo;Let me see! Here
+is the plan. Yes&mdash;I think I understand that the house in which you are
+lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimes were committed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there arose a quick, futile discussion. The house did not face the alley,
+but the window of the witness&rsquo;s bedroom faced the alley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A distinction without a difference,&rdquo; said the coroner testily.
+&ldquo;And now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw when you
+looked out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There fell a dead silence on the crowded court. And then the woman broke out,
+speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done. &ldquo;I saw
+&rsquo;im!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I shall never forget it&mdash;no, not till
+my dying day!&rdquo; And she looked round defiantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men had had with a
+person who slept under this woman&rsquo;s room. That person had unkindly said
+she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up that night&mdash;that she had
+made up the whole story. She, the speaker, slept lightly, and that night had
+been tending a sick child. Accordingly, she would have heard if there had been
+either the scream described by Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping
+out of bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We quite understand that you think you saw the&rdquo;&mdash;the coroner
+hesitated&mdash;&ldquo;the individual who had just perpetrated these terrible
+crimes. But what we want to have from you is a description of him. In spite of
+the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, you say you saw him
+distinctly, walking along for some yards below your window. Now, please, try
+and tell us what he was like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a coloured handkerchief
+she held in her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us begin at the beginning,&rdquo; said the coroner patiently.
+&ldquo;What sort of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying from
+the passage?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was just a black &rsquo;at&rdquo; said the witness at last, in a
+husky, rather anxious tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;just a black hat. And a coat&mdash;were you able to see what
+sort of a coat he was wearing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;E &rsquo;adn&rsquo;t got no coat&rdquo; she said decidedly.
+&ldquo;No coat at all! I remembers that very perticulerly. I thought it queer,
+as it was so cold&mdash;everybody as can wears some sort o&rsquo; coat this
+weather!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, and apparently not
+attending at all to what the witness was saying, here jumped up and put out his
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; the coroner turned to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I just want to say that this &rsquo;ere witness&mdash;if her name is
+Lizzie Cole, began by saying The Avenger was wearing a coat&mdash;a big, heavy
+coat. I&rsquo;ve got it here, in this bit of paper.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never said so!&rdquo; cried the woman passionately. &ldquo;I was made
+to say all those things by the young man what came to me from the <i>Evening Sun</i>.
+Just put in what &rsquo;e liked in &rsquo;is paper, &rsquo;e did&mdash;not what
+I said at all!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this there was some laughter, quickly suppressed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In future,&rdquo; said the coroner severely, addressing the juryman, who
+had now sat down again, &ldquo;you must ask any question you wish to ask
+through your foreman, and please wait till I have concluded my examination of
+the witness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this interruption, this&mdash;this accusation, had utterly upset the
+witness. She began contradicting herself hopelessly. The man she had seen
+hurrying by in the semi-darkness below was tall&mdash;no, he was short. He was
+thin&mdash;no, he was a stoutish young man. And as to whether he was carrying
+anything, there was quite an acrimonious discussion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared that she had seen a
+newspaper parcel under his arm; it had bulged out at the back&mdash;so she
+declared. But it was proved, very gently and firmly, that she had said nothing
+of the kind to the gentleman from Scotland Yard who had taken down her first
+account&mdash;in fact, to him she had declared confidently that the man had
+carried nothing&mdash;nothing at all; that she had seen his arms swinging up
+and down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One fact&mdash;if fact it could be called&mdash;the coroner did elicit. Lizzie
+Cole suddenly volunteered the statement that as he had passed her window he had
+looked up at her. This was quite a new statement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He looked up at you?&rdquo; repeated the coroner. &ldquo;You said
+nothing of that in your examination.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I said nothink because I was scared&mdash;nigh scared to death!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you could really see his countenance, for we know the night was dark
+and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the coroner was speaking casually, his hand straying over his desk; not a
+creature in that court now believed the woman&rsquo;s story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dark!&rdquo; she answered dramatically. &ldquo;Dark, almost black! If
+you can take my meaning, with a sort of nigger look.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then there was a titter. Even the jury smiled. And sharply the coroner bade
+Lizzie Cole stand down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Far more credence was given to the evidence of the next witness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was an older, quieter-looking woman, decently dressed in black. Being the
+wife of a night watchman whose work lay in a big warehouse situated about a
+hundred yards from the alley or passage where the crimes had taken place, she
+had gone out to take her husband some food he always had at one in the morning.
+And a man had passed her, breathing hard and walking very quickly. Her
+attention had been drawn to him because she very seldom met anyone at that
+hour, and because he had such an odd, peculiar look and manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very much from what
+this witness had said that the official description of The Avenger had been
+composed&mdash;that description which had brought such comfort to her, Ellen
+Bunting&rsquo;s, soul.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This witness spoke quietly, confidently, and her account of the newspaper
+parcel the man was carrying was perfectly clear and positive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was a neat parcel,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;done up with
+string.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had thought it an odd thing for a respectably dressed young man to carry
+such a parcel&mdash;that was what had made her notice it. But when pressed, she
+had to admit that it had been a very foggy night&mdash;so foggy that she
+herself had been afraid of losing her way, though every step was familiar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the third woman went into the box, and with sighs and tears told of her
+acquaintance with one of the deceased, with Johanna Cobbett, there was a stir
+of sympathetic attention. But she had nothing to say throwing any light on the
+investigation, save that she admitted reluctantly that &ldquo;Anny&rdquo; would
+have been such a nice, respectable young woman if it hadn&rsquo;t been for the
+drink.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her examination was shortened as much as possible; and so was that of the next
+witness, the husband of Johanna Cobbett. He was a very respectable-looking man,
+a foreman in a big business house at Croydon. He seemed to feel his position
+most acutely. He hadn&rsquo;t seen his wife for two years; he hadn&rsquo;t had
+news of her for six months. Before she took to drink she had been an admirable
+wife, and&mdash;and yes, mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet another painful few minutes, to anyone who had a heart, or imagination to
+understand, was spent when the father of the murdered woman was in the box. He
+had had later news of his unfortunate daughter than her husband had had, but of
+course he could throw no light at all on her murder or murderer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A barman, who had served both the women with drink just before the public-house
+closed for the night, was handled rather roughly. He had stepped with a jaunty
+air into the box, and came out of it looking cast down, uneasy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then there took place a very dramatic, because an utterly unexpected,
+incident. It was one of which the evening papers made the utmost much to Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s indignation. But neither coroner nor jury&mdash;and they, after
+all, were the people who mattered&mdash;thought a great deal of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There had come a pause in the proceedings. All seven witnesses had been heard,
+and a gentleman near Mrs. Bunting whispered, &ldquo;They are now going to call
+Dr. Gaunt. He&rsquo;s been in every big murder case for the last thirty years.
+He&rsquo;s sure to have something interesting to say. It was really to hear him
+<i>I</i> came.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But before Dr. Gaunt had time even to get up from the seat with which he had
+been accommodated close to the coroner, there came a stir among the general
+public, or, rather, among those spectators who stood near the low wooden door
+which separated the official part of the court from the gallery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coroner&rsquo;s officer, with an apologetic air, approached the coroner,
+and handed him up an envelope. And again in an instant, there fell absolute
+silence on the court.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope. He glanced down the
+sheet of notepaper it contained. Then he looked up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr.&mdash;&rdquo; then he glanced down again.
+&ldquo;Mr.&mdash;ah&mdash;Mr.&mdash;is it Cannot?&rdquo; he said doubtfully,
+&ldquo;may come forward.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat, with a
+fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from the place where he
+had been standing among the general public, to the witness-box.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is somewhat out of order, Mr.&mdash;er&mdash;Cannot,&rdquo; said
+the coroner severely. &ldquo;You should have sent me this note before the
+proceedings began. This gentleman,&rdquo; he said, addressing the jury,
+&ldquo;informs me that he has something of the utmost importance to reveal in
+connection with our investigation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have remained silent&mdash;I have locked what I knew within my own
+breast&rdquo;&mdash;began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, &ldquo;because I am
+so afraid of the Press! I knew if I said anything, even to the police, that my
+house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . . I have a delicate
+wife, Mr. Coroner. Such a state of things&mdash;the state of things I
+imagine&mdash;might cause her death&mdash;indeed, I hope she will never read a
+report of these proceedings. Fortunately, she has an excellent trained
+nurse&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will now take the oath,&rdquo; said the coroner sharply. He already
+regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been lacking in
+most of those who had preceded him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will address myself to the jury,&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will do nothing of the sort,&rdquo; broke in the coroner.
+&ldquo;Now, please attend to me. You assert in your letter that you know who is
+the&mdash;the&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Avenger,&rdquo; put in Mr. Cannot promptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The perpetrator of these crimes. You further declare that you met him on
+the very night he committed the murder we are now investigating?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do so declare,&rdquo; said Mr. Cannot confidently. &ldquo;Though in
+the best of health myself,&rdquo;&mdash;he beamed round the court, a now
+amused, attentive court&mdash;&ldquo;it is my fate to be surrounded by sick
+people, to have only ailing friends. I have to trouble you with my private
+affairs, Mr. Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be out at so undue
+an hour as one o&rsquo;clock in the morning&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again a titter ran through the court. Even the jury broke into broad smiles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; went on the witness solemnly, &ldquo;I was with a sick
+friend&mdash;in fact, I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed
+away. I will not reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on my
+notepaper. It is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understand me when I
+say that in order to come home I had to pass through a portion of the
+Regent&rsquo;s Park; and it was there&mdash;to be exact, about the middle of
+Prince&rsquo;s Terrace&mdash;when a very peculiar-looking individual stopped
+and accosted me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s hand shot up to her breast. A feeling of deadly fear took
+possession of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mustn&rsquo;t faint,&rdquo; she said to herself hurriedly. &ldquo;I
+mustn&rsquo;t faint! Whatever&rsquo;s the matter with me?&rdquo; She took out
+her bottle of smelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with a very
+odd-looking face. I should say an educated man&mdash;in common parlance, a
+gentleman. What drew my special attention to him was that he was talking aloud
+to himself&mdash;in fact, he seemed to be repeating poetry. I give you my word,
+I had no thought of The Avenger, no thought at all. To tell you the truth, I
+thought this gentleman was a poor escaped lunatic, a man who&rsquo;d got away
+from his keeper. The Regent&rsquo;s Park, sir, as I need hardly tell you, is a
+most quiet and soothing neighbourhood&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I appeal to you; sir,&rdquo; the old gentleman suddenly cried out
+&ldquo;to protect me from this unseemly levity! I have not come here with any
+other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant,&rdquo; said the
+coroner stiffly. &ldquo;Time is going on, and I have another important witness
+to call&mdash;a medical witness. Kindly tell me, as shortly as possible, what
+made you suppose that this stranger could possibly be&mdash;&rdquo; with an
+effort he brought out for the first time since the proceedings began, the
+words, &ldquo;The Avenger?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am coming to that!&rdquo; said Mr. Cannot hastily. &ldquo;I am coming
+to that! Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner. It was a foggy night, but
+not as foggy as it became later. And just when we were passing one another, I
+and this man, who was talking aloud to himself&mdash;he, instead of going on,
+stopped and turned towards me. That made me feel queer and uncomfortable, the
+more so that there was a very wild, mad look on his face. I said to him, as
+soothingly as possible, &lsquo;A very foggy night, sir.&rsquo; And he said,
+&lsquo;Yes&mdash;yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the commission of
+dark and salutary deeds.&rsquo; A very strange phrase, sir,
+that&mdash;&lsquo;dark and salutary deeds.&rsquo;&rdquo; He looked at the
+coroner expectantly&mdash; </p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well? Well, Mr. Cannot? Was that all? Did you see this person go off in
+the direction of&mdash;of King&rsquo;s Cross, for instance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo; Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head. &ldquo;No, I must
+honestly say I did not. He walked along a certain way by my side, and then he
+crossed the road and was lost in the fog.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That will do,&rdquo; said the coroner. He spoke more kindly. &ldquo;I
+thank you, Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidently
+consider important information.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again some of those
+present tittered rather foolishly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and looked up at the
+coroner, opening his lips as he did so. There was a murmur of talking going on,
+but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heard quite distinctly what it was that he said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One thing I have forgotten, sir, which may be of importance. The man
+carried a bag&mdash;a rather light-coloured leather bag, in his left hand. It
+was such a bag, sir, as might well contain a long-handled knife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters&rsquo; table. She remembered suddenly that
+she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s bag. And
+then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a single reporter at
+the long, ink-stained table had put down that last remark of Mr. Cannot. In
+fact, not one of them had heard it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. And then silence
+did fall on the court.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One word more,&rdquo; he said in a quavering voice. &ldquo;May I ask to
+be accommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings? I see there is
+some room left on the witnesses&rsquo; bench.&rdquo; And, without waiting for
+permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. Her friend, the inspector, was bending over
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you&rsquo;d like to come along now,&rdquo; he said
+urgently.&mdash;&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose you want to hear the medical
+evidence. It&rsquo;s always painful for a female to hear that. And
+there&rsquo;ll be an awful rush when the inquest&rsquo;s over. I could get you
+away quietly now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followed him
+obediently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty, room
+downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll let you out the back way,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I expect
+you&rsquo;re tired, ma&rsquo;am, and will like to get home to a cup o&rsquo;
+tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know how to thank you!&rdquo; There were tears in her
+eyes. She was trembling with excitement and emotion. &ldquo;You <i>have</i> been good
+to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s nothing,&rdquo; he said a little awkwardly. &ldquo;I
+expect you went though a pretty bad time, didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will they be having that old gentleman again?&rdquo; she spoke in a
+whisper, and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Lord, no! Crazy old fool! We&rsquo;re troubled with a lot of those
+sort of people, you know, ma&rsquo;am, and they often do have funny names, too.
+You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City, or what not; then they
+retires when they gets about sixty, and they&rsquo;re fit to hang themselves
+with dulness. Why, there&rsquo;s hundreds of lunies of the sort to be met in
+London. You can&rsquo;t go about at night and not meet &rsquo;em. Plenty of
+&rsquo;em!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you don&rsquo;t think there was anything in what he said?&rdquo;
+she ventured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In what that old gent said? Goodness&mdash;no!&rdquo; he laughed
+good-naturedly. &ldquo;But I&rsquo;ll tell you what I <i>do</i> think. If it
+wasn&rsquo;t for the time that had gone by, I should believe that the second
+witness <i>had</i> seen that crafty devil&mdash;&rdquo; he lowered his voice.
+&ldquo;But, there, Dr. Gaunt declares most positively&mdash;so did two other
+medical gentlemen&mdash;that the poor creatures had been dead hours when they
+was found. Medical gentlemen are always very positive about their evidence.
+They have to be&mdash;otherwise who&rsquo;d believe &rsquo;em? If we&rsquo;d
+time I could tell you of a case in which&mdash;well, &rsquo;twas all because of
+Dr. Gaunt that the murderer escaped. We all knew perfectly well the man we
+caught did it, but he was able to prove an alibi as to the time Dr. Gaunt <i>said</i>
+the poor soul was killed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was not late even now, for the inquest had begun very punctually, but Mrs.
+Bunting felt that no power on earth should force her to go to Ealing. She felt
+quite tired out and as if she could think of nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pacing along very slowly, as if she were an old, old woman, she began
+listlessly turning her steps towards home. Somehow she felt that it would do
+her more good to stay out in the air than take the train. Also she would thus
+put off the moment&mdash;the moment to which she looked forward with dread and
+dislike&mdash;when she would have to invent a circumstantial story as to what
+she had said to the doctor, and what the doctor had said to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like most men and women of his class, Bunting took a great interest in other
+people&rsquo;s ailments, the more interest that he was himself so remarkably
+healthy. He would feel quite injured if Ellen didn&rsquo;t tell him everything
+that had happened; everything, that is, that the doctor had told her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she walked swiftly along, at every corner, or so it seemed to her, and
+outside every public-house, stood eager boys selling the latest edition of the
+afternoon papers to equally eager buyers. &ldquo;Avenger Inquest?&rdquo; they
+shouted exultantly. &ldquo;All the latest evidence!&rdquo; At one place, where
+there were a row of contents-bills pinned to the pavement by stones, she
+stopped and looked down. &ldquo;Opening of the Avenger Inquest. What is he
+really like? Full description.&rdquo; On yet another ran the ironic query:
+&ldquo;Avenger Inquest. Do you know him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs. Bunting
+turned sick&mdash;so sick and faint that she did what she had never done before
+in her life&mdash;she pushed her way into a public-house, and, putting two
+pennies down on the counter, asked for, and received, a glass of cold water.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind dwelling
+persistently&mdash;not on the inquest at which she had been present, not even
+on The Avenger, but on his victims.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the mortuary. She
+seemed also to see that third body, which, though cold, must yet be warmer than
+the other two, for at this time yesterday The Avenger&rsquo;s last victim had
+been alive, poor soul&mdash;alive and, according to a companion of hers whom
+the papers had already interviewed, particularly merry and bright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hitherto Mrs. Bunting had been spared in any real sense a vision of The
+Avenger&rsquo;s victims. Now they haunted her, and she wondered wearily if this
+fresh horror was to be added to the terrible fear which encompassed her night
+and day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she came within sight of home, her spirit suddenly lightened. The narrow,
+drab-coloured little house, flanked each side by others exactly like it in
+every single particular, save that their front yards were not so well kept,
+looked as if it could, aye, and would, keep any secret closely hidden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment, at any rate, The Avenger&rsquo;s victims receded from her mind.
+She thought of them no more. All her thoughts were concentrated on
+Bunting&mdash;Bunting and Mr. Sleuth. She wondered what had happened during her
+absence&mdash;whether the lodger had rung his bell, and, if so, how he had got
+on with Bunting, and Bunting with him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She walked up the little flagged path wearily, and yet with a pleasant feeling
+of home-coming. And then she saw that Bunting must have been watching for her
+behind the now closely drawn curtains, for before she could either knock or
+ring he had opened the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was getting quite anxious about you,&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Come
+in, Ellen, quick! You must be fair perished a day like now&mdash;and you out so
+little as you are. Well? I hope you found the doctor all right?&rdquo; He
+looked at her with affectionate anxiety.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then there came a sudden, happy thought to Mrs. Bunting. &ldquo;No,&rdquo;
+she said slowly, &ldquo;Doctor Evans wasn&rsquo;t in. I waited, and waited, and
+waited, but he never came in at all. &rsquo;Twas my own fault,&rdquo; she added
+quickly. Even at such a moment as this she told herself that though she had, in
+a sort of way, a kind of right to lie to her husband, she had no sight to
+slander the doctor who had been so kind to her years ago. &ldquo;I ought to
+have sent him a card yesterday night,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Of course, I was
+a fool to go all that way, just on chance of finding a doctor in. It stands to
+reason they&rsquo;ve got to go out to people at all times of day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope they gave you a cup of tea?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again she hesitated, debating a point with herself: if the doctor had a
+decent sort of servant, of course, she, Ellen Bunting, would have been offered
+a cup of tea, especially if she explained she&rsquo;d known him a long time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She compromised. &ldquo;I was offered some,&rdquo; she said, in a weak, tired
+voice. &ldquo;But there, Bunting, I didn&rsquo;t feel as if I wanted it.
+I&rsquo;d be very grateful for a cup now&mdash;if you&rsquo;d just make it for
+me over the ring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Course I will,&rdquo; he said eagerly. &ldquo;You just come in
+and sit down, my dear. Don&rsquo;t trouble to take your things off
+now&mdash;wait till you&rsquo;ve had tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she obeyed him. &ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Daisy?&rdquo; she asked suddenly.
+&ldquo;I thought the girl would be back by the time I got home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She ain&rsquo;t coming home to-day&rdquo;&mdash;there was an odd, sly,
+smiling look on Bunting&rsquo;s face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did she send a telegram?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Young Chandler&rsquo;s just come in and told me. He&rsquo;s been
+over there and,&mdash;would you believe it, Ellen?&mdash;he&rsquo;s managed to
+make friends with Margaret. Wonderful what love will do, ain&rsquo;t it? He
+went over there just to help Daisy carry her bag back, you know, and then
+Margaret told him that her lady had sent her some money to go to the play, and
+she actually asked Joe to go with them this evening&mdash;she and
+Daisy&mdash;to the pantomime. Did you ever hear o&rsquo; such a thing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very nice for them, I&rsquo;m sure,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting absently.
+But she was pleased&mdash;pleased to have her mind taken off herself.
+&ldquo;Then when is that girl coming home?&rdquo; she asked patiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it appears that Chandler&rsquo;s got to-morrow morning off
+too&mdash;this evening and to-morrow morning. He&rsquo;ll be on duty all night,
+but he proposes to go over and bring Daisy back in time for early dinner. Will
+that suit you, Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That&rsquo;ll be all right,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+grudge the girl her bit of pleasure. One&rsquo;s only young once. By the way,
+did the lodger ring while I was out?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting turned round from the gas-ring, which he was watching to see the kettle
+boil. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Come to think of it, it&rsquo;s rather
+a funny thing, but the truth is, Ellen, I never gave Mr. Sleuth a thought. You
+see, Chandler came in and was telling me all about Margaret, laughing-like, and
+then something else happened while you was out, Ellen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something else happened?&rdquo; she said in a startled voice. Getting up
+from her chair she came towards her husband: &ldquo;What happened? Who
+came?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a message for me, asking if I could go to-night to wait at a young
+lady&rsquo;s birthday party. In Hanover Terrace it is. A waiter&mdash;one of
+them nasty Swiss fellows as works for nothing&mdash;fell out just at the last
+minute and so they had to send for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His honest face shone with triumph. The man who had taken over his old
+friend&rsquo;s business in Baker Street had hitherto behaved very badly to
+Bunting, and that though Bunting had been on the books for ever so long, and
+had always given every satisfaction. But this new man had never employed
+him&mdash;no, not once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you didn&rsquo;t make yourself too cheap?&rdquo; said his wife
+jealously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, that I didn&rsquo;t! I hum&rsquo;d and haw&rsquo;d a lot; and I
+could see the fellow was quite worried&mdash;in fact, at the end he offered me
+half-a-crown more. So I graciously consented!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Husband and wife laughed more merrily than they had done for a long time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t mind being alone, here? I don&rsquo;t count the
+lodger&mdash;he&rsquo;s no good&mdash;&rdquo; Bunting looked at her anxiously.
+He was only prompted to ask the question because lately Ellen had been so
+queer, so unlike herself. Otherwise it never would have occurred to him that
+she could be afraid of being alone in the house. She had often been so in the
+days when he got more jobs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stared at him, a little suspiciously. &ldquo;I be afraid?&rdquo; she
+echoed. &ldquo;Certainly not. Why should I be? I&rsquo;ve never been afraid
+before. What d&rsquo;you exactly mean by that, Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, nothing. I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone on this
+ground floor. You was so upset yesterday when that young fool Chandler came,
+dressed up, to the door.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t have been frightened if he&rsquo;d just been an
+ordinary stranger,&rdquo; she said shortly. &ldquo;He said something silly to
+me&mdash;just in keeping with his character-like, and it upset me. Besides, I
+feel better now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise outside, the
+shouts of newspaper-sellers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll just run out,&rdquo; said Bunting apologetically, &ldquo;and
+see what happened at that inquest to-day. Besides, they may have a clue about
+the horrible affair last night. Chandler was full of it&mdash;when he
+wasn&rsquo;t talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is. He&rsquo;s on to-night,
+luckily not till twelve o&rsquo;clock; plenty of time to escort the two of
+&rsquo;em back after the play. Besides, he said he&rsquo;ll put them into a cab
+and blow the expense, if the panto&rsquo; goes on too long for him to take
+&rsquo;em home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On to-night?&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Bunting. &ldquo;Whatever for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you see, The Avenger&rsquo;s always done &rsquo;em in couples, so
+to speak. They&rsquo;ve got an idea that he&rsquo;ll have a try again to-night.
+However, even so, Joe&rsquo;s only on from midnight till five o&rsquo;clock.
+Then he&rsquo;ll go and turn in a bit before going off to fetch Daisy, Fine
+thing to be young, ain&rsquo;t it, Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t believe that he&rsquo;d go out on such a night as
+this!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What <i>do</i> you mean?&rdquo; said Bunting, staring at her. Ellen had spoken
+so oddly, as if to herself, and in so fierce and passionate a tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do I mean?&rdquo; she repeated&mdash;and a great fear clutched at
+her heart. What had she said? She had been thinking aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, by saying he won&rsquo;t go out. Of course, he has to go out.
+Besides, he&rsquo;ll have been to the play as it is. &rsquo;Twould be a pretty
+thing if the police didn&rsquo;t go out, just because it was cold!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I was thinking of The Avenger,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting. She
+looked at her husband fixedly. Somehow she had felt impelled to utter those
+true words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He don&rsquo;t take no heed of heat nor cold,&rdquo; said Bunting
+sombrely. &ldquo;I take it the man&rsquo;s dead to all human
+feeling&mdash;saving, of course, revenge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So that&rsquo;s your idea about him, is it?&rdquo; She looked across at
+her husband. Somehow this dangerous, this perilous conversation between them
+attracted her strangely. She felt as if she must go on with it.
+&ldquo;D&rsquo;you think he was the man that woman said she saw? That young man
+what passed her with a newspaper parcel?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me see,&rdquo; he said slowly. &ldquo;I thought that &rsquo;twas
+from the bedroom window a woman saw him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no. I mean the <i>other</i> woman, what was taking her husband&rsquo;s
+breakfast to him in the warehouse. She was far the most respectable-looking
+woman of the two,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting impatiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, seeing her husband&rsquo;s look of utter, blank astonishment, she
+felt a thrill of unreasoning terror. She must have gone suddenly mad to have
+said what she did! Hurriedly she got up from her chair. &ldquo;There,
+now,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;here I am gossiping all about nothing when I ought
+to be seeing about the lodger&rsquo;s supper. It was someone in the train
+talked to me about that person as thinks she saw The Avenger.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without waiting for an answer, she went into her bedroom, lit the gas, and shut
+the door. A moment later she heard Bunting go out to buy the paper they had
+both forgotten during their dangerous discussion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she slowly, languidly took off her nice, warm coat and shawl, Mrs. Bunting
+found herself shivering. It was dreadfully cold, quite unnaturally cold even
+for the time of year.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked longingly towards the fireplace. It was now concealed by the
+washhand-stand, but how pleasant it would be to drag that stand aside and light
+a bit of fire, especially as Bunting was going to be out to-night. He would
+have to put on his dress clothes, and she didn&rsquo;t like his dressing in the
+sitting-room. It didn&rsquo;t suit her ideas that he should do so. How if she
+did light the fire here, in their bedroom? It would be nice for her to have bit
+of fire to cheer her up after he had gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting knew only too well that she would have very little sleep the
+coming night. She looked over, with shuddering distaste, at her nice, soft bed.
+There she would lie, on that couch of little ease, listening&mdash;listening. .
+. .
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+She went down to the kitchen. Everything was ready for Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s
+supper, for she had made all her preparations before going out so as not to
+have to hurry back before it suited her to do so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Leaning the tray for a moment on the top of the banisters, she listened. Even
+in that nice warm drawing-room, and with a good fire, how cold the lodger must
+feel sitting studying at the table! But unwonted sounds were coming through the
+door. Mr. Sleuth was moving restlessly about the room, not sitting reading, as
+was his wont at this time of the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She knocked, and then waited a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There came the sound of a sharp click, that of the key turning in the lock of
+the chiffonnier cupboard&mdash;or so Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady could have
+sworn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a pause&mdash;she knocked again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth loudly, and she opened the door and
+carried in the tray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a little earlier than usual, are you not Mrs. Bunting?&rdquo; he
+said, with a touch of irritation in his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so, sir, but I&rsquo;ve been out. Perhaps I lost
+count of the time. I thought you&rsquo;d like your breakfast early, as you had
+dinner rather sooner than usual.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Breakfast? Did you say breakfast, Mrs. Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I beg your pardon, sir, I&rsquo;m sure! I meant supper.&rdquo; He looked
+at her fixedly. It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that there was a terrible questioning
+look in his dark, sunken eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you well?&rdquo; he said slowly. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t
+look well, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not well. I went over to see
+a doctor this afternoon, to Ealing, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope he did you good, Mrs. Bunting&rdquo;&mdash;the lodger&rsquo;s
+voice had become softer, kinder in quality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It always does me good to see the doctor,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting
+evasively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then a very odd smile lit up Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;Doctors are a
+maligned body of men,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad to hear you speak
+well of them. They do their best, Mrs. Bunting. Being human they are liable to
+err, but I assure you they do their best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That I&rsquo;m sure they do, sir&rdquo;&mdash;she spoke heartily,
+sincerely. Doctors had always treated her most kindly, and even generously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, having laid the cloth, and put the lodger&rsquo;s one hot dish upon
+it, she went towards the door. &ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t you like me to bring up
+another scuttleful of coals, sir? it&rsquo;s bitterly cold&mdash;getting colder
+every minute. A fearful night to have to go out in&mdash;&rdquo; she looked at
+him deprecatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mr. Sleuth did something which startled her very much. Pushing his
+chair back, he jumped up and drew himself to his full height.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What d&rsquo;you mean?&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;Why did you say that,
+Mrs. Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stared at him, fascinated, affrighted. Again there came an awful
+questioning look over his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was thinking of Bunting, sir. He&rsquo;s got a job to-night.
+He&rsquo;s going to act as waiter at a young lady&rsquo;s birthday party. I was
+thinking it&rsquo;s a pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes,
+too&rdquo;&mdash;she brought out her words jerkily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down. &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;
+he said. &ldquo;Dear me&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry to hear that! I hope your husband
+will not catch cold, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy
+washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Time for you to dress,&rdquo; she cried out cheerfully, &ldquo;and
+I&rsquo;ve got a little bit of fire for you to dress by.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he exclaimed at her extravagance, &ldquo;Well, &rsquo;twill be pleasant for
+me, too; keep me company-like while you&rsquo;re out; and make the room nice
+and warm when you come in. You&rsquo;ll be fair perished, even walking that
+short way,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, while her husband was dressing, Mrs. Bunting went upstairs and
+cleared away Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s supper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lodger said no word while she was so engaged&mdash;no word at all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was sitting away from the table, rather an unusual thing for him to do, and
+staring into the fire, his hands on his knees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn. Somehow, a great rush
+of pity, as well as of horror, came over Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s heart. He was
+such a&mdash;a&mdash;she searched for a word in her mind, but could only find
+the word &ldquo;gentle&rdquo;&mdash;he was such a nice, gentle gentleman, was
+Mr. Sleuth. Lately he had again taken to leaving his money about, as he had
+done the first day or two, and with some concern his landlady had seen that the
+store had diminished a good deal. A very simple calculation had made her
+realise that almost the whole of that missing money had come her way, or, at
+any rate, had passed through her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth never stinted himself as to food, or stinted them, his landlord and
+his landlady, as to what he had said he would pay. And Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s
+conscience pricked her a little, for he hardly ever used that room
+upstairs&mdash;that room for which he had paid extra so generously. If Bunting
+got another job or two through that nasty man in Baker Street,&mdash;and now
+that the ice had been broken between them it was very probable that he would do
+so, for he was a very well-trained, experienced waiter&mdash;then she thought
+she would tell Mr. Sleuth that she no longer wanted him to pay as much as he
+was now doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked anxiously, deprecatingly, at his long, bent back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night, sir,&rdquo; she said at last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth turned round. His face looked sad and worn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll sleep well, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m sure I shall sleep well. But perhaps I shall take a
+little turn first. Such is my way, Mrs. Bunting; after I have been studying all
+day I require a little exercise.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I wouldn&rsquo;t go out to-night,&rdquo; she said deprecatingly.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t fit for anyone to be out in the bitter cold.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And yet&mdash;and yet&rdquo;&mdash;he looked at her
+attentively&mdash;&ldquo;there will probably be many people out in the streets
+to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A many more than usual, I fear, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth quickly. &ldquo;Is it not a strange
+thing, Mrs. Bunting, that people who have all day in which to amuse themselves
+should carry their revels far into the night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I wasn&rsquo;t thinking of revellers, sir; I was
+thinking&rdquo;&mdash;she hesitated, then, with a gasping effort Mrs. Bunting
+brought out the words, &ldquo;of the police.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The police?&rdquo; He put up his right hand and stroked his chin two or
+three times with a nervous gesture. &ldquo;But what is man&mdash;what is
+man&rsquo;s puny power or strength against that of God, or even of those over
+whose feet God has set a guard?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth looked at his landlady with a kind of triumph lighting up his face,
+and Mrs. Bunting felt a shuddering sense of relief. Then she had not offended
+her lodger? She had not made him angry by that, that&mdash;was it a hint she
+had meant to convey to him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very true, sir,&rdquo; she said respectfully. &ldquo;But Providence
+means us to take care o&rsquo; ourselves too.&rdquo; And then she closed the
+door behind her and went downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady did not go on, down to the kitchen. She came
+into her sitting-room, and, careless of what Bunting would think the next
+morning, put the tray with the remains of the lodger&rsquo;s meal on her table.
+Having done that, and having turned out the gas in the passage and the
+sitting-room, she went into her bedroom and closed the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fire was burning brightly and clearly. She told herself that she did not
+need any other light to undress by.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What was it made the flames of the fire shoot up, shoot down, in that queer
+way? But watching it for awhile, she did at last doze off a bit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then&mdash;and then Mrs. Bunting woke with a sudden thumping of her heart.
+Woke to see that the fire was almost out&mdash;woke to hear a quarter to twelve
+chime out&mdash;woke at last to the sound she had been listening for before she
+fell asleep&mdash;the sound of Mr. Sleuth, wearing his rubber-soled shoes,
+creeping downstairs, along the passage, and so out, very, very quietly by the
+front door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But once she was in bed Mrs. Bunting turned restless. She tossed this way and
+that, full of discomfort and unease. Perhaps it was the unaccustomed firelight
+dancing on the walls, making queer shadows all round her, which kept her so
+wide awake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She lay thinking and listening&mdash;listening and thinking. It even occurred
+to her to do the one thing that might have quieted her excited brain&mdash;to
+get a book, one of those detective stories of which Bunting had a slender store
+in the next room, and then, lighting the gas, to sit up and read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No, Mrs. Bunting had always been told it was very wrong to read in bed, and she
+was not in a mood just now to begin doing anything that she had been told was
+wrong. . . .
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was a very cold night&mdash;so cold, so windy, so snow-laden was the
+atmosphere, that everyone who could do so stayed indoors.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting, however, was now on his way home from what had proved a really
+pleasant job. A remarkable piece of luck had come his way this evening, all the
+more welcome because it was quite unexpected! The young lady at whose birthday
+party he had been present in capacity of waiter had come into a fortune that
+day, and she had had the gracious, the surprising thought of presenting each of
+the hired waiters with a sovereign!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This gift, which had been accompanied by a few kind words, had gone to
+Bunting&rsquo;s heart. It had confirmed him in his Conservative principles;
+only gentlefolk ever behaved in that way; quiet, old-fashioned, respectable,
+gentlefolk, the sort of people of whom those nasty Radicals know nothing and
+care less!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the ex-butler was not as happy as he should have been. Slackening his
+footsteps, he began to think with puzzled concern of how queer his wife had
+seemed lately. Ellen had become so nervous, so &ldquo;jumpy,&rdquo; that he
+didn&rsquo;t know what to make of her sometimes. She had never been really
+good-tempered&mdash;your capable, self-respecting woman seldom is&mdash;but she
+had never been like what she was now. And she didn&rsquo;t get better as the
+days went on; in fact she got worse. Of late she had been quite hysterical, and
+for no reason at all! Take that little practical joke of young Joe Chandler.
+Ellen knew quite well he often had to go about in some kind of disguise, and
+yet how she had gone on, quite foolish-like&mdash;not at all as one would have
+expected her to do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was another queer thing about her which disturbed him in more senses than
+one. During the last three weeks or so Ellen had taken to talking in her sleep.
+&ldquo;No, no, no!&rdquo; she had cried out, only the night before. &ldquo;It
+isn&rsquo;t true&mdash;I won&rsquo;t have it said&mdash;it&rsquo;s a
+lie!&rdquo; And there had been a wail of horrible fear and revolt in her
+usually quiet, mincing voice.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Whew! it was cold; and he had stupidly forgotten his gloves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and began walking more
+quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he tramped steadily along, the ex-butler suddenly caught sight of his lodger
+walking along the opposite side of the solitary street&mdash;one of those short
+streets leading off the broad road which encircles Regent&rsquo;s Park.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well! This was a funny time o&rsquo; night to be taking a stroll for pleasure,
+like!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing across, Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s tall, thin figure was
+rather bowed, and that his head was bent toward the ground. His left arm was
+thrust into his long Inverness cape, and so was quite hidden, but the other
+side of the cape bulged out, as if the lodger were carrying a bag or parcel in
+the hand which hung down straight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth was walking rather quickly, and as he walked he talked aloud, which,
+as Bunting knew, is not unusual with gentlemen who live much alone. It was
+clear that he had not yet become aware of the proximity of his landlord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting told himself that Ellen was right. Their lodger was certainly a most
+eccentric, peculiar person. Strange, was it not, that that odd, luny-like
+gentleman should have made all the difference to his, Bunting&rsquo;s, and Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s happiness and comfort in life?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again glancing across at Mr. Sleuth, he reminded himself, not for the first
+time, of this perfect lodger&rsquo;s one fault&mdash;his odd dislike to meat,
+and to what Bunting vaguely called to himself, sensible food.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there, you can&rsquo;t have everything! The more so that the lodger was not
+one of those crazy vegetarians who won&rsquo;t eat eggs and cheese. No, he was
+reasonable in this, as in everything else connected with his dealings with the
+Buntings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we know, Bunting saw far less of the lodger than did his wife. Indeed, he
+had been upstairs only three or four times since Mr. Sleuth had been with them,
+and when his landlord had had occasion to wait on him the lodger had remained
+silent. Indeed, their gentleman had made it very clear that he did not like
+either the husband or wife to come up to his rooms without being definitely
+asked to do so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, surely, would be a good opportunity for a little genial conversation?
+Bunting felt pleased to see his lodger; it increased his general comfortable
+sense of satisfaction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it was that the butler, still an active man for his years, crossed over the
+road, and, stepping briskly forward, began trying to overtake Mr. Sleuth. But
+the more he hurried along, the more the other hastened, and that without ever
+turning round to see whose steps he could hear echoing behind him on the now
+freezing pavement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s own footsteps were quite inaudible&mdash;an odd
+circumstance, when you came to think of it&mdash;as Bunting did think of it
+later, lying awake by Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s side in the pitch darkness. What it
+meant of course, was that the lodger had rubber soles on his shoes. Now Bunting
+had never had a pair of rubber-soled shoes sent down to him to clean. He had
+always supposed the lodger had only one pair of outdoor boots.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men&mdash;the pursued and the pursuer&mdash;at last turned into the
+Marylebone Road; they were now within a few hundred yards of home. Plucking up
+courage, Bunting called out, his voice echoing freshly on the still air:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Sleuth, sir? Mr. Sleuth!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lodger stopped and turned round.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had been walking so quickly, and he was in so poor a physical condition,
+that the sweat was pouring down his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! So it&rsquo;s you, Mr. Bunting? I heard footsteps behind me, and I
+hurried on. I wish I&rsquo;d known that it was you; there are so many queer
+characters about at night in London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not on a night like this, sir. Only honest folk who have business out of
+doors would be out such a night as this. It <i>is</i> cold, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then into Bunting&rsquo;s slow and honest mind there suddenly crept the
+query as to what on earth Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s own business out could be on this
+bitter night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cold?&rdquo; the lodger repeated; he was panting a little, and his words
+came out sharp and quick through his thin lips. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t say that I
+find it cold, Mr. Bunting. When the snow falls, the air always becomes
+milder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir; but to-night there&rsquo;s such a sharp east wind. Why, it
+freezes the very marrow in one&rsquo;s bones! Still, there&rsquo;s nothing like
+walking in cold weather to make one warm, as you seem to have found,
+sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth kept his distance in a rather strange way; he
+walked at the edge of the pavement, leaving the rest of it, on the wall side,
+to his landlord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I lost my way,&rdquo; he said abruptly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been over
+Primrose Hill to see a friend of mine, a man with whom I studied when I was a
+lad, and then, coming back, I lost my way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now they had come right up to the little gate which opened on the shabby, paved
+court in front of the house&mdash;that gate which now was never locked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth, pushing suddenly forward, began walking up the flagged path, when,
+with a &ldquo;By your leave, sir,&rdquo; the ex-butler, stepping aside, slipped
+in front of his lodger, in order to open the front door for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he passed by Mr. Sleuth, the back of Bunting&rsquo;s bare left hand brushed
+lightly against the long Inverness cape the lodger was wearing, and, to
+Bunting&rsquo;s surprise, the stretch of cloth against which his hand lay for a
+moment was not only damp, damp maybe from stray flakes of snow which had
+settled upon it, but wet&mdash;wet and gluey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting thrust his left hand into his pocket; it was with the other that he
+placed the key in the lock of the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men passed into the hall together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house seemed blackly dark in comparison with the lighted-up road outside,
+and as he groped forward, closely followed by the lodger, there came over
+Bunting a sudden, reeling sensation of mortal terror, an instinctive, assailing
+knowledge of frightful immediate danger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A stuffless voice&mdash;the voice of his first wife, the long-dead girl to whom
+his mind so seldom reverted nowadays&mdash;uttered into his ear the words,
+&ldquo;Take care!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then the lodger spoke. His voice was harsh and grating, though not loud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid, Mr. Bunting, that you must have felt something dirty,
+foul, on my coat? It&rsquo;s too long a story to tell you now, but I brushed up
+against a dead animal, a creature to whose misery some thoughtful soul had put
+an end, lying across a bench on Primrose Hill.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, no. I didn&rsquo;t notice nothing. I scarcely touched you,
+sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed as if a power outside himself compelled Bunting to utter these lying
+words. &ldquo;And now, sir, I&rsquo;ll be saying good-night to you,&rdquo; he
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepping back he pressed with all the strength that was in him against the
+wall, and let the other pass him. There was a pause, and
+then&mdash;&ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; returned Mr. Sleuth, in a hollow voice.
+Bunting waited until the lodger had gone upstairs, and then, lighting the gas,
+he sat down there, in the hall. Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlord felt very
+queer&mdash;queer and sick.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not draw his left hand out of his pocket till he heard Mr. Sleuth shut
+the bedroom door upstairs. Then he held up his left hand and looked at it
+curiously; it was flecked, streaked with pale reddish blood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking off his boots, he crept into the room where his wife lay asleep.
+Stealthily he walked across to the wash-hand-stand, and dipped a hand into the
+water-jug.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whatever are you doing? What on earth are you doing?&rdquo; came a voice
+from the bed, and Bunting started guiltily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m just washing my hands.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, you&rsquo;re doing nothing of the sort! I never heard of such a
+thing&mdash;putting your hand into the water in which I was going to wash my
+face to-morrow morning!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very sorry, Ellen,&rdquo; he said meekly; &ldquo;I meant to
+throw it away. You don&rsquo;t suppose I would have let you wash in dirty
+water, do you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She said no more, but, as he began undressing himself, Mrs. Bunting lay staring
+at him in a way that made her husband feel even more uncomfortable than he was
+already.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last he got into bed. He wanted to break the oppressive silence by telling
+Ellen about the sovereign the young lady had given him, but that sovereign now
+seemed to Bunting of no more account than if it had been a farthing he had
+picked up in the road outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once more his wife spoke, and he gave so great a start that it shook the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose that you don&rsquo;t know that you&rsquo;ve left the light
+burning in the hall, wasting our good money?&rdquo; she observed tartly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He got up painfully and opened the door into the passage. It was as she had
+said; the gas was flaring away, wasting their good money&mdash;or, rather, Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s good money. Since he had come to be their lodger they had not
+had to touch their rent money.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting turned out the light and groped his way back to the room, and so to
+bed. Without speaking again to each other, both husband and wife lay awake till
+dawn.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The next morning Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlord awoke with a start; he felt
+curiously heavy about the limbs, and tired about the eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drawing his watch from under his pillow, he saw that it was seven
+o&rsquo;clock. Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the blind
+a little to one side. It was snowing heavily, and, as is the way when it snows,
+even in London, everything was strangely, curiously still. After he had dressed
+he went out into the passage. As he had at once dreaded and hoped, their
+newspaper was already lying on the mat. It was probably the sound of its being
+pushed through the letter-box which had waked him from his unrestful sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then, shutting the door
+behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper wide open on the table, and bent
+over it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression of intense
+relief shone upon his stolid face. The item of news he had felt certain would
+be printed in big type on the middle sheet was not there.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Feeling amazingly light-hearted, almost light-headed, Bunting lit the gas-ring
+to make his wife her morning cup of tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While he was doing it, he suddenly heard her call out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bunting!&rdquo; she cried weakly. &ldquo;Bunting!&rdquo; Quickly he
+hurried in response to her call. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;What is it,
+my dear? I won&rsquo;t be a minute with your tea.&rdquo; And he smiled broadly,
+rather foolishly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sat up and looked at him, a dazed expression on her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you grinning at?&rdquo; she asked suspiciously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had a wonderful piece of luck,&rdquo; he explained.
+&ldquo;But you was so cross last night that I simply didn&rsquo;t dare tell you
+about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, tell me now,&rdquo; she said in a low voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had a sovereign given me by the young lady. You see, it was her
+birthday party, Ellen, and she&rsquo;d come into a nice bit of money, and she
+gave each of us waiters a sovereign.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting made no comment. Instead, she lay back and closed her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time d&rsquo;you expect Daisy?&rdquo; she asked languidly.
+&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t say what time Joe was going to fetch her, when we was
+talking about it yesterday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I? Well, I expect they&rsquo;ll be in to dinner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder, how long that old aunt of hers expects us to keep her?&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Bunting thoughtfully. All the cheer died out of Bunting&rsquo;s round
+face. He became sullen and angry. It would be a pretty thing if he
+couldn&rsquo;t have his own daughter for a bit&mdash;especially now that they
+were doing so well!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Daisy&rsquo;ll stay here just as long as she can,&rdquo; he said
+shortly. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s too bad of you, Ellen, to talk like that! She helps
+you all she can; and she brisks us both up ever so much. Besides, &rsquo;twould
+be cruel&mdash;cruel to take the girl away just now, just as she and that young
+chap are making friends-like. One would suppose that even you would see the
+justice o&rsquo; that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting made no answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting went off, back into the sitting-room. The water was boiling now, so he
+made the tea; and then, as he brought the little tray in, his heart softened.
+Ellen did look really ill&mdash;ill and wizened. He wondered if she had a pain
+about which she wasn&rsquo;t saying anything. She had never been one to grouse
+about herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lodger and me came in together last night,&rdquo; he observed
+genially. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s certainly a funny kind of gentleman. It
+wasn&rsquo;t the sort of night one would have chosen to go out for a walk, now
+was it? And yet he must &rsquo;a been out a long time if what he said was
+true.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t wonder a quiet gentleman like Mr. Sleuth hates the crowded
+streets,&rdquo; she said slowly. &ldquo;They gets worse every day&mdash;that
+they do! But go along now; I want to get up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went back into their sitting-room, and, having laid the fire and put a match
+to it, he sat down comfortably with his newspaper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Deep down in his heart Bunting looked back to this last night with a feeling of
+shame and self-rebuke. Whatever had made such horrible thoughts and suspicions
+as had possessed him suddenly come into his head? And just because of a
+trifling thing like that blood. No doubt Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s nose had
+bled&mdash;that was what had happened; though, come to think of it, he <i>had</i>
+mentioned brushing up against a dead animal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps Ellen was right after all. It didn&rsquo;t do for one to be always
+thinking of dreadful subjects, of murders and such-like. It made one go
+dotty&mdash;that&rsquo;s what it did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And just as he was telling himself that, there came to the door a loud knock,
+the peculiar rat-tat-tat of a telegraph boy. But before he had time to get
+across the room, let alone to the front door, Ellen had rushed through the
+room, clad only in a petticoat and shawl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; she cried breathlessly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go,
+Bunting; don&rsquo;t you trouble.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared at her, surprised, and followed her into the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She put out a hand, and hiding herself behind the door, took the telegram from
+the invisible boy. &ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t wait,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If
+there&rsquo;s an answer we&rsquo;ll send it out ourselves.&rdquo; Then she tore
+the envelope open&mdash;&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she said with a gasp of relief.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only from Joe Chandler, to say he can&rsquo;t go over to
+fetch Daisy this morning. Then you&rsquo;ll have to go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She walked back into their sitting-room. &ldquo;There!&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;There it is, Bunting. You just read it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Am on duty this morning. Cannot fetch Miss Daisy as
+arranged.&mdash;C<small>HANDLER</small>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder why he&rsquo;s on duty?&rdquo; said Bunting slowly,
+uncomfortably. &ldquo;I thought Joe&rsquo;s hours was as regular as
+clockwork&mdash;that nothing could make any difference to them. However, there
+it is. I suppose it&rsquo;ll do all right if I start about eleven
+o&rsquo;clock? It may have left off snowing by then. I don&rsquo;t feel like
+going out again just now. I&rsquo;m pretty tired this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You start about twelve,&rdquo; said his wife quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll give plenty of time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The morning went on quietly, uneventfully. Bunting received a letter from Old
+Aunt saying Daisy must come back next Monday, a little under a week from now.
+Mr. Sleuth slept soundly, or, at any rate, he made no sign of being awake; and
+though Mrs. Bunting often, stopped to listen, while she was doing her room,
+there came no sounds at all from overhead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely aware that it was so, both Bunting and his wife felt more cheerful
+than they had done for a long time. They had quite a pleasant little chat when
+Mrs. Bunting came and sat down for a bit, before going down to prepare Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s breakfast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Daisy will be surprised to see you&mdash;not to say disappointed!&rdquo;
+she observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at the
+thought. And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made him stay on a
+little longer. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no such great hurry as that,&rdquo; she
+said good-temperedly. &ldquo;It&rsquo;ll do quite well if you&rsquo;re there by
+half-past twelve. I&rsquo;ll get dinner ready myself. Daisy needn&rsquo;t help
+with that. I expect Margaret has worked her pretty hard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But at last there came the moment when Bunting had to start, and his wife went
+with him to the front door. It was still snowing, less heavily, but still
+snowing. There were very few people coming and going, and only just a few cabs
+and carts dragging cautiously along through the slush.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Mrs. Bunting was still in the kitchen when there came a ring and a knock at the
+door&mdash;a now very familiar ring and knock. &ldquo;Joe thinks Daisy&rsquo;s
+home again by now!&rdquo; she said, smiling to herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before the door was well open, she heard Chandler&rsquo;s voice.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be scared this time, Mrs. Bunting!&rdquo; But though not
+exactly scared, she did give a gasp of surprise. For there stood Joe, made up
+to represent a public-house loafer; and he looked the part to perfection, with
+his hair combed down raggedly over his forehead, his seedy-looking,
+ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and greenish-black pot hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t a minute,&rdquo; he said a little breathlessly.
+&ldquo;But I thought I&rsquo;d just run in to know if Miss Daisy was safe home
+again. You got my telegram all right? I couldn&rsquo;t send no other kind of
+message.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not back yet. Her father hasn&rsquo;t been gone long after
+her.&rdquo; Then, struck by a look in his eyes, &ldquo;Joe, what&rsquo;s the
+matter?&rdquo; she asked quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There came a thrill of suspense in her voice, her face grew drawn, while what
+little colour there was in it receded, leaving it very pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Well, Mrs. Bunting, I&rsquo;ve no business
+to say anything about it&mdash;but I <i>will</i> tell <i>you!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked in and shut the door of the sitting-room carefully behind him.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s been another of &rsquo;em!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;But
+this time no one is to know anything about it&mdash;not for the present, I
+mean,&rdquo; he corrected himself hastily. &ldquo;The Yard thinks we&rsquo;ve
+got a clue&mdash;and a good clue, too, this time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where&mdash;and how?&rdquo; faltered Mrs. Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, &rsquo;twas just a bit of luck being able to keep it dark for the
+present&rdquo;&mdash;he still spoke in that stifled, hoarse whisper. &ldquo;The
+poor soul was found dead on a bench on Primrose Hill. And just by chance
+&rsquo;twas one of our fellows saw the body first. He was on his way home, over
+Hampstead way. He knew where he&rsquo;d be able to get an ambulance quick, and
+he made a very clever, secret job of it. I &rsquo;spect he&rsquo;ll get
+promotion for that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What about the clue?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Bunting, with dry lips.
+&ldquo;You said there was a clue?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t rightly understand about the clue myself. All I
+knows is it&rsquo;s got something to do with a public-house, &lsquo;The Hammer
+and Tongs,&rsquo; which isn&rsquo;t far off there. They feels sure The Avenger
+was in the bar just on closing-time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat down. She felt better now. It was natural the police
+should suspect a public-house loafer. &ldquo;Then that&rsquo;s why you
+wasn&rsquo;t able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded. &ldquo;Mum&rsquo;s the word, Mrs. Bunting! It&rsquo;ll all be in the
+last editions of the evening newspapers&mdash;it can&rsquo;t be kep&rsquo; out.
+There&rsquo;d be too much of a row if &rsquo;twas!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you going off to that public-house now?&rdquo; she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I am. I&rsquo;ve got a awk&rsquo;ard job&mdash;to try and worm
+something out of the barmaid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something out of the barmaid?&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously.
+&ldquo;Why, whatever for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He came and stood close to her. &ldquo;They think &rsquo;twas a
+gentleman,&rdquo; he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A gentleman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression. &ldquo;Whatever makes
+them think such a silly thing as that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a
+leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of milk. And
+what d&rsquo;you think he did? Paid for it with a sovereign! He wouldn&rsquo;t
+take no change&mdash;just made the girl a present of it! That&rsquo;s why the
+young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to give him away. She
+won&rsquo;t tell now what he was like. She doesn&rsquo;t know what he&rsquo;s
+wanted for, and we don&rsquo;t want her to know just yet. That&rsquo;s one
+reason why nothing&rsquo;s being said public about it. But there! I really must
+be going now. My time&rsquo;ll be up at three o&rsquo;clock. I thought of
+coming in on the way back, and asking you for a cup o&rsquo; tea, Mrs.
+Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Do, Joe. You&rsquo;ll be welcome,&rdquo; but
+there was no welcome in her tired voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She let him go alone to the door, and then she went down to her kitchen, and
+began cooking Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s breakfast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lodger would be sure to ring soon; and then any minute Bunting and Daisy
+might be home, and they&rsquo;d want something, too. Margaret always had
+breakfast even when &ldquo;the family&rdquo; were away, unnaturally early.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she bustled about Mrs. Bunting tried to empty her mind of all thought. But
+it is very difficult to do that when one is in a state of torturing
+uncertainty. She had not dared to ask Chandler what they supposed that man who
+had gone into the public-house was really like. It was fortunate, indeed, that
+the lodger and that inquisitive young chap had never met face to face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s bell rang&mdash;a quiet little tinkle. But when she
+went up with his breakfast the lodger was not in his sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Supposing him to be still in his bedroom, Mrs. Bunting put the cloth on the
+table, and then she heard the sound of his footsteps coming down the stairs,
+and her quick ears detected the slight whirring sound which showed that the
+gas-stove was alight. Mr. Sleuth had already lit the stove; that meant that he
+would carry out some elaborate experiment this afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Still snowing?&rdquo; he said doubtfully. &ldquo;How very, very quiet
+and still London is when under snow, Mrs. Bunting. I have never known it quite
+as quiet as this morning. Not a sound, outside or in. A very pleasant change
+from the shouting which sometimes goes on in the Marylebone Road.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said dully. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s awful quiet
+to-day&mdash;too quiet to my thinking. &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t natural-like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The outside gate swung to, making a noisy clatter in the still air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that someone coming in here?&rdquo; asked Mr. Sleuth, drawing a
+quick, hissing breath. &ldquo;Perhaps you will oblige me by going to the window
+and telling me who it is, Mrs. Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And his landlady obeyed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only Bunting, sir&mdash;Bunting and his daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Is that all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth hurried after her, and she shrank back a little. She had never been
+quite so near to the lodger before, save on that first day when she had been
+showing him her rooms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Side by side they stood, looking out of the window. And, as if aware that
+someone was standing there, Daisy turned her bright face up towards the window
+and smiled at her stepmother, and at the lodger, whose face she could only
+dimly discern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A very sweet-looking young girl,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth thoughtfully.
+And then he quoted a little bit of poetry, and this took Mrs. Bunting very much
+aback.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wordsworth,&rdquo; he murmured dreamily. &ldquo;A poet too little read
+nowadays, Mrs. Bunting; but one with a beautiful feeling for nature, for youth,
+for innocence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, sir?&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting stepped back a little. &ldquo;Your
+breakfast will be getting cold, sir, if you don&rsquo;t have it now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went back to the table, obediently, and sat down as a child rebuked might
+have done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then his landlady left him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Bunting cheerily. &ldquo;Everything went off quite all
+right. And Daisy&rsquo;s a lucky girl&mdash;that she is! Her Aunt Margaret gave
+her five shillings.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Daisy did not look as pleased as her father thought she ought to do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope nothing&rsquo;s happened to Mr. Chandler,&rdquo; she said a
+little disconsolately. &ldquo;The very last words he said to me last night was
+that he&rsquo;d be there at ten o&rsquo;clock. I got quite fidgety as the time
+went on and he didn&rsquo;t come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s been here,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Been here?&rdquo; cried her husband. &ldquo;Then why on earth
+didn&rsquo;t he go and fetch Daisy, if he&rsquo;d time to come here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was on the way to his job,&rdquo; his wife answered. &ldquo;You run
+along, child, downstairs. Now that you are here you can make yourself
+useful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Daisy reluctantly obeyed. She wondered what it was her stepmother
+didn&rsquo;t want her to hear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve something to tell you, Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; He looked across uneasily. &ldquo;Yes, Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s been another o&rsquo; those murders. But the police
+don&rsquo;t want anyone to know about it&mdash;not yet. That&rsquo;s why Joe
+couldn&rsquo;t go over and fetch Daisy. They&rsquo;re all on duty again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting put out his hand and clutched hold of the edge of the mantelpiece. He
+had gone very red, but his wife was far too much concerned with her own
+feelings and sensations to notice it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a long silence between them. Then he spoke, making a great effort to
+appear unconcerned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where did it happen?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Close to the other
+one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hesitated, then: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. He didn&rsquo;t say. But
+hush!&rdquo; she added quickly. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s Daisy! Don&rsquo;t
+let&rsquo;s talk of that horror in front of her-like. Besides, I promised
+Chandler I&rsquo;d be mum.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he acquiesced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can be laying the cloth, child, while I go up and clear away the
+lodger&rsquo;s breakfast.&rdquo; Without waiting for an answer, she hurried
+upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth had left the greater part of the nice lemon sole untouched. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t feel well to-day,&rdquo; he said fretfully. &ldquo;And, Mrs.
+Bunting? I should be much obliged if your husband would lend me that paper I
+saw in his hand. I do not often care to look at the public prints, but I should
+like to do so now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flew downstairs. &ldquo;Bunting,&rdquo; she said a little breathlessly,
+&ldquo;the lodger would like you just to lend him the Sun.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting handed it over to her. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve read it through,&rdquo; he
+observed. &ldquo;You can tell him that I don&rsquo;t want it back again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On her way up she glanced down at the pink sheet. Occupying a third of the
+space was an irregular drawing, and under it was written, in rather large
+characters:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;We are glad to be able to present our readers with an authentic
+reproduction of the footprint of the half-worn rubber sole which was almost
+certainly worn by The Avenger when he committed his double murder ten days
+ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went into the sitting-room. To her relief it was empty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Kindly put the paper down on the table,&rdquo; came Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s
+muffled voice from the upper landing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did so. &ldquo;Yes, sir. And Bunting don&rsquo;t want the paper back again,
+sir. He says he&rsquo;s read it.&rdquo; And then she hurried out of the room.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+All afternoon it went on snowing; and the three of them sat there, listening
+and waiting&mdash;Bunting and his wife hardly knew for what; Daisy for the
+knock which would herald Joe Chandler.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And about four there came the now familiar sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting hurried out into the passage, and as she opened the front door she
+whispered, &ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t said anything to Daisy yet. Young girls
+can&rsquo;t keep secrets.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler nodded comprehendingly. He now looked the low character he had assumed
+to the life, for he was blue with cold, disheartened, and tired out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy gave a little cry of shocked surprise, of amusement, of welcome, when she
+saw how cleverly he was disguised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;What a difference it do make, to
+be sure! Why, you looks quite horrid, Mr. Chandler.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, somehow, that little speech of hers amused her father so much that he
+quite cheered up. Bunting had been very dull and quiet all that afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It won&rsquo;t take me ten minutes to make myself respectable
+again,&rdquo; said the young man rather ruefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His host and hostess, looking at him eagerly, furtively, both came to the
+conclusion that he had been unsuccessful&mdash;that he had failed, that is, in
+getting any information worth having. And though, in a sense, they all had a
+pleasant tea together, there was an air of constraint, even of discomfort, over
+the little party.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting felt it hard that he couldn&rsquo;t ask the questions that were
+trembling on his lips; he would have felt it hard any time during the last
+month to refrain from knowing anything Joe could tell him, but now it seemed
+almost intolerable to be in this queer kind of half suspense. There was one
+important fact he longed to know, and at last came his opportunity of doing so,
+for Joe Chandler rose to leave, and this time it was Bunting who followed him
+out into the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did it happen?&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Just tell me that,
+Joe?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Primrose Hill,&rdquo; said the other briefly. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll know
+all about it in a minute or two, for it&rsquo;ll be all in the last editions of
+the evening papers. That&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s been arranged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No arrest I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler shook his head despondently. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m inclined to think the Yard was on a wrong tack altogether this
+time. But one can only do one&rsquo;s best. I don&rsquo;t know if Mrs. Bunting
+told you I&rsquo;d got to question a barmaid about a man who was in her place
+just before closing-time. Well, she&rsquo;s said all she knew, and it&rsquo;s
+as clear as daylight to me that the eccentric old gent she talks about was only
+a harmless luny. He gave her a sovereign just because she told him she was a
+teetotaller!&rdquo; He laughed ruefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even Bunting was diverted at the notion. &ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s a queer
+thing for a barmaid to be!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s niece to the
+people what keeps the public,&rdquo; explained Chandler; and then he went out
+of the front door with a cheerful &ldquo;So long!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Bunting went back into the sitting-room Daisy had disappeared. She had
+gone downstairs with the tray. &ldquo;Where&rsquo;s my girl?&rdquo; he said
+irritably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s just taken the tray downstairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went out to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called out sharply,
+&ldquo;Daisy! Daisy, child! Are you down there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, father,&rdquo; came her eager, happy voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better come up out of that cold kitchen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned and came back to his wife. &ldquo;Ellen, is the lodger in? I
+haven&rsquo;t heard him moving about. Now mind what I says, please! I
+don&rsquo;t want Daisy to be mixed up with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Sleuth don&rsquo;t seem very well to-day,&rdquo; answered Mrs.
+Bunting quietly. &ldquo;&rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t likely I should let Daisy have
+anything to do with him. Why, she&rsquo;s never even seen him.
+&rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t likely I should allow her to begin waiting on him
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But though she was surprised and a little irritated by the tone in which
+Bunting had spoken, no glimmer of the truth illumined her mind. So accustomed
+had she become to bearing alone the burden of her awful secret, that it would
+have required far more than a cross word or two, far more than the fact that
+Bunting looked ill and tired, for her to have come to suspect that her secret
+was now shared by another, and that other her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again and again the poor soul had agonised and trembled at the thought of her
+house being invaded by the police, but that was only because she had always
+credited the police with supernatural powers of detection. That they should
+come to know the awful fact she kept hidden in her breast would have seemed to
+her, on the whole, a natural thing, but that Bunting should even dimly suspect
+it appeared beyond the range of possibility.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet even Daisy noticed a change in her father. He sat cowering over the
+fire&mdash;saying nothing, doing nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, father, ain&rsquo;t you well?&rdquo; the girl asked more than once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, looking up, he would answer, &ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m well enough, my girl,
+but I feels cold. It&rsquo;s awful cold. I never did feel anything like the
+cold we&rsquo;ve got just now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+At eight the now familiar shouts and cries began again outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Avenger again!&rdquo; &ldquo;Another horrible crime!&rdquo;
+&ldquo;Extra speshul edition!&rdquo;&mdash;such were the shouts, the exultant
+yells, hurled through the clear, cold air. They fell, like bombs into the quiet
+room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both Bunting and his wife remained silent, but Daisy&rsquo;s cheeks grew pink
+with excitement, and her eye sparkled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hark, father! Hark, Ellen! D&rsquo;you hear that?&rdquo; she exclaimed
+childishly, and even clapped her hands. &ldquo;I do wish Mr. Chandler had been
+here. He <i>would</i> &rsquo;a been startled!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, Daisy!&rdquo; and Bunting frowned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, getting up, he stretched himself. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s fair getting on my
+mind,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;these horrible things happening. I&rsquo;d like to
+get right away from London, just as far as I could&mdash;that I would!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Up to John-o&rsquo;-Groat&rsquo;s?&rdquo; said Daisy, laughing. And
+then, &ldquo;Why, father, ain&rsquo;t you going out to get a paper?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I suppose I must.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly he went out of the room, and, lingering a moment in the hall, he put on
+his greatcoat and hat. Then he opened the front door, and walked down the
+flagged path. Opening the iron gate, he stepped out on the pavement, then
+crossed the road to where the newspaper-boys now stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy nearest to him only had the <i>Sun</i>&mdash;a late edition of the paper he
+had already read. It annoyed Bunting to give a penny for a ha&rsquo;penny rag
+of which he already knew the main contents. But there was nothing else to do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Standing under a lamp-post, he opened out the newspaper. It was bitingly cold;
+that, perhaps, was why his hand shook as he looked down at the big headlines.
+For Bunting had been very unfair to the enterprise of the editor of his
+favourite evening paper. This special edition was full of new matter&mdash;new
+matter concerning The Avenger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+First, in huge type right across the page, was the brief statement that The
+Avenger had now committed his ninth crime, and that he had chosen quite a new
+locality, namely, the lonely stretch of rising ground known to Londoners as
+Primrose Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;The police,&rdquo; so Bunting read, &ldquo;are very reserved as to the
+circumstances which led to the finding of the body of The Avenger&rsquo;s
+latest victim. But we have reason to believe that they possess several really
+important clues, and that one of them is concerned with the half-worn rubber
+sole of which we are the first to reproduce an outline to-day. (See over
+page.)&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting, turning the sheet round about, saw the irregular outline he had
+already seen in the early edition of the Sun, that purporting to be a facsimile
+of the imprint left by The Avenger&rsquo;s rubber sole.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared down at the rough outline which took up so much of the space which
+should have been devoted to reading matter with a queer, sinking feeling of
+terrified alarm. Again and again criminals had been tracked by the marks their
+boots or shoes had made at or near the scenes of their misdoings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Practically the only job Bunting did in his own house of a menial kind was the
+cleaning of the boots and shoes. He had already visualised early this very
+afternoon the little row with which he dealt each morning&mdash;first came his
+wife&rsquo;s strong, serviceable boots, then his own two pairs, a good deal
+patched and mended, and next to his own Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s strong, hardly worn,
+and expensive buttoned boots. Of late a dear little coquettish high-heeled pair
+of outdoor shoes with thin, paperlike soles, bought by Daisy for her trip to
+London, had ended the row. The girl had worn these thin shoes persistently, in
+defiance of Ellen&rsquo;s reproof and advice, and he, Bunting, had only once
+had to clean her more sensible country pair, and that only because the others
+had become wet through the day he and she had accompanied young Chandler to
+Scotland Yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly he returned across the road. Somehow the thought of going in again, of
+hearing his wife&rsquo;s sarcastic comments, of parrying Daisy&rsquo;s eager
+questions, had become intolerable. So he walked slowly, trying to put off the
+evil moment when he would have to tell them what was in his paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lamp under which he had stood reading was not exactly opposite the house.
+It was rather to the right of it. And when, having crossed over the roadway, he
+walked along the pavement towards his own gate, he heard odd, shuffling sounds
+coming from the inner side of the low wall which shut off his little courtyard
+from the pavement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, under ordinary circumstances Bunting would have rushed forward to drive
+out whoever was there. He and his wife had often had trouble, before the cold
+weather began, with vagrants seeking shelter there. But to-night he stayed
+outside, listening intently, sick with suspense and fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Was it possible that their place was being watched&mdash;already? He thought it
+only too likely. Bunting, like Mrs. Bunting, credited the police with almost
+supernatural powers, especially since he had paid that visit to Scotland Yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But to Bunting&rsquo;s amazement, and, yes, relief, it was his lodger who
+suddenly loomed up in the dim light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth must have been stooping down, for his tall, lank form had been quite
+concealed till he stepped forward from behind the low wall on to the flagged
+path leading to the front door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lodger was carrying a brown paper parcel, and, as he walked along, the new
+boots he was wearing creaked, and the tap-tap of hard nail-studded heels rang
+out on the flat-stones of the narrow path.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting, still standing outside the gate, suddenly knew what it was his lodger
+had been doing on the other side of the low wall. Mr. Sleuth had evidently been
+out to buy himself another pair of new boots, and then he had gone inside the
+gate and had put them on, placing his old footgear in the paper in which the
+new pair had been wrapped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The ex-butler waited&mdash;waited quite a long time, not only until Mr. Sleuth
+had let himself into the house, but till the lodger had had time to get well
+away, upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he also walked up the flagged pathway, and put his latchkey in the door.
+He lingered as long over the job of hanging his hat and coat up in the hall as
+he dared, in fact till his wife called out to him. Then he went in, and
+throwing the paper down on the table, he said sullenly: &ldquo;There it is! You
+can see it all for yourself&mdash;not that there&rsquo;s very much to
+see,&rdquo; and groped his way to the fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wife looked at him in sharp alarm. &ldquo;Whatever have you done to
+yourself?&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re ill&mdash;that&rsquo;s what
+it is, Bunting. You got a chill last night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told you I&rsquo;d got a chill,&rdquo; he muttered.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t last night, though; &rsquo;twas going out this
+morning, coming back in the bus. Margaret keeps that housekeeper&rsquo;s room
+o&rsquo; hers like a hothouse&mdash;that&rsquo;s what she does. &rsquo;Twas
+going out from there into the biting wind, that&rsquo;s what did for me. It
+must be awful to stand about in such weather; &rsquo;tis a wonder to me how
+that young fellow, Joe Chandler, can stand the life&mdash;being out in all
+weathers like he is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting spoke at random, his one anxiety being to get away from what was in the
+paper, which now lay, neglected, on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Those that keep out o&rsquo; doors all day never do come to no
+harm,&rdquo; said his wife testily. &ldquo;But if you felt so bad, whatever was
+you out so long for, Bunting? I thought you&rsquo;d gone away somewhere!
+D&rsquo;you mean you only went to get the paper?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I just stopped for a second to look at it under the lamp,&rdquo; he
+muttered apologetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was a silly thing to do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps it was,&rdquo; he admitted meekly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy had taken up the paper. &ldquo;Well, they don&rsquo;t say much,&rdquo;
+she said disappointedly. &ldquo;Hardly anything at all! But perhaps Mr.
+Chandler &rsquo;ll be in soon again. If so, he&rsquo;ll tell us more about
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A young girl like you oughtn&rsquo;t to want to know anything about
+murders,&rdquo; said her stepmother severely. &ldquo;Joe won&rsquo;t think any
+the better of you for your inquisitiveness about such things. If I was you,
+Daisy, I shouldn&rsquo;t say nothing about it if he does come in&mdash;which I
+fair tell you I hope he won&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;ve seen enough of that young chap
+to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t come in for long&mdash;not to-day,&rdquo; said Daisy,
+her lip trembling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can tell you one thing that&rsquo;ll surprise you, my
+dear&rdquo;&mdash;Mrs. Bunting looked significantly at her stepdaughter. She
+also wanted to get away from that dread news&mdash;which yet was no news.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; said Daisy, rather defiantly. &ldquo;What is it,
+Ellen?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Maybe you&rsquo;ll be surprised to hear that Joe did come in this
+morning. He knew all about that affair then, but he particular asked that you
+shouldn&rsquo;t be told anything about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never!&rdquo; cried Daisy, much mortified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; went on her stepmother ruthlessly. &ldquo;You just ask your
+father over there if it isn&rsquo;t true.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t a healthy thing to speak overmuch about such
+happenings,&rdquo; said Bunting heavily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I was Joe,&rdquo; went on Mrs. Bunting, quickly pursuing her
+advantage, &ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t want to talk about such horrid things when
+I comes in to have a quiet chat with friends. But the minute he comes in that
+poor young chap is set upon&mdash;mostly, I admit, by your father,&rdquo; she
+looked at her husband severely. &ldquo;But you does your share, too, Daisy! You
+asks him this, you asks him that&mdash;he&rsquo;s fair puzzled sometimes. It
+don&rsquo;t do to be so inquisitive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+And perhaps because of this little sermon on Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s part when
+young Chandler did come in again that evening, very little was said of the new
+Avenger murder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting made no reference to it at all, and though Daisy said a word, it was
+but a word. And Joe Chandler thought he had never spent a pleasanter evening in
+his life&mdash;for it was he and Daisy who talked all the time, their elders
+remaining for the most part silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy told of all that she had done with Aunt Margaret. She described the long,
+dull hours and the queer jobs her aunt set her to do&mdash;the washing up of
+all the fine drawing-room china in a big basin lined with flannel, and how
+terrified she (Daisy) had been lest there should come even one teeny little
+chip to any of it. Then she went on to relate some of the funny things Aunt
+Margaret had told her about &ldquo;the family.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There came a really comic tale, which hugely interested and delighted Chandler.
+This was of how Aunt Margaret&rsquo;s lady had been taken in by an
+impostor&mdash;an impostor who had come up, just as she was stepping out of her
+carriage, and pretended to have a fit on the doorstep. Aunt Margaret&rsquo;s
+lady, being a soft one, had insisted on the man coming into the hall, where he
+had been given all kinds of restoratives. When the man had at last gone off, it
+was found that he had &ldquo;wolfed&rdquo; young master&rsquo;s best
+walking-stick, one with a fine tortoise-shell top to it. Thus had Aunt Margaret
+proved to her lady that the man had been shamming, and her lady had been very
+angry&mdash;near had a fit herself!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a lot of that about,&rdquo; said Chandler, laughing.
+&ldquo;Incorrigible rogues and vagabonds&mdash;that&rsquo;s what those sort of
+people are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then he, in his turn, told an elaborate tale of an exceptionally clever
+swindler whom he himself had brought to book. He was very proud of that job, it
+had formed a white stone in his career as a detective. And even Mrs. Bunting
+was quite interested to hear about it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler was still sitting there when Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s bell rang. For awhile
+no one stirred; then Bunting looked questioningly at his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you hear that?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I think, Ellen, that was the
+lodger&rsquo;s bell.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She got up, without alacrity, and went upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I rang,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth weakly, &ldquo;to tell you I don&rsquo;t
+require any supper to-night, Mrs. Bunting. Only a glass of milk, with a lump of
+sugar in it. That is all I require&mdash;nothing more. I feel very very far
+from well&rdquo;&mdash;and he had a hunted, plaintive expression on his face.
+&ldquo;And then I thought your husband would like his paper back again, Mrs.
+Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting, looking at him fixedly, with a sad intensity of gaze of which she
+was quite unconscious, answered, &ldquo;Oh, no, sir! Bunting don&rsquo;t
+require that paper now. He read it all through.&rdquo; Something impelled her
+to add, ruthlessly, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s got another paper by now, sir. You may
+have heard them come shouting outside. Would you like me to bring you up that
+other paper, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Mr. Sleuth shook his head. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said querulously. &ldquo;I
+much regret now having asked for the one paper I did read, for it disturbed me,
+Mrs. Bunting. There was nothing of any value in it&mdash;there never is in any
+public print. I gave up reading newspapers years ago, and I much regret that I
+broke through my rule to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As if to indicate to her that he did not wish for any more conversation, the
+lodger then did what he had never done before in his landlady&rsquo;s presence.
+He went over to the fireplace and deliberately turned his back on her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went down and brought up the glass of milk and the lump of sugar he had
+asked for.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now he was in his usual place, sitting at the table, studying the Book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Bunting went back to the others they were chatting merrily. She did
+not notice that the merriment was confined to the two young people.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Daisy pertly. &ldquo;How about the lodger, Ellen? Is
+he all right?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said stiffly. &ldquo;Of course he is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He must feel pretty dull sitting up there all by himself&mdash;awful
+lonely-like, I call it,&rdquo; said the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her stepmother remained silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whatever does he do with himself all day?&rdquo; persisted Daisy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just now he&rsquo;s reading the Bible,&rdquo; Mrs. Bunting answered,
+shortly and dryly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I never! That&rsquo;s a funny thing for a gentleman to do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Joe, alone of her three listeners, laughed&mdash;a long hearty peal of
+amusement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to laugh at,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting sharply.
+&ldquo;I should feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected
+with the Bible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And poor Joe became suddenly quite serious. This was the first time that Mrs.
+Bunting had ever spoken really nastily to him, and he answered very humbly,
+&ldquo;I beg pardon. I know I oughtn&rsquo;t to have laughed at anything to do
+with the Bible, but you see, Miss Daisy said it so funny-like, and, by all
+accounts, your lodger must be a queer card, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s no queerer than many people I could mention,&rdquo; she said
+quickly; and with these enigmatic words she got up, and left the room.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Each hour of the days that followed held for Bunting its full meed of aching
+fear and suspense.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The unhappy man was ever debating within himself what course he should pursue,
+and, according to his mood and to the state of his mind at any particular
+moment, he would waver between various widely-differing lines of action.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He told himself again and again, and with fretful unease, that the most awful
+thing about it all was that <i>he wasn&rsquo;t sure</i>. If only he could have been
+<i>sure</i>, he might have made up his mind exactly what it was he ought to do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when telling himself this he was deceiving himself, and he was vaguely
+conscious of the fact; for, from Bunting&rsquo;s point of view, almost any
+alternative would have been preferable to that which to some, nay, perhaps to
+most, householders would have seemed the only thing to do, namely, to go to the
+police. But Londoners of Bunting&rsquo;s class have an uneasy fear of the law.
+To his mind it would be ruin for him and for his Ellen to be mixed up publicly
+in such a terrible affair. No one concerned in the business would give them and
+their future a thought, but it would track them to their dying day, and, above
+all, it would make it quite impossible for them ever to get again into a good
+joint situation. It was that for which Bunting, in his secret soul, now longed
+with all his heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No, some other way than going to the police must be found&mdash;and he racked
+his slow brain to find it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The worst of it was that every hour that went by made his future course more
+difficult and more delicate, and increased the awful weight on his conscience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If only he really knew! If only he could feel quite sure! And then he would
+tell himself that, after all, he had very little to go upon; only
+suspicion&mdash;suspicion, and a secret, horrible certainty that his suspicion
+was justified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so at last Bunting began to long for a solution which he knew to be
+indefensible from every point of view; he began to hope, that is, in the depths
+of his heart, that the lodger would again go out one evening on his horrible
+business and be caught&mdash;red-handed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But far from going out on any business, horrible or other, Mr. Sleuth now never
+went out at all. He kept upstairs, and often spent quite a considerable part of
+his day in bed. He still felt, so he assured Mrs. Bunting, very far from well.
+He had never thrown off the chill he had caught on that bitter night he and his
+landlord had met on their several ways home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Joe Chandler, too, had become a terrible complication to Daisy&rsquo;s father.
+The detective spent every waking hour that he was not on duty with the
+Buntings; and Bunting, who at one time had liked him so well and so cordially,
+now became mortally afraid of him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But though the young man talked of little else than The Avenger, and though on
+one evening he described at immense length the eccentric-looking gent who had
+given the barmaid a sovereign, picturing Mr. Sleuth with such awful accuracy
+that both Bunting and Mrs. Bunting secretly and separately turned sick when
+they listened to him, he never showed the slightest interest in their lodger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last there came a morning when Bunting and Chandler held a strange
+conversation about The Avenger. The young fellow had come in earlier than
+usual, and just as he arrived Mrs. Bunting and Daisy were starting out to do
+some shopping. The girl would fain have stopped behind, but her stepmother had
+given her a very peculiar, disagreeable look, daring her, so to speak, to be so
+forward, and Daisy had gone on with a flushed, angry look on her pretty face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, as young Chandler stepped through into the sitting-room, it suddenly
+struck Bunting that the young man looked unlike himself&mdash;indeed, to the
+ex-butler&rsquo;s apprehension there was something almost threatening in
+Chandler&rsquo;s attitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want a word with you, Mr. Bunting,&rdquo; he began abruptly,
+falteringly. &ldquo;And I&rsquo;m glad to have the chance now that Mrs. Bunting
+and Miss Daisy are out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting braced himself to hear the awful words&mdash;the accusation of having
+sheltered a murderer, the monster whom all the world was seeking, under his
+roof. And then he remembered a phrase, a horrible legal
+phrase&mdash;&ldquo;Accessory after the fact.&rdquo; Yes, he had been that,
+there wasn&rsquo;t any doubt about it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;What is it, Joe?&rdquo; and then the
+unfortunate man sat down in his chair. &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; he said again
+uncertainly; for young Chandler had now advanced to the table, he was looking
+at Bunting fixedly&mdash;the other thought threateningly. &ldquo;Well, out with
+it, Joe! Don&rsquo;t keep me in suspense.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then a slight smile broke over the young man&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t think what I&rsquo;ve got to say can take you by surprise, Mr.
+Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting wagged his head in a way that might mean anything&mdash;yes or no,
+as the case might be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men looked at one another for what seemed a very, very long time to the
+elder of them. And then, making a great effort, Joe Chandler brought out the
+words, &ldquo;Well, I suppose you know what it is I want to talk about.
+I&rsquo;m sure Mrs. Bunting would, from a look or two she&rsquo;s lately cast
+on me. It&rsquo;s your daughter&mdash;it&rsquo;s Miss Daisy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Bunting gave a kind of cry, &rsquo;twixt a sob and a laugh. &ldquo;My
+girl?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Good Lord, Joe! Is that all you wants to talk
+about? Why, you fair frightened me&mdash;that you did!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, indeed, the relief was so great that the room swam round as he stared
+across it at his daughter&rsquo;s lover, that lover who was also the embodiment
+of that now awful thing to him, the law. He smiled, rather foolishly, at his
+visitor; and Chandler felt a sharp wave of irritation, of impatience sweep over
+his good-natured soul. Daisy&rsquo;s father was an old
+stupid&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Bunting grew serious. The room ceased to go round. &ldquo;As far as
+I&rsquo;m concerned,&rdquo; he said, with a good deal of solemnity, even a
+little dignity, &ldquo;you have my blessing, Joe. You&rsquo;re a very likely
+young chap, and I had a true respect for your father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Chandler, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s very kind of you, Mr.
+Bunting. But how about her&mdash;her herself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting stared at him. It pleased him to think that Daisy hadn&rsquo;t given
+herself away, as Ellen was always hinting the girl was doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t answer for Daisy,&rdquo; he said heavily.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have to ask her yourself&mdash;that&rsquo;s not a job any
+other man can do for you, my lad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never gets a chance. I never sees her, not by our two selves,&rdquo;
+said Chandler, with some heat. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t seem to understand, Mr.
+Bunting, that I never do see Miss Daisy alone,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;I
+hear now that she&rsquo;s going away Monday, and I&rsquo;ve only once had the
+chance of a walk with her. Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s very particular, not to say
+pernickety in her ideas, Mr. Bunting&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a fault on the right side, that is&mdash;with a young
+girl,&rdquo; said Bunting thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Chandler nodded. He quite agreed that as regarded other young chaps Mrs.
+Bunting could not be too particular.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s been brought up like a lady, my Daisy has,&rdquo; went on
+Bunting, with some pride. &ldquo;That Old Aunt of hers hardly lets her out of
+her sight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was coming to the old aunt,&rdquo; said Chandler heavily. &ldquo;Mrs.
+Bunting she talks as if your daughter was going to stay with that old woman the
+whole of her natural life&mdash;now is that right? That&rsquo;s what I wants to
+ask you, Mr. Bunting,&mdash;is that right?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll say a word to Ellen, don&rsquo;t you fear,&rdquo; said
+Bunting abstractedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mind had wandered off, away from Daisy and this nice young chap, to his now
+constant anxious preoccupation. &ldquo;You come along to-morrow,&rdquo; he
+said, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ll see you gets your walk with Daisy. It&rsquo;s only
+right you and she should have a chance of seeing one another without old folk
+being by; else how&rsquo;s the girl to tell whether she likes you or not! For
+the matter of that, you hardly knows her, Joe&mdash;&rdquo; He looked at the
+young man consideringly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler shook his head impatiently. &ldquo;I knows her quite as well as I
+wants to know her,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I made up my mind the very first time
+I see&rsquo;d her, Mr. Bunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No! Did you really?&rdquo; said Bunting. &ldquo;Well, come to think of
+it, I did so with her mother; aye, and years after, with Ellen, too. But I hope
+<i>you&rsquo;ll</i> never want no second, Chandler.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;God forbid!&rdquo; said the young man under his breath. And then he
+asked, rather longingly, &ldquo;D&rsquo;you think they&rsquo;ll be out long
+now, Mr. Bunting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting woke up to a due sense of hospitality. &ldquo;Sit down, sit down;
+do!&rdquo; he said hastily. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe they&rsquo;ll be very
+long. They&rsquo;ve only got a little bit of shopping to do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, in a changed, in a ringing, nervous tone, he asked, &ldquo;And how
+about your job, Joe? Nothing new, I take it? I suppose you&rsquo;re all just
+waiting for <i>the next time?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aye&mdash;that&rsquo;s about the figure of it.&rdquo; Chandler&rsquo;s
+voice had also changed; it was now sombre, menacing. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re fair
+tired of it&mdash;beginning to wonder when it&rsquo;ll end, that we are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you ever try and make to yourself a picture of what the
+master&rsquo;s like?&rdquo; asked Bunting. Somehow, he felt he must ask that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Joe slowly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a sort of notion&mdash;a
+savage, fierce-looking devil, the chap must be. It&rsquo;s that description
+that was circulated put us wrong. I don&rsquo;t believe it was the man that
+knocked up against that woman in the fog&mdash;no, not one bit I don&rsquo;t.
+But I wavers, I can&rsquo;t quite make up my mind. Sometimes I think it&rsquo;s
+a sailor&mdash;the foreigner they talks about, that goes away for eight or nine
+days in between, to Holland maybe, or to France. Then, again, I says to myself
+that it&rsquo;s a butcher, a man from the Central Market. Whoever it is,
+it&rsquo;s someone used to killing, that&rsquo;s flat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it don&rsquo;t seem to you possible&mdash;?&rdquo; (Bunting got up
+and walked over to the window.) &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t take any stock, I
+suppose, in that idea some of the papers put out, that the man
+is&rdquo;&mdash;then he hesitated and brought out, with a gasp&mdash;&ldquo;a
+gentleman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler looked at him, surprised. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said deliberately.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve made up my mind that&rsquo;s quite a wrong tack, though I
+knows that some of our fellows&mdash;big pots, too&mdash;are quite sure that
+the fellow what gave the girl the sovereign is the man we&rsquo;re looking for.
+You see, Mr. Bunting, if that&rsquo;s the fact&mdash;well, it stands to reason
+the fellow&rsquo;s an escaped lunatic; and if he&rsquo;s an escaped lunatic
+he&rsquo;s got a keeper, and they&rsquo;d be raising a hue and cry after him;
+now, wouldn&rsquo;t they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t think,&rdquo; went on Bunting, lowering his voice,
+&ldquo;that he could be just staying somewhere, lodging like?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;D&rsquo;you mean that The Avenger may be a toff, staying in some
+West-end hotel, Mr. Bunting? Well, things almost as funny as that &rsquo;ud be
+have come to pass.&rdquo; He smiled as if the notion was a funny one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, something o&rsquo; that sort,&rdquo; muttered Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if your idea&rsquo;s correct, Mr. Bunting&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never said &rsquo;twas my idea,&rdquo; said Bunting, all in a hurry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if that idea&rsquo;s correct then, &rsquo;twill make our task more
+difficult than ever. Why, &rsquo;twould be looking for a needle in a field of
+hay, Mr. Bunting! But there! I don&rsquo;t think it&rsquo;s anything quite so
+unlikely as that&mdash;not myself I don&rsquo;t.&rdquo; He hesitated.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s some of us&rdquo;&mdash;he lowered his
+voice&mdash;&ldquo;that hopes he&rsquo;ll betake himself off&mdash;The Avenger,
+I mean&mdash;to another big city, to Manchester or to Edinburgh. There&rsquo;d
+be plenty of work for him to do there,&rdquo; and Chandler chuckled at his own
+grim joke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, to both men&rsquo;s secret relief, for Bunting was now mortally
+afraid of this discussion concerning The Avenger and his doings, they heard
+Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s key in the lock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy blushed rosy-red with pleasure when she saw that young Chandler was still
+there. She had feared that when they got home he would be gone, the more so
+that Ellen, just as if she was doing it on purpose, had lingered aggravatingly
+long over each small purchase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s Joe come to ask if he can take Daisy out for a walk,&rdquo;
+blurted out Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mother says as how she&rsquo;d like you to come to tea, over at
+Richmond,&rdquo; said Chandler awkwardly, &ldquo;I just come in to see whether
+we could fix it up, Miss Daisy.&rdquo; And Daisy looked imploringly at her
+stepmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;D&rsquo;you mean now&mdash;this minute?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Bunting
+tartly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, o&rsquo; course not&rdquo;&mdash;Bunting broke in hastily.
+&ldquo;How you do go on, Ellen!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What day did your mother mention would be convenient to her?&rdquo;
+asked Mrs. Bunting, looking at the young man satirically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler hesitated. His mother had not mentioned any special day&mdash;in fact,
+his mother had shown a surprising lack of anxiety to see Daisy at all. But he
+had talked her round.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about Saturday?&rdquo; suggested Bunting. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+Daisy&rsquo;s birthday. &rsquo;Twould be a birthday treat for her to go to
+Richmond, and she&rsquo;s going back to Old Aunt on Monday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t go Saturday,&rdquo; said Chandler disconsolately.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m on duty Saturday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then, let it be Sunday,&rdquo; said Bunting firmly. And his wife
+looked at him surprised; he seldom asserted himself so much in her presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you say, Miss Daisy?&rdquo; said Chandler.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sunday would be very nice,&rdquo; said Daisy demurely. And then, as the
+young man took up his hat, and as her stepmother did not stir, Daisy ventured
+to go out into the hall with him for a minute.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chandler shut the door behind them, and so was spared the hearing of Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s whispered remark: &ldquo;When I was a young woman folk
+didn&rsquo;t gallivant about on Sunday; those who was courting used to go to
+church together, decent-like&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Daisy&rsquo;s eighteenth birthday dawned uneventfully. Her father gave her what
+he had always promised she should have on her eighteenth birthday&mdash;a
+watch. It was a pretty little silver watch, which Bunting had bought secondhand
+on the last day he had been happy&mdash;it seemed a long, long time ago now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting thought a silver watch a very extravagant present but she was far
+too wretched, far too absorbed in her own thoughts, to trouble much about it.
+Besides, in such matters she had generally had the good sense not to interfere
+between her husband and his child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the middle of the birthday morning Bunting went out to buy himself some more
+tobacco. He had never smoked so much as in the last four days, excepting,
+perhaps, the week that had followed on his leaving service. Smoking a pipe had
+then held all the exquisite pleasure which we are told attaches itself to the
+eating of forbidden fruit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His tobacco had now become his only relaxation; it acted on his nerves as an
+opiate, soothing his fears and helping him to think. But he had been overdoing
+it, and it was that which now made him feel so &ldquo;jumpy,&rdquo; so he
+assured himself, when he found himself starting at any casual sound outside, or
+even when his wife spoke to him suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just now Ellen and Daisy were down in the kitchen, and Bunting didn&rsquo;t
+quite like the sensation of knowing that there was only one pair of stairs
+between Mr. Sleuth and himself. So he quietly slipped out of the house without
+telling Ellen that he was going out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the last four days Bunting had avoided his usual haunts; above all, he had
+avoided even passing the time of day to his acquaintances and neighbours. He
+feared, with a great fear, that they would talk to him of a subject which,
+because it filled his mind to the exclusion of all else, might make him betray
+the knowledge&mdash;no, not knowledge, rather the&mdash;the
+suspicion&mdash;that dwelt within him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But to-day the unfortunate man had a curious, instinctive longing for human
+companionship&mdash;companionship, that is, other than that of his wife and of
+his daughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This longing for a change of company finally led him into a small, populous
+thoroughfare hard by the Edgware Road. There were more people there than usual
+just now, for the housewives of the neighbourhood were doing their Saturday
+marketing for Sunday. The ex-butler turned into a small old-fashioned shop
+where he generally bought his tobacco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting passed the time of day with the tobacconist, and the two fell into
+desultory talk, but to his customer&rsquo;s relief and surprise the man made no
+allusion to the subject of which all the neighbourhood must still be talking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, quite suddenly, while still standing by the counter, and before he
+had paid for the packet of tobacco he held in his hand, Bunting, through the
+open door, saw with horrified surprise that Ellen, his wife, was standing,
+alone, outside a greengrocer&rsquo;s shop just opposite.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Muttering a word of apology, he rushed out of the shop and across the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ellen!&rdquo; he gasped hoarsely, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve never gone and
+left my little girl alone in the house with the lodger?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s face went yellow with fear. &ldquo;I thought you was
+indoors,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You <i>was</i> indoors! Whatever made you come out
+for, without first making sure I&rsquo;d stay in?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting made no answer; but, as they stared at each other in exasperated
+silence, each now knew that the other knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They turned and scurried down the crowded street. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+run,&rdquo; he said suddenly; &ldquo;we shall get there just as quickly if we
+walk fast. People are noticing you, Ellen. Don&rsquo;t run.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke breathlessly, but it was breathlessness induced by fear and by
+excitement, not by the quick pace at which they were walking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last they reached their own gate, and Bunting pushed past in front of his
+wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After all, Daisy was his child; Ellen couldn&rsquo;t know how he was feeling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed to take the path in one leap, then fumbled for a moment with his
+latchkey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening wide the door, &ldquo;Daisy!&rdquo; he called out, in a wailing voice,
+&ldquo;Daisy, my dear! where are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here I am, father. What is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s all right.&rdquo; Bunting turned a grey face to his wife.
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s all right, Ellen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He waited a moment, leaning against the wall of the passage. &ldquo;It did give
+me a turn,&rdquo; he said, and then, warningly, &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t frighten the
+girl, Ellen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy was standing before the fire in their sitting room, admiring herself in
+the glass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, father,&rdquo; she exclaimed, without turning round,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen the lodger! He&rsquo;s quite a nice gentleman, though,
+to be sure, he does look a cure. He rang his bell, but I didn&rsquo;t like to
+go up; and so he came down to ask Ellen for something. We had quite a nice
+little chat&mdash;that we had. I told him it was my birthday, and he asked me
+and Ellen to go to Madame Tussaud&rsquo;s with him this afternoon.&rdquo; She
+laughed, a little self-consciously. &ldquo;Of course, I could see he was
+&rsquo;centric, and then at first he spoke so funnily. &lsquo;And who be
+you?&rsquo; he says, threatening-like. And I says to him, &lsquo;I&rsquo;m Mr.
+Bunting&rsquo;s daughter, sir.&rsquo; &lsquo;Then you&rsquo;re a very fortunate
+girl&rsquo;&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he says, Ellen&mdash;&lsquo;to &rsquo;ave
+such a nice stepmother as you&rsquo;ve got. That&rsquo;s why,&rsquo; he says,
+&lsquo;you look such a good, innocent girl.&rsquo; And then he quoted a bit of
+the Prayer Book. &lsquo;Keep innocency,&rsquo; he says, wagging his head at me.
+Lor&rsquo;! It made me feel as if I was with Old Aunt again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have you going out with the lodger&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+flat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting spoke in a muffled, angry tone. He was wiping his forehead with one
+hand, while with the other he mechanically squeezed the little packet of
+tobacco, for which, as he now remembered, he had forgotten to pay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy pouted. &ldquo;Oh, father, I think you might let me have a treat on my
+birthday! I told him that Saturday wasn&rsquo;t a very good day&mdash;at least,
+so I&rsquo;d heard&mdash;for Madame Tussaud&rsquo;s. Then he said we could go
+early, while the fine folk are still having their dinners.&rdquo; She turned to
+her stepmother, then giggled happily. &ldquo;He particularly said you was to
+come, too. The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you, Ellen; if I was father,
+I&rsquo;d feel quite jealous!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her last words were cut across by a tap-tap on the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively. Was it possible that,
+in their agitation, they had left the front door open, and that <i>someone</i>, some
+merciless myrmidon of the law, had crept in behind them?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both felt a curious thrill of satisfaction when they saw that it was only Mr.
+Sleuth&mdash;Mr. Sleuth dressed for going out; the tall hat he had worn when he
+had first come to them was in his hand, but he was wearing a coat instead of
+his Inverness cape.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I heard you come in&rdquo;&mdash;he addressed Mrs. Bunting in his high,
+whistling, hesitating voice&mdash;&ldquo;and so I&rsquo;ve come down to ask you
+if you and Miss Bunting will come to Madame Tussaud&rsquo;s now. I have never
+seen those famous waxworks, though I&rsquo;ve heard of the place all my
+life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Bunting forced himself to look fixedly at his lodger, a sudden doubt
+bringing with it a sense of immeasurable relief, came to Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s
+landlord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Surely it was inconceivable that this gentle, mild-mannered gentleman could be
+the monster of cruelty and cunning that Bunting had now for the terrible space
+of four days believed him to be!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He tried to catch his wife&rsquo;s eye, but Mrs. Bunting was looking away,
+staring into vacancy. She still, of course, wore the bonnet and cloak in which
+she had just been out to do her marketing. Daisy was already putting on her hat
+and coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth. Then Mrs. Bunting turned, and it seemed to
+his landlady that he was looking at her threateningly. &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. We&rsquo;ll come in a minute,&rdquo; she said dully.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Madame Tussaud&rsquo;s had hitherto held pleasant memories for Mrs. Bunting. In
+the days when she and Bunting were courting they often spent there part of
+their afternoon-out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The butler had an acquaintance, a man named Hopkins, who was one of the
+waxworks staff, and this man had sometimes given him passes for &ldquo;self and
+lady.&rdquo; But this was the first time Mrs. Bunting had been inside the place
+since she had come to live almost next door, as it were, to the big building.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They walked in silence to the familiar entrance, and then, after the
+ill-assorted trio had gone up the great staircase and into the first gallery,
+Mr. Sleuth suddenly stopped short. The presence of those curious, still, waxen
+figures which suggest so strangely death in life, seemed to surprise and
+affright him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy took quick advantage of the lodger&rsquo;s hesitation and unease.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Ellen,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;do let us begin by going into the
+Chamber of Horrors! I&rsquo;ve never been in there. Old Aunt made father
+promise he wouldn&rsquo;t take me the only time I&rsquo;ve ever been here. But
+now that I&rsquo;m eighteen I can do just as I like; besides, Old Aunt will
+never know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth looked down at her, and a smile passed for a moment over his worn,
+gaunt face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;let us go into the Chamber of Horrors;
+that&rsquo;s a good idea, Miss Bunting. I&rsquo;ve always wanted to see the
+Chamber of Horrors.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were then kept,
+and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where waxen effigies of dead
+criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband&rsquo;s old
+acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting the public to
+the Chamber of Horrors.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you <i>are</i> a stranger,&rdquo; the man observed genially. &ldquo;I do
+believe that this is the very first time I&rsquo;ve seen you in here, Mrs.
+Bunting, since you was married!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that is so. And this is my husband&rsquo;s
+daughter, Daisy; I expect you&rsquo;ve heard of her, Mr. Hopkins. And
+this&rdquo;&mdash;she hesitated a moment&mdash;&ldquo;is our lodger, Mr.
+Sleuth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away. Daisy, leaving her stepmother&rsquo;s
+side, joined him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two, as all the world knows, is company, three is none. Mrs. Bunting put down
+three sixpences.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait a minute,&rdquo; said Hopkins; &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t go into the
+Chamber of Horrors just yet. But you won&rsquo;t have to wait more than four or
+five minutes, Mrs. Bunting. It&rsquo;s this way, you see; our boss is in there,
+showing a party round.&rdquo; He lowered his voice. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Sir John
+Burney&mdash;I suppose you know who Sir John Burney is?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she answered indifferently, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know that I
+ever heard of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt slightly&mdash;oh, very sightly&mdash;uneasy about Daisy. She would
+have liked her stepdaughter to keep well within sight and sound, but Mr. Sleuth
+was now taking the girl down to the other end of the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I hope you never <i>will</i> know him&mdash;not in any personal sense,
+Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo; The man chuckled. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s the Commissioner of
+Police&mdash;the new one&mdash;that&rsquo;s what Sir John Burney is. One of the
+gentlemen he&rsquo;s showing round our place is the Paris Police
+boss&mdash;whose job is on all fours, so to speak, with Sir John&rsquo;s. The
+Frenchy has brought his daughter with him, and there are several other ladies.
+Ladies always likes horrors, Mrs. Bunting; that&rsquo;s our experience here.
+&lsquo;Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors&rsquo;&mdash;that&rsquo;s what
+they say the minute they gets into this here building!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him thoughtfully. It occurred to Mr. Hopkins that she
+was very wan and tired; she used to look better in the old days, when she was
+still in service, before Bunting married her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;that&rsquo;s just what my stepdaughter said
+just now. &lsquo;Oh, take me to the Chamber of
+Horrors&rsquo;&mdash;that&rsquo;s exactly what she did say when we got
+upstairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+A group of people, all talking and laughing together; were advancing, from
+within the wooden barrier, toward the turnstile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting stared at them nervously. She wondered which of them was the
+gentleman with whom Mr. Hopkins had hoped she would never be brought into
+personal contact; she thought she could pick him out among the others. He was a
+tall, powerful, handsome gentleman, with a military appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just now he was smiling down into the face of a young lady. &ldquo;Monsieur
+Barberoux is quite right,&rdquo; he was saying in a loud, cheerful voice,
+&ldquo;our English law is too kind to the criminal, especially to the murderer.
+If we conducted our trials in the French fashion, the place we have just left
+would be very much fuller than it is to-day. A man of whose guilt we are
+absolutely assured is oftener than not acquitted, and then the public taunt us
+with &lsquo;another undiscovered crime!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;D&rsquo;you mean, Sir John, that murderers sometimes escape scot-free?
+Take the man who has been committing all these awful murders this last month? I
+suppose there&rsquo;s no doubt <i>he&rsquo;ll</i> be hanged&mdash;if he&rsquo;s ever
+caught, that is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her girlish voice rang out, and Mrs. Bunting could hear every word that was
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The whole party gathered round, listening eagerly. &ldquo;Well, no.&rdquo; He
+spoke very deliberately. &ldquo;I doubt if that particular murderer ever will
+be hanged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You mean that you&rsquo;ll never catch him?&rdquo; the girl spoke with a
+touch of airy impertinence in her clear voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think we shall end by catching him&mdash;because&rdquo;&mdash;he
+waited a moment, then added in a lower voice&mdash;&ldquo;now don&rsquo;t give
+me away to a newspaper fellow, Miss Rose&mdash;because now I think we do know
+who the murderer in question is&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Several of those standing near by uttered expressions of surprise and
+incredulity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then why don&rsquo;t you catch him?&rdquo; cried the girl indignantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t say we knew <i>where</i> he was; I only said we knew who he was,
+or, rather, perhaps I ought to say that I personally have a very strong
+suspicion of his identity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sir John&rsquo;s French colleague looked up quickly. &ldquo;De Leipsic and
+Liverpool man?&rdquo; he said interrogatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other nodded. &ldquo;Yes, I suppose you&rsquo;ve had the case turned
+up?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, speaking very quickly, as if he wished to dismiss the subject from his
+own mind, and from that of his auditors, he went on:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Four murders of the kind were committed eight years ago&mdash;two in
+Leipsic, the others, just afterwards, in Liverpool,&mdash;and there were
+certain peculiarities connected with the crimes which made it clear they were
+committed by the same hand. The perpetrator was caught, fortunately for us,
+red-handed, just as he was leaving the house of his last victim, for in
+Liverpool the murder was committed in a house. I myself saw the unhappy
+man&mdash;I say unhappy, for there is no doubt at all that he was
+mad&rdquo;&mdash;he hesitated, and added in a lower tone&mdash;&ldquo;suffering
+from an acute form of religious mania. I myself saw him, as I say, at some
+length. But now comes the really interesting point. I have just been informed
+that a month ago this criminal lunatic, as we must of course regard him, made
+his escape from the asylum where he was confined. He arranged the whole thing
+with extraordinary cunning and intelligence, and we should probably have caught
+him long ago, were it not that he managed, when on his way out of the place, to
+annex a considerable sum of money in gold, with which the wages of the asylum
+staff were about to be paid. It is owing to that fact that his escape was, very
+wrongly, concealed&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped abruptly, as if sorry he had said so much, and a moment later the
+party were walking in Indian file through the turnstile, Sir John Burney
+leading the way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting looked straight before her. She felt&mdash;so she expressed it to
+her husband later&mdash;as if she had been turned to stone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even had she wished to do so, she had neither the time nor the power to warn
+her lodger of his danger, for Daisy and her companion were now coming down the
+room, bearing straight for the Commissioner of Police. In another moment Mrs.
+Bunting&rsquo;s lodger and Sir John Burney were face to face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth swerved to one side; there came a terrible change over his pale,
+narrow face; it became discomposed, livid with rage and terror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, to Mrs. Bunting&rsquo;s relief&mdash;yes, to her inexpressible
+relief&mdash;Sir John Burney and his friends swept on. They passed Mr. Sleuth
+and the girl by his side, unaware, or so it seemed to her, that there was
+anyone else in the room but themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hurry up, Mrs. Bunting,&rdquo; said the turnstile-keeper; &ldquo;you and
+your friends will have the place all to yourselves for a bit.&rdquo; From an
+official he had become a man, and it was the man in Mr. Hopkins that gallantly
+addressed pretty Daisy Bunting: &ldquo;It seems strange that a young lady like
+you should want to go in and see all those &rsquo;orrible frights,&rdquo; he
+said jestingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Bunting, may I trouble you to come over here for a moment?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words were hissed rather than spoken by Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His landlady took a doubtful step towards him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A last word with you, Mrs. Bunting.&rdquo; The lodger&rsquo;s face was
+still distorted with fear and passion. &ldquo;Do not think to escape the
+consequences of your hideous treachery. I trusted you, Mrs. Bunting, and you
+betrayed me! But I am protected by a higher power, for I still have much to
+do.&rdquo; Then, his voice sinking to a whisper, he hissed out &ldquo;Your end
+will be bitter as wormwood and sharp as a two-edged sword. Your feet shall go
+down to death, and your steps take hold on hell.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even while Mr. Sleuth was muttering these strange, dreadful words, he was
+looking round, glancing this way and that, seeking a way of escape.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last his eyes became fixed on a small placard placed above a curtain.
+&ldquo;Emergency Exit&rdquo; was written there. Mrs. Bunting thought he was
+going to make a dash for the place; but Mr. Sleuth did something very
+different. Leaving his landlady&rsquo;s side, he walked over to the turnstile,
+he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and then touched the man on the arm.
+&ldquo;I feel ill,&rdquo; he said, speaking very rapidly; &ldquo;very ill
+indeed! It is the atmosphere of this place. I want you to let me out by the
+quickest way. It would be a pity for me to faint here&mdash;especially with
+ladies about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His left hand shot out and placed what he had been fumbling for in his pocket
+on the other&rsquo;s bare palm. &ldquo;I see there&rsquo;s an emergency exit
+over there. Would it be possible for me to get out that way?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, yes, sir; I think so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man hesitated; he felt a slight, a very sight, feeling of misgiving. He
+looked at Daisy, flushed and smiling, happy and unconcerned, and then at Mrs.
+Bunting. She was very pale; but surely her lodger&rsquo;s sudden seizure was
+enough to make her feel worried. Hopkins felt the half-sovereign pleasantly
+tickling his palm. The Paris Prefect of Police had given him only
+half-a-crown&mdash;mean, shabby foreigner!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir; I can let you out that way,&rdquo; he said at last, &ldquo;and
+p&rsquo;raps when you&rsquo;re standing out in the air, on the iron balcony,
+you&rsquo;ll feel better. But then, you know, sir, you&rsquo;ll have to come
+round to the front if you wants to come in again, for those emergency doors
+only open outward.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth hurriedly. &ldquo;I quite understand!
+If I feel better I&rsquo;ll come in by the front way, and pay another
+shilling&mdash;that&rsquo;s only fair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t do that if you&rsquo;ll just explain what happened
+here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man went and pulled the curtain aside, and put his shoulder against the
+door. It burst open, and the light, for a moment, blinded Mr. Sleuth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He passed his hand over his eyes. &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; he muttered,
+&ldquo;thank you. I shall get all right out there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An iron stairway led down into a small stable yard, of which the door opened
+into a side street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Sleuth looked round once more; he really did feel very ill&mdash;ill and
+dazed. How pleasant it would be to take a flying leap over the balcony railing
+and find rest, eternal rest, below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But no&mdash;he thrust the thought, the temptation, from him. Again a
+convulsive look of rage came over his face. He had remembered his landlady. How
+could the woman whom he had treated so generously have betrayed him to his
+arch-enemy?&mdash;to the official, that is, who had entered into a conspiracy
+years ago to have him confined&mdash;him, an absolutely sane man with a great
+avenging work to do in the world&mdash;in a lunatic asylum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stepped out into the open air, and the curtain, falling-to behind him,
+blotted out the tall, thin figure from the little group of people who had
+watched him disappear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even Daisy felt a little scared. &ldquo;He did look bad, didn&rsquo;t he,
+now?&rdquo; she turned appealingly to Mr. Hopkins.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that he did, poor gentleman&mdash;your lodger, too?&rdquo; he
+looked sympathetically at Mrs. Bunting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She moistened her lips with her tongue. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she repeated dully,
+&ldquo;my lodger.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2>
+
+<p>
+In vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughter to step
+through into the Chamber of Horrors. &ldquo;I think we ought to go straight
+home,&rdquo; said Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s landlady decidedly. And Daisy meekly
+assented. Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared by the lodger&rsquo;s
+sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling of hers was induced by the
+look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on her stepmother&rsquo;s face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got home it was
+Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been taken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose he&rsquo;ll be long before he comes home,&rdquo;
+said Bunting heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. She
+looked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that there was
+something wrong&mdash;very wrong indeed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisy knew there
+was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About six o&rsquo;clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas in Mr.
+Sleuth&rsquo;s sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance. Somehow
+everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay her Bible and his
+Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly as he had left them, when he
+had come downstairs and suggested that ill-starred expedition to his
+landlord&rsquo;s daughter. She took a few steps forward, listening the while
+anxiously for the familiar sound of the click in the door which would tell her
+that the lodger had come back, and then she went over to the window and looked
+out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless, friendless, and,
+as she suspected with a pang, with but very little money on him!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger&rsquo;s bedroom and opened the
+drawer of the looking-glass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns. If only he had taken his
+money out with him! She wondered painfully whether he had enough on his person
+to secure a good night&rsquo;s lodging, and then suddenly she remembered that
+which brought relief to her mind. The lodger had given something to that
+Hopkins fellow&mdash;either a sovereign or half a sovereign, she wasn&rsquo;t
+sure which.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The memory of Mr. Sleuth&rsquo;s cruel words to her, of his threat, did not
+disturb her overmuch. It had been a mistake&mdash;all a mistake. Far from
+betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him&mdash;kept his awful secret as she
+could not have kept it had she known, or even dimly suspected, the horrible
+fact with which Sir John Burney&rsquo;s words had made her acquainted; namely,
+that Mr. Sleuth was victim of no temporary aberration, but that he was, and had
+been for years, a madman, a homicidal maniac.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her ears there still rang the Frenchman&rsquo;s half careless yet confident
+question, &ldquo;De Leipsic and Liverpool man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room, and taking a
+black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid the leaves of the Bible. Then
+she opened the Book, and looked at the page the pin had marked:&mdash; </p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . . There is none
+to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up my curtains.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she opened
+the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her stepmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go down and start getting the lodger&rsquo;s supper ready for
+you,&rdquo; said the girl good-naturedly. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s certain to come in
+when he gets hungry. But he did look upset, didn&rsquo;t he, Ellen? Right down
+bad&mdash;that he did!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy to go
+down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Sleuth won&rsquo;t never come back no more,&rdquo; she said
+sombrely, and then she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change
+which came over her husband&rsquo;s face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief,
+of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add,
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s to say, I don&rsquo;t suppose he will.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting&rsquo;s face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look, the
+look it had worn the last few days, returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What makes you think he mayn&rsquo;t come back?&rdquo; he muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Too long to tell you now,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Wait till the
+child&rsquo;s gone to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where she now slept
+with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her husband to follow her
+upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on the door. And
+about this they had a few sharp whispered words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re never going to shut him out?&rdquo; she expostulated
+angrily, beneath her breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhaps
+walking in any minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Sleuth won&rsquo;t hurt Daisy, bless you! Much more likely to hurt
+me,&rdquo; and she gave a half sob.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bunting stared at her. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; he said roughly.
+&ldquo;Come upstairs and tell me what you mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, in what had been the lodger&rsquo;s sitting-room, Mrs. Bunting told
+her husband exactly what it was that had happened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He listened in heavy silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you see,&rdquo; she said at last, &ldquo;you see, Bunting, that
+&rsquo;twas me that was right after all. The lodger was never responsible for
+his actions. I never thought he was, for my part.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly. &ldquo;Depends on what you call
+responsible&mdash;&rdquo; he began argumentatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she would have none of that. &ldquo;I heard the gentleman say myself that
+he was a lunatic,&rdquo; she said fiercely. And then, dropping her voice,
+&ldquo;A religious maniac&mdash;that&rsquo;s what he called him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, he never seemed so to me,&rdquo; said Bunting stoutly. &ldquo;He
+simply seemed to me &rsquo;centric&mdash;that&rsquo;s all he did. Not a bit
+madder than many I could tell you of.&rdquo; He was walking round the room
+restlessly, but he stopped short at last. &ldquo;And what d&rsquo;you think we
+ought to do now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think we ought to
+do nothing,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Why should we?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashion that
+irritated her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where he would
+get it! And his money, too? I hate to feel it&rsquo;s in there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you make any mistake&mdash;he&rsquo;ll come back for
+that,&rdquo; said Bunting, with decision.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head. She knew better. &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;you go off up to bed. It&rsquo;s no use us sitting up any longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting acquiesced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She ran down and got him a bedroom candle&mdash;there was no gas in the little
+back bedroom upstairs. And then she watched him go slowly up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he turned and came down again. &ldquo;Ellen,&rdquo; he said, in an
+urgent whisper, &ldquo;if I was you I&rsquo;d take the chain off the door, and
+I&rsquo;d lock myself in&mdash;that&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;m going to do. Then he
+can sneak in and take his dirty money away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting neither nodded nor shook her head. Slowly she went downstairs, and
+there she carried out half of Bunting&rsquo;s advice. She took, that is, the
+chain off the front door. But she did not go to bed, neither did she lock
+herself in. She sat up all night, waiting. At half-past seven she made herself
+a cup of tea, and then she went into her bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy opened her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Ellen,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I suppose I was that tired, and
+slept so sound, that I never heard you come to bed or get up&mdash;funny,
+wasn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Young people don&rsquo;t sleep as light as do old folks,&rdquo; Mrs.
+Bunting said sententiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did the lodger come in after all? I suppose he&rsquo;s upstairs
+now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head. &ldquo;It looks as if &rsquo;twould be a fine day
+for you down at Richmond,&rdquo; she observed in a kindly tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Daisy smiled, a very happy, confident little smile.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+That evening Mrs. Bunting forced herself to tell young Chandler that their
+lodger had, so to speak, disappeared. She and Bunting had thought carefully
+over what they would say, and so well did they carry out their programme, or,
+what is more likely, so full was young Chandler of the long happy day he and
+Daisy had spent together, that he took their news very calmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone away, has he?&rdquo; he observed casually. &ldquo;Well, I hope he
+paid up all right?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes, yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunting hastily. &ldquo;No trouble of
+that sort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Bunting said shamefacedly, &ldquo;Aye, aye, the lodger was quite an honest
+gentleman, Joe. But I feel worried, about him. He was such a poor, gentle
+chap&mdash;not the sort o&rsquo; man one likes to think of as wandering about
+by himself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You always said he was &rsquo;centric,&rdquo; said Joe thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, he was that,&rdquo; said Bunting slowly. &ldquo;Regular right-down
+queer. Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch,&rdquo; and, as he tapped his
+head significantly, both young people burst out laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you like a description of him circulated?&rdquo; asked Joe
+good-naturedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t think so. Not yet awhile at any rate. &rsquo;Twould
+upset him awfully, you see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Joe acquiesced. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d be surprised at the number o&rsquo;
+people who disappears and are never heard of again,&rdquo; he said cheerfully.
+And then he got up, very reluctantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into the passage,
+and shut the sitting-room door behind her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting in his easy
+chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round his neck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she bent down her head. &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+a bit of news for you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, my dear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Father, I&rsquo;m engaged! Aren&rsquo;t you surprised?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what do <i>you</i> think?&rdquo; said Bunting fondly. Then he turned
+round and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;ll Old Aunt say, I wonder?&rdquo; he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you worry about Old Aunt,&rdquo; exclaimed his wife
+suddenly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll manage Old Aunt! I&rsquo;ll go down and see her.
+She and I have always got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well,
+Daisy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Daisy a little wonderingly. &ldquo;I know you have,
+Ellen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many nights had
+gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click of the lock which she at
+once hoped and feared would herald her lodger&rsquo;s return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the &ldquo;Avenger&rdquo;
+murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when a gardener,
+working in the Regent&rsquo;s Park, found a newspaper in which was wrapped,
+together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes, a long, peculiarly shaped
+knife. The fact, though of considerable interest to the police, was not
+chronicled in any newspaper, but about the same time a picturesque little
+paragraph went the round of the press concerning a small boxful of sovereigns
+which had been anonymously forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling
+Hospital.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about &ldquo;Old
+Aunt,&rdquo; and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in
+a more philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her to do. She
+only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolks leave a house in
+charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure to follow&mdash;a remark which
+Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an old lady, by whom they
+are feared as well as respected, and whom they make very comfortable.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LODGER ***</div>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lodger
+
+Author: Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+Release Date: March 13, 2005 [EBook #2014]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LODGER ***
+
+
+
+
+This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.
+
+
+
+
+The Lodger
+
+by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+
+
+
+"Lover and friend hast thou put far from me,
+and mine acquaintance into darkness."
+    PSALM lxxxviii. 18
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+Robert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning,
+carefully-banked-up fire.
+
+The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house
+standing in a grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare,
+was exceptionally clean and well-cared-for. A casual stranger,
+more particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly
+opening the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr.
+and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of
+comfortable married life. Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep
+leather arm-chair, was clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance
+what he had been for many years of his life--a self-respecting
+man-servant.
+
+On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed
+chair, the marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they
+were there all the same--in her neat black stuff dress, and in
+her scrupulously clean, plain collar and cuffs. Mrs. Bunting, as
+a single woman, had been what is known as a useful maid.
+
+But peculiarly true of average English life is the time-worn
+English proverb as to appearances being deceitful. Mr. and Mrs.
+Bunting were sitting in a very nice room and in their time--how
+long ago it now seemed!--both husband and wife had been proud of
+their carefully chosen belongings. Everything in the room was
+strong and substantial, and each article of furniture had been
+bought at a well-conducted auction held in a private house.
+
+Thus the red damask curtains which now shut out the fog-laden,
+drizzling atmosphere of the Marylebone Road, had cost a mere song,
+and yet they might have been warranted to last another thirty years.
+A great bargain also had been the excellent Axminster carpet which
+covered the floor; as, again, the arm-chair in which Bunting now sat
+forward, staring into the dull, small fire. In fact, that arm-chair
+had been an extravagance of Mrs. Bunting. She had wanted her husband
+to be comfortable after the day's work was done, and she had paid
+thirty-seven shillings for the chair. Only yesterday Bunting had
+tried to find a purchaser for it, but the man who had come to look at
+it, guessing their cruel necessities, had only offered them twelve
+shillings and sixpence for it; so for the present they were keeping
+their arm-chair.
+
+But man and woman want something more than mere material comfort,
+much as that is valued by the Buntings of this world. So, on the
+walls of the sitting-room, hung neatly framed if now rather faded
+photographs--photographs of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's various former
+employers, and of the pretty country houses in which they had
+separately lived during the long years they had spent in a not
+unhappy servitude.
+
+But appearances were not only deceitful, they were more than
+usually deceitful with regard to these unfortunate people. In
+spite of their good furniture--that substantial outward sign of
+respectability which is the last thing which wise folk who fall
+into trouble try to dispose of--they were almost at the end of
+their tether. Already they had learnt to go hungry, and they were
+beginning to learn to go cold. Tobacco, the last thing the sober
+man foregoes among his comforts, had been given up some time ago
+by Bunting. And even Mrs. Bunting--prim, prudent, careful woman
+as she was in her way--had realised what this must mean to him.
+So well, indeed, had she understood that some days back she had
+crept out and bought him a packet of Virginia.
+
+Bunting had been touched--touched as he had not been for years by
+any woman's thought and love for him. Painful tears had forced
+themselves into his eyes, and husband and wife had both felt in
+their odd, unemotional way, moved to the heart.
+
+Fortunately he never guessed--how could he have guessed, with his
+slow, normal, rather dull mind?--that his poor Ellen had since
+more than once bitterly regretted that fourpence-ha'penny, for they
+were now very near the soundless depths which divide those who dwell
+on the safe tableland of security--those, that is, who are sure of
+making a respectable, if not a happy, living--and the submerged
+multitude who, through some lack in themselves, or owing to the
+conditions under which our strange civilisation has become organised,
+struggle rudderless till they die in workhouse, hospital, or prison.
+
+Had the Buntings been in a class lower than their own, had they
+belonged to the great company of human beings technically known to
+so many of us as the poor, there would have been friendly neighbours
+ready to help them, and the same would have been the case had they
+belonged to the class of smug, well-meaning, if unimaginative, folk
+whom they had spent so much of their lives in serving.
+
+There was only one person in the world who might possibly be brought
+to help them. That was an aunt of Bunting's first wife. With this
+woman, the widow of a man who had been well-to-do, lived Daisy,
+Bunting's only child by his first wife, and during the last long two
+days he had been trying to make up his mind to write to the old lady,
+and that though he suspected that she would almost certainly retort
+with a cruel, sharp rebuff.
+
+As to their few acquaintances, former fellow-servants, and so on,
+they had gradually fallen out of touch with them. There was but
+one friend who often came to see them in their deep trouble. This
+was a young fellow named Chandler, under whose grandfather Bunting
+had been footman years and years ago. Joe Chandler had never gone
+into service; he was attached to the police; in fact not to put too
+fine a point upon it, young Chandler was a detective.
+
+When they had first taken the house which had brought them, so they
+both thought, such bad luck, Bunting had encouraged the young chap
+to come often, for his tales were well worth listening to--quite
+exciting at times. But now poor Bunting didn't want to hear that
+sort of stories--stories of people being cleverly "nabbed," or
+stupidly allowed to escape the fate they always, from Chandler's
+point of view, richly deserved.
+
+But Joe still came very faithfully once or twice a week, so timing
+his calls that neither host nor hostess need press food upon him
+--nay, more, he had done that which showed him to have a good and
+feeling heart. He had offered his father's old acquaintance a loan,
+and Bunting, at last, had taken 30s. Very little of that money
+now remained: Bunting still could jingle a few coppers in his pocket;
+and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.; that and the rent they would have to
+pay in five weeks, was all they had left. Everything of the light,
+portable sort that would fetch money had been sold. Mrs. Bunting
+had a fierce horror of the pawnshop. She had never put her feet in
+such a place, and she declared she never would--she would rather
+starve first.
+
+But she had said nothing when there had occurred the gradual
+disappearance of various little possessions she knew that Bunting
+valued, notably of the old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been
+given to him after the death of his first master, a master he had
+nursed faithfully and kindly through a long and terrible illness.
+There had also vanished a twisted gold tie-pin, and a large mourning
+ring, both gifts of former employers.
+
+When people are living near that deep pit which divides the secure
+from the insecure--when they see themselves creeping closer and
+closer to its dread edge--they are apt, however loquacious by
+nature, to fall into long silences. Bunting had always been a
+talker, but now he talked no more. Neither did Mrs. Bunting, but
+then she had always been a silent woman, and that was perhaps one
+reason why Bunting had felt drawn to her from the very first moment
+he had seen her.
+
+It had fallen out in this way. A lady had just engaged him as
+butler, and he had been shown, by the man whose place he was to
+take, into the dining-room. There, to use his own expression, he
+had discovered Ellen Green, carefully pouring out the glass of port
+wine which her then mistress always drank at 11.30 every morning.
+And as he, the new butler, had seen her engaged in this task, as he
+had watched her carefully stopper the decanter and put it back into
+the old wine-cooler, he had said to himself, "That is the woman for
+me!"
+
+But now her stillness, her--her dumbness, had got on the
+unfortunate man's nerves. He no longer felt like going into the
+various little shops, close by, patronised by him in more prosperous
+days, and Mrs. Bunting also went afield to make the slender purchases
+which still had to be made every day or two, if they were to be
+saved from actually starving to death.
+
+Suddenly, across the stillness of the dark November evening there
+came the muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting
+outside--boys crying the late afternoon editions of the evening
+papers.
+
+Bunting turned uneasily in his chair. The giving up of a daily
+paper had been, after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation. And
+the paper was an older habit than the tobacco, for servants are
+great readers of newspapers.
+
+As the shouts came through the closed windows and the thick damask
+curtains, Bunting felt a sudden sense of mind hunger fall upon him.
+
+It was a shame--a damned shame--that he shouldn't know what was
+happening in the world outside! Only criminals are kept from hearing
+news of what is going on beyond their prison walls. And those
+shouts, those hoarse, sharp cries must portend that something really
+exciting had happened, something warranted to make a man forget for
+the moment his own intimate, gnawing troubles.
+
+He got up, and going towards the nearest window strained his ears to
+listen. There fell on them, emerging now and again from the confused
+babel of hoarse shouts, the one clear word "Murder!"
+
+Slowly Bunting's brain pieced the loud, indistinct cries into some
+sort of connected order. Yes, that was it--"Horrible Murder!
+Murder at St. Pancras!" Bunting remembered vaguely another murder
+which had been committed near St. Pancras--that of an old lady by
+her servant-maid. It had happened a great many years ago, but was
+still vividly remembered, as of special and natural interest, among
+the class to which he had belonged.
+
+The newsboys--for there were more than one of them, a rather unusual
+thing in the Marylebone Road--were coming nearer and nearer; now
+they had adopted another cry, but he could not quite catch what they
+were crying. They were still shouting hoarsely, excitedly, but he
+could only hear a word or two now and then. Suddenly "The Avenger!
+The Avenger at his work again!" broke on his ear.
+
+During the last fortnight four very curious and brutal murders had
+been committed in London and within a comparatively small area.
+
+The first had aroused no special interest--even the second had only
+been awarded, in the paper Bunting was still then taking in, quite a
+small paragraph.
+
+Then had come the third--and with that a wave of keen excitement,
+for pinned to the dress of the victim--a drunken woman--had been
+found a three-cornered piece of paper, on which was written, in red
+ink, and in printed characters, the words,
+
+"THE AVENGER"
+
+It was then realised, not only by those whose business it is to
+investigate such terrible happenings, but also by the vast world
+of men and women who take an intelligent interest in such sinister
+mysteries, that the same miscreant had committed all three crimes;
+and before that extraordinary fact had had time to soak well into
+the public mind there took place yet another murder, and again the
+murderer had been to special pains to make it clear that some
+obscure and terrible lust for vengeance possessed him.
+
+Now everyone was talking of The Avenger and his crimes! Even the
+man who left their ha'porth of milk at the door each morning had
+spoken to Bunting about them that very day.
+
+******
+
+Bunting came back to the fire and looked down at his wife with mild
+excitement. Then, seeing her pale, apathetic face, her look of
+weary, mournful absorption, a wave of irritation swept through him.
+He felt he could have shaken her!
+
+Ellen had hardly taken the trouble to listen when he, Bunting, had
+come back to bed that morning, and told her what the milkman had
+said. In fact, she had been quite nasty about it, intimating that
+she didn't like hearing about such horrid things.
+
+It was a curious fact that though Mrs. Bunting enjoyed tales of
+pathos and sentiment, and would listen with frigid amusement to
+the details of a breach of promise action, she shrank from stories
+of immorality or of physical violence. In the old, happy days,
+when they could afford to buy a paper, aye, and more than one paper
+daily, Bunting had often had to choke down his interest in some
+exciting "case" or "mystery" which was affording him pleasant mental
+relaxation, because any allusion to it sharply angered Ellen.
+
+But now he was at once too dull and too miserable to care how she
+felt.
+
+Walking away from the window he took a slow, uncertain step towards
+the door; when there he turned half round, and there came over his
+close-shaven, round face the rather sly, pleading look with which
+a child about to do something naughty glances at its parent.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting remained quite still; her thin, narrow shoulders
+just showed above the back of the chair on which she was sitting,
+bolt upright, staring before her as if into vacancy.
+
+Bunting turned round, opened the door, and quickly he went out into
+the dark hall--they had given up lighting the gas there some time
+ago--and opened the front door.
+
+Walking down the small flagged path outside, he flung open the iron
+gate which gave on to the damp pavement. But there he hesitated.
+The coppers in his pocket seemed to have shrunk in number, and he
+remembered ruefully how far Ellen could make even four pennies go.
+
+Then a boy ran up to him with a sheaf of evening papers, and Bunting,
+being sorely tempted--fell. "Give me a Sun," he said roughly, "Sun
+or Echo!"
+
+But the boy, scarcely stopping to take breath, shook his head. "Only
+penny papers left," he gasped. "What'll yer 'ave, sir?"
+
+With an eagerness which was mingled with shame, Bunting drew a penny
+out of his pocket and took a paper--it was the Evening Standard--
+from the boy's hand.
+
+Then, very slowly, he shut the gate and walked back through the raw,
+cold air, up the flagged path, shivering yet full of eager, joyful
+anticipation.
+
+Thanks to that penny he had just spent so recklessly he would pass
+a happy hour, taken, for once, out of his anxious, despondent,
+miserable self. It irritated him shrewdly to know that these moments
+of respite from carking care would not be shared with his poor wife,
+with careworn, troubled Ellen.
+
+A hot wave of unease, almost of remorse, swept over Bunting. Ellen
+would never have spent that penny on herself--he knew that well
+enough--and if it hadn't been so cold, so foggy, so--so drizzly,
+he would have gone out again through the gate and stood under the
+street lamp to take his pleasure. He dreaded with a nervous dread
+the glance of Ellen's cold, reproving light-blue eye. That glance
+would tell him that he had had no business to waste a penny on a
+paper, and that well he knew it!
+
+Suddenly the door in front of him opened, and he beard a familiar
+voice saying crossly, yet anxiously, "What on earth are you doing
+out there, Bunting? Come in--do! You'll catch your death of cold!
+I don't want to have you ill on my hands as well as everything else!"
+Mrs. Bunting rarely uttered so many words at once nowadays.
+
+He walked in through the front door of his cheerless house. "I
+went out to get a paper," he said sullenly.
+
+After all, he was master. He had as much right to spend the money
+as she had; for the matter of that the money on which they were now
+both living had been lent, nay, pressed on him--not on Ellen--by
+that decent young chap, Joe Chandler. And he, Bunting, had done
+all he could; he had pawned everything he could pawn, while Ellen,
+so he resentfully noticed, still wore her wedding ring.
+
+He stepped past her heavily, and though she said nothing, he knew
+she grudged him his coming joy. Then, full of rage with her and
+contempt for himself, and giving himself the luxury of a mild, a
+very mild, oath--Ellen had very early made it clear she would
+have no swearing in her presence--he lit the hall gas full-flare.
+
+"How can we hope to get lodgers if they can't even see the card?"
+he shouted angrily.
+
+And there was truth in what he said, for now that he had lit the
+gas, the oblong card, though not the word "Apartments" printed on
+it, could be plainly seen out-lined against the old-fashioned
+fanlight above the front door.
+
+Bunting went into the sitting-room, silently followed by his wife,
+and then, sitting down in his nice arm-chair, he poked the little
+banked-up fire. It was the first time Bunting had poked the fire
+for many a long day, and this exertion of marital authority made
+him feel better. A man has to assert himself sometimes, and he,
+Bunting, had not asserted himself enough lately.
+
+A little colour came into Mrs. Bunting's pale face. She was not
+used to be flouted in this way. For Bunting, when not thoroughly
+upset, was the mildest of men.
+
+She began moving about the room, flicking off an imperceptible
+touch of dust here, straightening a piece of furniture there.
+
+But her hands trembled--they trembled with excitement, with
+self-pity, with anger. A penny? It was dreadful--dreadful to
+have to worry about a penny! But they had come to the point when
+one has to worry about pennies. Strange that her husband didn't
+realise that.
+
+Bunting looked round once or twice; he would have liked to ask Ellen
+to leave off fidgeting, but he was fond of peace, and perhaps, by
+now, a little bit ashamed of himself, so he refrained from remark,
+and she soon gave over what irritated him of her own accord.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting did not come and sit down as her husband would have
+liked her to do. The sight of him, absorbed in his paper as he was,
+irritated her, and made her long to get away from him. Opening the
+door which separated the sitting-room from the bedroom behind, and
+--shutting out the aggravating vision of Bunting sitting comfortably
+by the now brightly burning fire, with the Evening Standard spread
+out before him--she sat down in the cold darkness, and pressed her
+hands against her temples.
+
+Never, never had she felt so hopeless, so--so broken as now. Where
+was the good of having been an upright, conscientious, self-respecting
+woman all her life long, if it only led to this utter, degrading
+poverty and wretchedness? She and Bunting were just past the age
+which gentlefolk think proper in a married couple seeking to enter
+service together, unless, that is, the wife happens to be a professed
+cook. A cook and a butler can always get a nice situation. But Mrs.
+Bunting was no cook. She could do all right the simple things any
+lodger she might get would require, but that was all.
+
+Lodgers? How foolish she had been to think of taking lodgers! For
+it had been her doing. Bunting had been like butter in her hands.
+
+Yet they had begun well, with a lodging-house in a seaside place.
+There they had prospered, not as they had hoped to do, but still
+pretty well; and then had come an epidemic of scarlet fever, and
+that had meant ruin for them, and for dozens, nay, hundreds, of
+other luckless people. Then had followed a business experiment
+which had proved even more disastrous, and which had left them in
+debt--in debt to an extent they could never hope to repay, to a
+good-natured former employer.
+
+After that, instead of going back to service, as they might have
+done, perhaps, either together or separately, they had made up
+their minds to make one last effort, and they had taken over, with
+the trifle of money that remained to them, the lease of this house
+in the Marylebone Road.
+
+In former days, when they had each been leading the sheltered,
+impersonal, and, above all, financially easy existence which is
+the compensation life offers to those men and women who deliberately
+take upon themselves the yoke of domestic service, they had both
+lived in houses overlooking Regent's Park. It had seemed a wise
+plan to settle in the same neighbourhood, the more so that Bunting,
+who had a good appearance, had retained the kind of connection
+which enables a man to get a job now and again as waiter at private
+parties.
+
+But life moves quickly, jaggedly, for people like the Buntings.
+Two of his former masters had moved to another part of London, and
+a caterer in Baker Street whom he had known went bankrupt.
+
+And now? Well, just now Bunting could not have taken a job had
+one been offered him, for he had pawned his dress clothes. He had
+not asked his wife's permission to do this, as so good a husband
+ought to have done. He had just gone out and done it. And she had
+not had the heart to say anything; nay, it was with part of the
+money that he had handed her silently the evening he did it that
+she had bought that last packet of tobacco.
+
+And then, as Mrs. Bunting sat there thinking these painful thoughts,
+there suddenly came to the front door the sound of a loud, tremulous,
+uncertain double knock.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Mr. Bunting jumped nervously to her feet. She stood for a moment
+listening in the darkness, a darkness made the blacker by the line
+of light under the door behind which sat Bunting reading his paper.
+
+And then it came again, that loud, tremulous, uncertain double
+knock; not a knock, so the listener told herself, that boded any
+good. Would-be lodgers gave sharp, quick, bold, confident raps.
+No; this must be some kind of beggar. The queerest people came at
+all hours, and asked--whining or threatening--for money.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had had some sinister experiences with men and women
+--especially women--drawn from that nameless, mysterious class
+made up of the human flotsam and jetsam which drifts about every
+great city. But since she had taken to leaving the gas in the
+passage unlit at night she had been very little troubled with that
+kind of visitors, those human bats which are attracted by any kind
+of light but leave alone those who live in darkness.
+
+She opened the door of the sitting-room. It was Bunting's place
+to go to the front door, but she knew far better than he did how
+to deal with difficult or obtrusive callers. Still, somehow, she
+would have liked him to go to-night. But Bunting sat on, absorbed
+in his newspaper; all he did at the sound of the bedroom door
+opening was to look up and say, "Didn't you hear a knock?"
+
+Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
+
+Slowly she opened the front door.
+
+On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stood
+the long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an
+old-fashioned top hat. He waited for a few seconds blinking at her,
+perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage. Mrs.
+Bunting's trained perception told her at once that this man, odd as
+he looked, was a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class with
+whom her former employment had brought her in contact.
+
+"Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?" he asked, and there was
+something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
+
+"Yes, sir," she said uncertainly--it was a long, long time since
+anyone had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they
+could think of taking into their respectable house.
+
+Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger
+walked past her, and so into the hall.
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held a
+narrow bag in his left hand. It was quite a new bag, made of strong
+brown leather.
+
+"I am looking for some quiet rooms," he said; then he repeated the
+words, "quiet rooms," in a dreamy, absent way, and as he uttered
+them he looked nervously round him.
+
+Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had been carefully
+furnished, and was very clean.
+
+There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the stranger's weary
+feet fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red drugget, which
+matched in colour the flock-paper on the walls.
+
+A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a superior
+lodging-house keeper.
+
+"You'd find my rooms quite quiet, sir," she said gently. "And just
+now I have four to let. The house is empty, save for my husband
+and me, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice. It seemed too
+good to be true, this sudden coming of a possible lodger, and of a
+lodger who spoke in the pleasant, courteous way and voice which
+recalled to the poor woman her happy, far-off days of youth and
+of security.
+
+"That sounds very suitable," he said. "Four rooms? Well, perhaps
+I ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should like to see
+all four before I make my choice."
+
+How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit the
+gas! But for that circumstance this gentleman would have passed
+them by.
+
+She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitation
+that the front door was still open; and it was the stranger whom
+she already in her mind described as "the lodger," who turned and
+rather quickly walked down the passage and shut it.
+
+"Oh, thank you, sir!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry you should have
+had the trouble."
+
+For a moment their eyes met. "It's not safe to leave a front door
+open in London," he said, rather sharply. "I hope you do not often
+do that. It would be so easy for anyone to slip in."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had still spoken
+courteously, but he was evidently very much put out.
+
+"I assure you, sir, I never leave my front door open," she answered
+hastily. "You needn't be at all afraid of that!"
+
+And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came the
+sound of Bunting coughing--it was just a little, hard cough, but
+Mrs. Bunting's future lodger started violently.
+
+"Who's that?" he said, putting out a hand and clutching her arm.
+"Whatever was that?"
+
+"Only my husband, sir. He went out to buy a paper a few minutes
+ago, and the cold just caught him, I suppose."
+
+"Your husband--?" he looked at her intently, suspiciously. "What
+--what, may I ask, is your husband's occupation?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting drew herself up. The question as to Bunting's
+occupation was no one's business but theirs. Still, it wouldn't do
+for her to show offence. "He goes out waiting," she said stiffly.
+"He was a gentleman's servant, sir. He could, of course, valet you
+should you require him to do so."
+
+And then she turned and led the way up the steep, narrow staircase.
+
+At the top of the first flight of stairs was what Mrs. Bunting, to
+herself, called the drawing-room floor. It consisted of a
+sitting-room in front, and a bedroom behind. She opened the door
+of the sitting-room and quickly lit the chandelier.
+
+This front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps a little
+over-encumbered with furniture. Covering the floor was a green
+carpet simulating moss; four chairs were placed round the table
+which occupied the exact middle of the apartment, and in the
+corner, opposite the door giving on to the landing, was a roomy,
+old-fashioned chiffonnier.
+
+On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight engravings, portraits
+of early Victorian belles, clad in lace and tarletan ball dresses,
+clipped from an old Book of Beauty. Mrs. Bunting was very fond of
+these pictures; she thought they gave the drawing-room a note of
+elegance and refinement.
+
+As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad, glad indeed, that
+she had summoned up sufficient energy, two days ago, to give the
+room a thorough turn-out.
+
+It had remained for a long time in the state in which it had been
+left by its last dishonest, dirty occupants when they had been
+scared into going away by Bunting's rough threats of the police.
+But now it was in apple-pie order, with one paramount exception,
+of which Mrs. Bunting was painfully aware. There were no white
+curtains to the windows, but that omission could soon be remedied
+if this gentleman really took the lodgings.
+
+But what was this--? The stranger was looking round him rather
+dubiously. "This is rather--rather too grand for me," he said at
+last "I should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er--"
+
+"--Bunting," she said softly. "Bunting, sir."
+
+And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again came down and
+settled on her sad, burdened heart. Perhaps she had been mistaken,
+after all--or rather, she had not been mistaken in one sense, but
+perhaps this gentleman was a poor gentleman--too poor, that is, to
+afford the rent of more than one room, say eight or ten shillings
+a week; eight or ten shillings a week would be very little use to
+her and Bunting, though better than nothing at all.
+
+"Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?"
+
+"No," he said, "no. I think I should like to see what you have
+farther up the house, Mrs.--," and then, as if making a prodigious
+mental effort, he brought out her name, "Bunting," with a kind of
+gasp.
+
+The two top rooms were, of course, immediately above the
+drawing-room floor. But they looked poor and mean, owing to the fact
+that they were bare of any kind of ornament. Very little trouble had
+been taken over their arrangement; in fact, they had been left in much
+the same condition as that in which the Buntings had found them.
+
+For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a nice, genteel
+sitting-room out of an apartment of which the principal features
+are a sink and a big gas stove. The gas stove, of an obsolete
+pattern, was fed by a tiresome, shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+It had been the property of the people from whom the Buntings had
+taken over the lease of the house, who, knowing it to be of no
+monetary value, had thrown it in among the humble fittings they
+had left behind.
+
+What furniture there was in the room was substantial and clean, as
+everything belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be, but it was a
+bare, uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady now felt sorry
+that she had done nothing to make it appear more attractive.
+
+To her surprise, however, her companion's dark, sensitive,
+hatchet-shaped face became irradiated with satisfaction. "Capital!
+Capital!" he exclaimed, for the first time putting down the bag he
+held at his feet, and rubbing his long, thin hands together with a
+quick, nervous movement.
+
+"This is just what I have been looking for." He walked with long,
+eager strides towards the gas stove. "First-rate--quite first-rate!
+Exactly what I wanted to find! You must understand, Mrs.--er--
+Bunting, that I am a man of science. I make, that is, all sorts of
+experiments, and I often require the--ah, well, the presence of
+great heat."
+
+He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a little, towards the
+stove. "This, too, will be useful--exceedingly useful, to me," and
+he touched the edge of the stone sink with a lingering, caressing
+touch.
+
+He threw his head back and passed his hand over his high, bare
+forehead; then, moving towards a chair, he sat down--wearily.
+"I'm tired," he muttered in a low voice, "tired--tired! I've been
+walking about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find nothing to sit
+down upon. They do not put benches for tired men in the London
+streets. They do so on the Continent. In some ways they are far
+more humane on the Continent than they are in England, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Indeed, sir," she said civilly; and then, after a nervous glance,
+she asked the question of which the answer would mean so much to her,
+"Then you mean to take my rooms, sir?"
+
+"This room, certainly," he said, looking round. "This room is
+exactly what I have been looking for, and longing for, the last
+few days;" and then hastily he added, "I mean this kind of place
+is what I have always wanted to possess, Mrs. Bunting. You would
+be surprised if you knew how difficult it is to get anything of
+the sort. But now my weary search has ended, and that is a relief
+--a very, very great relief to me!"
+
+He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy, abstracted air. And
+then, "Where's my bag?" he asked suddenly, and there came a note of
+sharp, angry fear in his voice. He glared at the quiet woman
+standing before him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting felt a tremor of
+fright shoot through her. It seemed a pity that Bunting was so far
+away, right down the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has always been a
+perquisite, as it were the special luxury, of the well-born and of
+the well-educated. Scholars, as she well knew, are never quite like
+other people, and her new lodger was undoubtedly a scholar. "Surely
+I had a bag when I came in?" he said in a scared, troubled voice.
+
+"Here it is, sir," she said soothingly, and, stooping, picked it
+up and handed it to him. And as she did so she noticed that the
+bag was not at all heavy; it was evidently by no means full.
+
+He took it eagerly from her. "I beg your pardon," he muttered.
+"But there is something in that bag which is very precious to me
+--something I procured with infinite difficulty, and which I could
+never get again without running into great danger, Mrs. Bunting.
+That must be the excuse for my late agitation."
+
+"About terms, sir?" she said a little timidly, returning to the
+subject which meant so much, so very much to her.
+
+"About terms?" he echoed. And then there came a pause. "My name
+is Sleuth," he said suddenly,--"S-l-e-u-t-h. Think of a hound,
+Mrs. Bunting, and you'll never forget my name. I could provide you
+with a reference--" (he gave her what she described to herself as
+a funny, sideways look), "but I should prefer you to dispense with
+that, if you don't mind. I am quite willing to pay you--well, shall
+we say a month in advance?"
+
+A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting's cheeks. She felt sick with
+relief--nay, with a joy which was almost pain. She had not known
+till that moment how hungry she was--how eager for--a good meal.
+"That would be all right, sir," she murmured.
+
+"And what are you going to charge me?" There had come a kindly,
+almost a friendly note into his voice. "With attendance, mind! I
+shall expect you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask if
+you can cook, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir," she said. "I am a plain cook. What would you say
+to twenty-five shillings a week, sir?" She looked at him
+deprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on falteringly,
+"You see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would have the best
+of attendance and careful cooking--and my husband, sir--he would
+be pleased to valet you."
+
+"I shouldn't want anything of that sort done for me," said Mr.
+Sleuth hastily. "I prefer looking after my own clothes. I am used
+to waiting on myself. But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike to
+sharing lodgings--"
+
+She interrupted eagerly, "I could let you have the use of the two
+floors for the same price--that is, until we get another lodger.
+I shouldn't like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir. It's
+such a poor little room. You could do as you say, sir--do your work
+and your experiments up here, and then have your meals in the
+drawing-room."
+
+"Yes," he said hesitatingly, "that sounds a good plan. And if I
+offered you two pounds, or two guineas? Might I then rely on your
+not taking another lodger?"
+
+"Yes," she said quietly. "I'd be very glad only to have you to
+wait on, sir."
+
+"I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting?
+I don't like to be disturbed while I'm working."
+
+He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, "I suppose
+you have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir, there's a key--a very nice little key. The people
+who lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door."
+She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a round
+disk had been fitted above the old keyhole.
+
+He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if
+absorbed in thought, "Forty-two shillings a week? Yes, that will
+suit me perfectly. And I'll begin now by paying my first month's
+rent in advance. Now, four times forty-two shillings is"--he
+jerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for the first
+time he smiled, a queer, wry smile--"why, just eight pounds eight
+shillings, Mrs. Bunting!"
+
+He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his long
+cape-like coat and took out a handful of sovereigns. Then he began
+putting these down in a row on the bare wooden table which stood in
+the centre of the room. "Here's five--six--seven--eight--nine
+--ten pounds. You'd better keep the odd change, Mrs. Bunting,
+for I shall want you to do some shopping for me to-morrow morning.
+I met with a misfortune to-day." But the new lodger did not speak
+as if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on his spirits.
+
+"Indeed, sir. I'm sorry to hear that." Mrs. Bunting's heart was
+going thump--thump--thump. She felt extraordinarily moved, dizzy
+with relief and joy.
+
+"Yes, a very great misfortune! I lost my luggage, the few things
+I managed to bring away with me." His voice dropped suddenly. "I
+shouldn't have said that," he muttered. "I was a fool to say that!"
+Then, more loudly, "Someone said to me, 'You can't go into a
+lodging-house without any luggage. They wouldn't take you in.' But
+you have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I'm grateful for--for the
+kind way you have met me--" He looked at her feelingly, appealingly,
+and Mrs. Bunting was touched. She was beginning to feel very kindly
+towards her new lodger.
+
+"I hope I know a gentleman when I see one," she said, with a break
+in her staid voice.
+
+"I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs. Bunting."
+Again he looked at her appealingly.
+
+"I expect you'd like to wash your hands now, sir. And would you tell
+me what you'd like for supper? We haven't much in the house."
+
+"Oh, anything'll do," he said hastily. "I don't want you to go out
+for me. It's a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting. If you have a
+little bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite satisfied."
+
+"I have a nice sausage," she said hesitatingly.
+
+It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morning
+for Bunting's supper; as to herself, she had been going to content
+herself with a little bread and cheese. But now--wonderful, almost,
+intoxicating thought--she could send Bunting out to get anything
+they both liked. The ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfort
+and good cheer.
+
+"A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never touch flesh
+meat," he said; "it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage,
+Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Is it indeed, sir?" She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly,
+"And will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?"
+
+A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth's
+pale face.
+
+"Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting.
+I had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer--"
+
+"So I am, sir, lifelong. And so's Bunting been since we married."
+She might have said, had she been a woman given to make such
+confidences, that she had made Bunting abstain very early in their
+acquaintance. That he had given in about that had been the thing
+that first made her believe, that he was sincere in all the nonsense
+that he talked to her, in those far-away days of his courting. Glad
+she was now that he had taken the pledge as a younger man; but for
+that nothing would have kept him from the drink during the bad times
+they had gone through.
+
+And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth the nice bedroom
+which opened out of the drawing-room. It was a replica of Mrs.
+Bunting's own room just underneath, excepting that everything up
+here had cost just a little more, and was therefore rather better
+in quality.
+
+The new lodger looked round him with such a strange expression of
+content and peace stealing over his worn face. "A haven of rest,"
+he muttered; and then, "'He bringeth them to their desired haven.'
+Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled. It was the first time anyone
+had quoted the Bible to her for many a long day. But it seemed to
+set the seal, as it were, on Mr. Sleuth's respectability.
+
+What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal with only one
+lodger, and that a gentleman, instead of with a married couple!
+Very peculiar married couples had drifted in and out of Mr. and
+Mrs. Bunting's lodgings, not only here, in London, but at the
+seaside.
+
+How unlucky they had been, to be sure! Since they had come to
+London not a single pair of lodgers had been even moderately
+respectable and kindly. The last lot had belonged to that horrible
+underworld of men and women who, having, as the phrase goes, seen
+better days, now only keep their heads above water with the help of
+petty fraud.
+
+"I'll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir, and some clean
+towels," she said, going to the door.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round. "Mrs. Bunting"--and as
+he spoke he stammered a little--"I--I don't want you to interpret
+the word attendance too liberally. You need not run yourself off
+your feet for me. I'm accustomed to look after myself."
+
+And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself dismissed--even a
+little snubbed. "All right, sir," she said. "I'll only just let
+you know when I've your supper ready."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+But what was a little snub compared with the intense relief and joy
+of going down and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortune
+which had fallen their way?
+
+Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down the steep stairs.
+In the hall, however, she pulled herself together, and tried to still
+her agitation. She had always disliked and despised any show of
+emotion; she called such betrayal of feeling "making a fuss."
+
+Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood for a moment
+looking at her husband's bent back, and she realised, with a pang
+of pain, how the last few weeks had aged him.
+
+Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife, stood up. He
+put the paper he had been holding down on to the table: "Well," he
+said, "well, who was it, then?"
+
+He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who ought to have
+answered the door and done all that parleying of which he had heard
+murmurs.
+
+And then in a moment his wife's hand shot out, and the ten sovereigns
+fell in a little clinking heap on the table.
+
+"Look there!" she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in her
+voice. "Look there, Bunting!"
+
+And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.
+
+He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusion
+that his wife had just had in a furniture dealer, and that this
+ten pounds represented all their nice furniture upstairs. If that
+were so, then it was the beginning of the end. That furniture in
+the first-floor front had cost--Ellen had reminded him of the fact
+bitterly only yesterday--seventeen pounds nine shillings, and
+every single item had been a bargain. It was too bad that she had
+only got ten pounds for it.
+
+Yet he hadn't the heart to reproach her.
+
+He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting that
+troubled, rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thought
+had happened.
+
+"We've a new lodger!" she cried. "And--and, Bunting? He's quite
+the gentleman! He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, at
+two guineas a week."
+
+"No, never!"
+
+Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there,
+fascinated by the little heap of gold. "But there's ten sovereigns
+here," he said suddenly.
+
+"Yes, the gentleman said I'd have to buy some things for him
+to-morrow. And, oh, Bunting, he's so well spoken, I really felt
+that--I really felt that--" and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a step
+or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron over
+her face burst into gasping sobs.
+
+Bunting patted her back timidly. "Ellen?" he said, much moved by her
+agitation, "Ellen? Don't take on so, my dear--"
+
+"I won't," she sobbed, "I--I won't! I'm a fool--I know I am!
+But, oh, I didn't think we was ever going to have any luck again!"
+
+And then she told him--or rather tried to tell him--what the
+lodger was like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing
+she did impress on her husband's mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was
+eccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric--that is, in a
+harmless way--and that he must be humoured.
+
+"He says he doesn't want to be waited on much," she said at last
+wiping her eyes, "but I can see he will want a good bit of looking
+after, all the same, poor gentleman."
+
+And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound
+of a loud ring. It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled
+again and again.
+
+Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. "I think I'd better go up, eh,
+Ellen?" he said. He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger.
+For the matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something
+again.
+
+"Yes," she answered, "you go up! Don't keep him waiting! I wonder
+what it is he wants? I said I'd let him know when his supper was
+ready."
+
+A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an odd smile on
+his face. "Whatever d'you think he wanted?" he whispered
+mysteriously. And as she said nothing, he went on, "He's asked me
+for the loan of a Bible!"
+
+"Well, I don't see anything so out of the way in that," she said
+hastily, "'specially if he don't feel well. I'll take it up to him."
+
+And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows,
+Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her
+as a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she had
+lived for several years.
+
+"He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper," said
+Bunting; and, then, "Ellen? He's a queer-looking cove--not like
+any gentleman I ever had to do with."
+
+"He is a gentleman," said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.
+
+"Oh, yes, that's all right." But still he looked at her doubtfully.
+"I asked him if he'd like me to just put away his clothes. But,
+Ellen, he said he hadn't got any clothes!"
+
+"No more he hasn't;" she spoke quickly, defensively. "He had the
+misfortune to lose his luggage. He's one dishonest folk 'ud take
+advantage of."
+
+"Yes, one can see that with half an eye," Bunting agreed.
+
+And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Bunting
+put down on a little bit of paper the things she wanted her husband
+to go out and buy for her. She handed him the list, together with
+a sovereign. "Be as quick as you can," she said, "for I feel a bit
+hungry. I'll be going down now to see about Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+He only wants a glass of milk and two eggs. I'm glad I've never
+fallen to bad eggs!"
+
+"Sleuth," echoed Bunting, staring at her. "What a queer name!
+How d'you spell it--S-l-u-t-h?"
+
+"No," she shot out, "S-l-e--u--t--h."
+
+"Oh," he said doubtfully.
+
+"He said, 'Think of a hound and you'll never forget my name,'"
+and Mrs. Bunting smiled.
+
+When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: "We'll now be able
+to pay young Chandler back some o' that thirty shillings. I am
+glad." She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.
+
+And then each went about his and her business--Bunting out into
+the drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.
+
+The lodger's tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and
+daintily arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.
+
+Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly
+remembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible. Putting the tray down
+in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book;
+but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it
+was worth while to make two journeys. But, no, she thought she
+could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and
+taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.
+
+But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped
+the tray. She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy
+thud to the ground.
+
+The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the
+early Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud,
+with their faces to the wall!
+
+For a moment she was really too surprised to speak. Putting the
+tray down on the table, she stooped and picked up the Book. It
+troubled her that the Book should have fallen to the ground; but
+really she hadn't been able to help it--it was mercy that the
+tray hadn't fallen, too.
+
+Mr. Sleuth got up. "I--I have taken the liberty to arrange the
+room as I should wish it to be," he said awkwardly. "You see,
+Mrs.--er--Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these women's eyes
+followed me about. It was a most unpleasant sensation, and gave
+me quite an eerie feeling."
+
+The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of the
+table. She made no answer to her lodger's remark, for the good
+reason that she did not know what to say.
+
+Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After what seemed a
+long pause, he spoke again.
+
+"I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting," he spoke with some agitation.
+"As a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls about
+me for a long time." And then, at last his landlady answered him,
+in a composed, soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear.
+"I quite understand, sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall take
+the pictures all down. We have plenty of space in our own rooms
+for them."
+
+"Thank you--thank you very much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.
+
+"And I have brought you up my Bible, sir. I understood you wanted
+the loan of it?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing
+himself, he said, "Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book.
+There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of
+body too--"
+
+"Very true, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what really
+looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut
+the door.
+
+She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for
+Bunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as she
+did so there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident of
+her long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, had
+maided a dear old lady.
+
+The old lady had a favourite nephew--a bright, jolly young gentleman,
+who was learning to paint animals in Paris. And one morning Mr.
+Algernon--that was his rather peculiar Christian name--had had the
+impudence to turn to the wall six beautiful engravings of paintings
+done by the famous Mr. Landseer!
+
+Mrs. Bunting remembered all the circumstances as if they had only
+occurred yesterday, and yet she had not thought of them for years.
+
+It was quite early; she had come down--for in those days maids
+weren't thought so much of as they are now, and she slept with the
+upper housemaid, and it was the upper housemaid's duty to be down
+very early--and, there, in the dining-room, she had found Mr.
+Algernon engaged in turning each engraving to the wall! Now, his
+aunt thought all the world of those pictures, and Ellen had felt
+quite concerned, for it doesn't do for a young gentleman to put
+himself wrong with a kind aunt.
+
+"Oh, sir," she had exclaimed in dismay, "whatever are you doing?"
+And even now she could almost hear his merry voice, as he had
+answered, "I am doing my duty, fair Helen"--he had always called
+her "fair Helen" when no one was listening. "How can I draw ordinary
+animals when I see these half-human monsters staring at me all the
+time I am having my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner?" That was
+what Mr. Algernon had said in his own saucy way, and that was what
+he repeated in a more serious, respectful manner to his aunt, when
+that dear old lady had come downstairs. In fact he had declared,
+quite soberly, that the beautiful animals painted by Mr. Landseer
+put his eye out!
+
+But his aunt had been very much annoyed--in fact, she had made him
+turn the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there he
+just had to put up with what he called "those half-human monsters."
+Mrs. Bunting, sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth's
+odd behaviour over, was glad to recall that funny incident of her
+long-gone youth. It seemed to prove that her new lodger was not so
+strange as he appeared to be. Still, when Bunting came in, she did
+not tell him the queer thing which had happened. She told herself
+that she would be quite able to manage the taking down of the
+pictures in the drawing-room herself.
+
+But before getting ready their own supper, Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+went upstairs to clear away, and when on the staircase she heard the
+sound of--was it talking, in the drawing-room? Startled, she
+waited a moment on the landing outside the drawing-room door, then
+she realised that it was only the lodger reading aloud to himself.
+There was something very awful in the words which rose and fell on
+her listening ears:
+
+"A strange woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth in wait as for
+a prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men."
+
+She remained where she was, her hand on the handle of the door,
+and again there broke on her shrinking ears that curious, high,
+sing-song voice, "Her house is the way to hell, going down to
+the chambers of death."
+
+It made the listener feel quite queer. But at last she summoned up
+courage, knocked, and walked in.
+
+"I'd better clear away, sir, had I not?" she said. And Mr. Sleuth
+nodded.
+
+Then he got up and closed the Book. "I think I'll go to bed now,"
+he said. "I am very, very tired. I've had a long and a very
+weary day, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+After he had disappeared into the back room, Mrs. Bunting climbed
+up on a chair and unhooked the pictures which had so offended Mr.
+Sleuth. Each left an unsightly mark on the wall--but that, after
+all, could not be helped.
+
+Treading softly, so that Bunting should not hear her, she carried
+them down, two by two, and stood them behind her bed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Mrs. Bunting woke up the next morning feeling happier than she had
+felt for a very, very long time.
+
+For just one moment she could not think why she felt so different
+--and then she suddenly remembered.
+
+How comfortable it was to know that upstairs, just over her head,
+lay, in the well-found bed she had bought with such satisfaction at
+an auction held in a Baker Street house, a lodger who was paying two
+guineas a week! Something seemed to tell her that Mr. Sleuth would
+be "a permanency." In any case, it wouldn't be her fault if he
+wasn't. As to his--his queerness, well, there's always something
+funny in everybody. But after she had got up, and as the morning
+wore itself away, Mrs. Bunting grew a little anxious, for there
+came no sound at all from the new lodger's rooms. At twelve,
+however, the drawing-room bell rang. Mrs. Bunting hurried upstairs.
+She was painfully anxious to please and satisfy Mr. Sleuth. His
+coming had only been in the nick of time to save them from terrible
+disaster.
+
+She found her lodger up, and fully dressed. He was sitting at the
+round table which occupied the middle of the sitting-room, and his
+landlady's large Bible lay open before him.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting came in, he looked up, and she was troubled to see
+how tired and worn he seemed.
+
+"You did not happen," he asked, "to have a Concordance, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She shook her head; she had no idea what a Concordance could be,
+but she was quite sure that she had nothing of the sort about.
+
+And then her new lodger proceeded to tell her what it was he
+desired her to buy for him. She had supposed the bag he had
+brought with him to contain certain little necessaries of
+civilised life--such articles, for instance, as a comb and brush,
+a set of razors, a toothbrush, to say nothing of a couple of
+nightshirts--but no, that was evidently not so, for Mr. Sleuth
+required all these things to be bought now.
+
+After having cooked him a nice breakfast Mrs. Bunting hurried
+out to purchase the things of which he was in urgent need.
+
+How pleasant it was to feel that there was money in her purse
+again--not only someone else's money, but money she was now in
+the very act of earning so agreeably.
+
+Mrs. Bunting first made her way to a little barber's shop close by.
+It was there she purchased the brush and comb and the razors. It
+was a funny, rather smelly little place, and she hurried as much as
+she could, the more so that the foreigner who served her insisted
+on telling her some of the strange, peculiar details of this
+Avenger murder which had taken place forty-eight hours before, and
+in which Bunting took such a morbid interest.
+
+The conversation upset Mrs. Bunting. She didn't want to think of
+anything painful or disagreeable on such a day as this.
+
+Then she came back and showed the lodger her various purchases. Mr.
+Sleuth was pleased with everything, and thanked her most courteously.
+But when she suggested doing his bedroom he frowned, and looked
+quite put out.
+
+"Please wait till this evening," he said hastily. "It is my custom
+to stay at home all day. I only care to walk about the streets when
+the lights are lit. You must bear with me, Mrs. Bunting, if I seem
+a little, just a little, unlike the lodgers you have been accustomed
+to. And I must ask you to understand that I must not be disturbed
+when thinking out my problems--" He broke off short, sighed, then
+added solemnly, "for mine are the great problems of life and death."
+
+And Mrs. Bunting willingly fell in with his wishes. In spite of her
+prim manner and love of order, Mr. Sleuth's landlady was a true woman
+--she had, that is, an infinite patience with masculine vagaries
+and oddities.
+
+
+When she was downstairs again, Mr. Sleuth's landlady met with a
+surprise; but it was quite a pleasant surprise. While she had
+been upstairs, talking to the lodger, Bunting's young friend, Joe
+Chandler, the detective, had come in, and as she walked into the
+sitting-room she saw that her husband was pushing half a sovereign
+across the table towards Joe.
+
+Joe Chandler's fair, good-natured face was full of satisfaction:
+not at seeing his money again, mark you, but at the news Bunting
+had evidently been telling him--that news of the sudden wonderful
+change in their fortunes, the coming of an ideal lodger.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't want me to do his bedroom till he's gone out!"
+she exclaimed. And then she sat down for a bit of a rest.
+
+It was a comfort to know that the lodger was eating his good
+breakfast, and there was no need to think of him for the present.
+In a few minutes she would be going down to make her own and
+Bunting's dinner, and she told Joe Chandler that he might as well
+stop and have a bite with them.
+
+Her heart warmed to the young man, for Mrs. Bunting was in a mood
+which seldom surprised her--a mood to be pleased with anything
+and everything. Nay, more. When Bunting began to ask Joe Chandler
+about the last of those awful Avenger murders, she even listened
+with a certain languid interest to all he had to say.
+
+In the morning paper which Bunting had begun taking again that
+very day three columns were devoted to the extraordinary mystery
+which was now beginning to be the one topic of talk all over London,
+West and East, North and South. Bunting had read out little bits
+about it while they ate their breakfast, and in spite of herself
+Mrs. Bunting had felt thrilled and excited.
+
+"They do say," observed Bunting cautiously, "They do say, Joe, that
+the police have a clue they won't say nothing about?" He looked
+expectantly at his visitor. To Bunting the fact that Chandler was
+attached to the detective section of the Metropolitan Police
+invested the young man with a kind of sinister glory--especially
+just now, when these awful and mysterious crimes were amazing and
+terrifying the town.
+
+"Them who says that says wrong," answered Chandler slowly, and a
+look of unease, of resentment came over his fair, stolid face.
+"'Twould make a good bit of difference to me if the Yard had a clue."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting interposed. "Why that, Joe?" she said,
+smiling indulgently; the young man's keenness about his work pleased
+her. And in his slow, sure way Joe Chandler was very keen, and took
+his job very seriously. He put his whole heart and mind into it.
+
+"Well, 'tis this way," he explained. "From to-day I'm on this
+business myself. You see, Mrs. Bunting, the Yard's nettled--that's
+what it is, and we're all on our mettle--that we are. I was right
+down sorry for the poor chap who was on point duty in the street
+where the last one happened--"
+
+"No!" said Bunting incredulously. "You don't mean there was a
+policeman there, within a few yards?"
+
+That fact hadn't been recorded in his newspaper.
+
+Chandler nodded. "That's exactly what I do mean, Mr. Bunting! The
+man is near off his head, so I'm told. He did hear a yell, so he
+says, but he took no notice--there are a good few yells in that
+part o' London, as you can guess. People always quarrelling and
+rowing at one another in such low parts."
+
+"Have you seen the bits of grey paper on which the monster writes
+his name?" inquired Bunting eagerly.
+
+Public imagination had been much stirred by the account of those
+three-cornered pieces of grey paper, pinned to the victims' skirts,
+on which was roughly written in red ink and in printed characters
+the words "The Avenger."
+
+His round, fat face was full of questioning eagerness. He put his
+elbows on the table, and stared across expectantly at the young man.
+
+"Yes, I have," said Joe briefly.
+
+"A funny kind of visiting card, eh!" Bunting laughed; the notion
+struck him as downright comic.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting coloured. "It isn't a thing to make a joke about,"
+she said reprovingly.
+
+And Chandler backed her up. "No, indeed," he said feelingly. "I'll
+never forget what I've been made to see over this job. And as for
+that grey bit of paper, Mr. Bunting--or, rather, those grey bits of
+paper"--he corrected himself hastily--"you know they've three of
+them now at the Yard--well, they gives me the horrors!"
+
+And then he jumped up. "That reminds me that I oughtn't to be
+wasting my time in pleasant company--"
+
+"Won't you stay and have a bit of dinner?" said Mrs. Bunting
+solicitously.
+
+But the detective shook his head. "No," he said, "I had a bite
+before I came out. Our job's a queer kind of job, as you know. A
+lot's left to our discretion, so to speak, but it don't leave us
+much time for lazing about, I can tell you."
+
+When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate
+carelessness he inquired, "Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London
+again soon?"
+
+Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened. He was very, very
+fond of his only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom. "No,"
+he said, "I'm afraid not Joe. Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady,
+keeps Daisy pretty tightly tied to her apron-string. She was quite
+put about that week the child was up with us last June."
+
+"Indeed? Well, so long!"
+
+After his wife had let their friend out, Bunting said cheerfully,
+"Joe seems to like our Daisy, eh, Ellen?"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head scornfully. She did not exactly
+dislike the girl, though she did not hold with the way Bunting's
+daughter was being managed by that old aunt of hers--an idle,
+good-for-nothing way, very different from the fashion in which
+she herself had been trained at the Foundling, for Mrs. Bunting
+as a little child had known no other home, no other family than
+those provided by good Captain Coram.
+
+"Joe Chandler's too sensible a young chap to be thinking of girls
+yet awhile," she said tartly.
+
+"No doubt you're right," Bunting agreed. "Times be changed. In my
+young days chaps always had time for that. 'Twas just a notion that
+came into my head, hearing him asking, anxious-like, after her."
+
+******
+
+About five o'clock, after the street lamps were well alight, Mr.
+Sleuth went out, and that same evening there came two parcels
+addressed to his landlady. These parcels contained clothes. But
+it was quite clear to Mrs. Bunting's eyes that they were not new
+clothes. In fact, they had evidently been bought in some good
+second-hand clothes-shop. A funny thing for a real gentleman like
+Mr. Sleuth to do! It proved that he had given up all hope of
+getting back his lost luggage.
+
+When the lodger had gone out he had not taken his bag with him, of
+that Mrs. Bunting was positive. And yet, though she searched high
+and low for it, she could not find the place where Mr. Sleuth kept
+it. And at last, had it not been that she was a very clear-headed
+woman, with a good memory, she would have been disposed to think
+that the bag had never existed, save in her imagination.
+
+But no, she could not tell herself that! She remembered exactly
+how it had looked when Mr. Sleuth had first stood, a strange,
+queer-looking figure of a man, on her doorstep.
+
+She further remembered how he had put the bag down on the floor of
+the top front room, and then, forgetting what he had done, how he
+had asked her eagerly, in a tone of angry fear, where the bag was
+--only to find it safely lodged at his feet!
+
+As time went on Mrs. Bunting thought a great deal about that bag,
+for, strange and amazing fact, she never saw Mr. Sleuth's bag again.
+But, of course, she soon formed a theory as to its whereabouts.
+The brown leather bag which had formed Mr. Sleuth's only luggage
+the afternoon of his arrival was almost certainly locked up in the
+lower part of the drawing-room chiffonnier. Mr. Sleuth evidently
+always carried the key of the little corner cupboard about his
+person; Mrs. Bunting had also had a good hunt for that key, but,
+as was the case with the bag, the key disappeared, and she never
+saw either the one or the other again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next few
+days. Already life was settling down into a groove. Waiting on
+Mr. Sleuth was just what Mrs. Bunting could manage to do easily,
+and without tiring herself.
+
+It had at once become clear that the lodger preferred to be waited
+on only by one person, and that person his landlady. He gave her
+very little trouble. Indeed, it did her good having to wait on the
+lodger; it even did her good that he was not like other gentlemen;
+for the fact occupied her mind, and in a way it amused her. The
+more so that whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of those
+tiresome, disagreeable ways with which landladies are only too
+familiar, and which seem peculiar only to those human beings who
+also happen to be lodgers. To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth did
+not ask to be called unduly early. Bunting and his Ellen had fallen
+into the way of lying rather late in the morning, and it was a great
+comfort not to have to turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea at
+seven, or even half-past seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything
+before eleven.
+
+But odd he certainly was.
+
+The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought in
+a book of which the queer name was Cruden's Concordance. That and
+the Bible--Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was a
+relation between the two books--seemed to be the lodger's only
+reading. He spent hours each day, generally after he had eaten
+the breakfast which also served for luncheon, poring over the Old
+Testament and over that strange kind of index to the Book.
+
+As for the delicate and yet the all-important question of money,
+Mr. Sleuth was everything--everything that the most exacting
+landlady could have wished. Never had there been a more confiding
+or trusting gentleman. On the very first day he had been with them
+he had allowed his money--the considerable sum of one hundred and
+eighty-four sovereigns--to lie about wrapped up in little pieces
+of rather dirty newspaper on his dressing-table. That had quite
+upset Mrs. Bunting. She had allowed herself respectfully to point
+out to him that what he was doing was foolish, indeed wrong. But
+as only answer he had laughed, and she had been startled when the
+loud, unusual and discordant sound had issued from his thin lips.
+
+"I know those I can trust," he had answered, stuttering rather, as
+was his way when moved. "And--and I assure you, Mrs. Bunting, that
+I hardly have to speak to a human being--especially to a woman"
+(and he had drawn in his breath with a hissing sound) "before I
+know exactly what manner of person is before me."
+
+It hadn't taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodger
+had a queer kind of fear and dislike of women. When she was doing
+the staircase and landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth reading
+aloud to himself passages in the Bible that were very uncomplimentary
+to her sex. But Mrs. Bunting had no very great opinion of her sister
+woman, so that didn't put her out. Besides, where one's lodger is
+concerned, a dislike of women is better than--well, than the other
+thing.
+
+In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about the
+lodger's funny ways? Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric. If he
+hadn't been, as Bunting funnily styled it, "just a leetle touched
+upstairs," he wouldn't be here, living this strange, solitary life
+in lodgings. He would be living in quite a different sort of way
+with some of his relatives, or with a friend of his own class.
+
+There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back--as even the
+least imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of our
+own past lives which becomes for any reason poignantly memorable
+--wondered how soon it was that she had discovered that her
+lodger was given to creeping out of the house at a time when
+almost all living things prefer to sleep.
+
+She brought herself to believe--but I am inclined to doubt whether
+she was right in so believing--that the first time she became aware
+of this strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth's happened to be
+during the night which preceded the day on which she had observed a
+very curious circumstance. This very curious circumstance was the
+complete disappearance of one of Mr. Sleuth's three suits of clothes.
+
+It always passes my comprehension how people can remember, over any
+length of time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that is
+natural enough, but the day, the hour, the minute when these
+happenings took place! Much as she thought about it afterwards,
+even Mrs. Bunting never quite made up her mind whether it was during
+the fifth or the sixth night of Mr. Sleuth's stay under her roof
+that she became aware that he had gone out at two in the morning and
+had only come in at five.
+
+But that there did come such a night is certain--as certain as is
+the fact that her discovery coincided with various occurrences
+which were destined to remain retrospectively memorable.
+
+******
+
+It was intensely dark, intensely quiet--the darkest quietest hour
+of the night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep,
+dreamless sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. She
+knew at once what those sounds were. They were those made by Mr.
+Sleuth, first coming down the stairs, and walking on tiptoe--she
+was sure it was on tiptoe--past her door, and finally softly
+shutting the front door behind him.
+
+Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go to
+sleep again. There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Bunting
+should waken up too, till she heard Mr. Sleuth, three hours later,
+creep back into the house and so up to bed.
+
+Then, and not till then, she slept again. But in the morning she
+felt very tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad when
+Bunting good-naturedly suggested that he should go out and do their
+little bit of marketing.
+
+The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter of
+catering it was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth,
+and that though he always tried to appear pleased. This perfect
+lodger had one serious fault from the point of view of those who
+keep lodgings. Strange to say, he was a vegetarian. He would not
+eat meat in any form. He sometimes, however, condescended to a
+chicken, and when he did so condescend he generously intimated that
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were welcome to a share in it.
+
+Now to-day--this day of which the happenings were to linger in Mrs.
+Bunting's mind so very long, and to remain so very vivid, it had
+been arranged that Mr. Sleuth was to have some fish for his lunch,
+while what he left was to be "done up" to serve for his simple supper.
+
+Knowing that Bunting would be out for at least an hour, for he was
+a gregarious soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops he
+frequented, Mrs. Bunting rose and dressed in a leisurely manner;
+then she went and "did" her front sitting-room.
+
+She felt languid and dull, as one is apt to feel after a broken
+night, and it was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was not
+likely to ring before twelve.
+
+But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through the
+quiet house. She knew it for the front door bell.
+
+Mrs. Bunting frowned. No doubt the ring betokened one of those
+tiresome people who come round for old bottles and such-like
+fal-lals.
+
+She went slowly, reluctantly to the door. And then her face cleared,
+for it was that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waiting
+outside.
+
+He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quickly
+through the moist, foggy air.
+
+"Why, Joe?" said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly. "Come in--do! Bunting's
+out, but he won't be very long now. You've been quite a stranger
+these last few days."
+
+"Well, you know why, Mrs. Bunting--"
+
+She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he could mean. Then,
+suddenly she remembered. Why, of course, Joe was on a big job just
+now--the job of trying to catch The Avenger! Her husband had
+alluded to the fact again and again when reading out to her little
+bits from the halfpenny evening paper he was taking again.
+
+She led the way to the sitting-room. It was a good thing Bunting
+had insisted on lighting the fire before he went out, for now the
+room was nice and warm--and it was just horrible outside. She had
+felt a chill go right through her as she had stood, even for that
+second, at the front door.
+
+And she hadn't been alone to feel it, for, "I say, it is jolly to
+be in here, out of that awful cold!" exclaimed Chandler, sitting
+down heavily in Bunting's easy chair.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting bethought herself that the young man was tired,
+as well as cold. He was pale, almost pallid under his usual healthy,
+tanned complexion--the complexion of the man who lives much out of
+doors.
+
+"Wouldn't you like me just to make you a cup of tea?" she said
+solicitously.
+
+"Well, to tell truth, I should be right down thankful for one, Mrs.
+Bunting!" Then he looked round, and again he said her name, "Mrs.
+Bunting--?"
+
+He spoke in so odd, so thick a tone that she turned quickly. "Yes,
+what is it, Joe?" she asked. And then, in sudden terror, "You've
+never come to tell me that anything's happened to Bunting? He's
+not had an accident?"
+
+"Goodness, no! Whatever made you think that? But--but, Mrs.
+Bunting, there's been another of them!"
+
+His voice dropped almost to a whisper. He was staring at her with
+unhappy, it seemed to her terror-filled, eyes.
+
+"Another of them?" She looked at him, bewildered--at a loss.
+And then what he meant flashed across her--"another of them"
+meant another of these strange, mysterious, awful murders.
+
+But her relief for the moment was so great--for she really had
+thought for a second that he had come to give her ill news of
+Bunting--that the feeling that she did experience on hearing
+this piece of news was actually pleasurable, though she would
+have been much shocked had that fact been brought to her notice.
+
+Almost in spite of herself, Mrs. Bunting had become keenly interested
+in the amazing series of crimes which was occupying the imagination
+of the whole of London's nether-world. Even her refined mind had
+busied itself for the last two or three days with the strange problem
+so frequently presented to it by Bunting--for Bunting, now that they
+were no longer worried, took an open, unashamed, intense interest in
+"The Avenger" and his doings.
+
+She took the kettle off the gas-ring. "It's a pity Bunting isn't
+here," she said, drawing in her breath. "He'd a-liked so much to
+hear you tell all about it, Joe."
+
+As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
+
+But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him. "Why,
+you do look bad!" she exclaimed.
+
+And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad--very bad indeed.
+
+"I can't help it," he said, with a kind of gasp. "It was your
+saying that about my telling you all about it that made me turn
+queer. You see, this time I was one of the first there, and it
+fairly turned me sick--that it did. Oh, it was too awful, Mrs.
+Bunting! Don't talk of it."
+
+He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
+
+She looked at him with sympathetic interest. "Why, Joe," she said,
+"I never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see,
+that anything could upset you like that."
+
+"This isn't like anything there's ever been before," he said. "And
+then--then--oh, Mrs. Bunting, 'twas I that discovered the piece of
+paper this time."
+
+"Then it is true," she cried eagerly. "It is The Avenger's bit of
+paper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in that
+practical joker."
+
+"I did," said Chandler reluctantly. "You see, there are some queer
+fellows even--even--" (he lowered his voice, and looked round him
+as if the walls had ears)--"even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, and
+these murders have fair got on our nerves."
+
+"No, never!" she said. "D'you think that a Bobby might do a thing
+like that?"
+
+He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn't worth answering.
+Then, "It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while
+the poor soul was still warm,"--he shuddered--"that brought me out
+West this morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince
+Albert Terrace, and I had to go and tell him all about it. They
+never offered me a bit or a sup--I think they might have done that,
+don't you, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Yes," she said absently. "Yes, I do think so."
+
+"But, there, I don't know that I ought to say that," went on Chandler.
+"He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like to
+me while I was telling him."
+
+"Have a bit of something now?" she said suddenly.
+
+"Oh, no, I couldn't eat anything," he said hastily. "I don't feel
+as if I could ever eat anything any more."
+
+"That'll only make you ill." Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly,
+for she was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a bite
+out of the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
+
+"I expect you're right," he said. "And I've a goodish heavy day
+in front of me. Been up since four, too--"
+
+"Four?" she said. "Was it then they found--" she hesitated a
+moment, and then said, "it?"
+
+He nodded. "It was just a chance I was near by. If I'd been half
+a minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have
+knocked up against that--that monster. But two or three people
+do think they saw him slinking away."
+
+"What was he like?" she asked curiously.
+
+"Well, that's hard to answer. You see, there was such an awful
+fog. But there's one thing they all agree about. He was carrying
+a bag--"
+
+"A bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice. "Whatever sort of
+bag might it have been, Joe?"
+
+There had come across her--just right in her middle, like--such a
+strange sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.
+
+She was at a loss to account for it.
+
+"Just a hand-bag," said Joe Chandler vaguely. "A woman I spoke to
+--cross-examining her, like--who was positive she had seen him,
+said, 'Just a tall, thin shadow--that's what he was, a tall, thin
+shadow of a man--with a bag.'"
+
+"With a bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently. "How very strange
+and peculiar--"
+
+"Why, no, not strange at all. He has to carry the thing he does
+the deed with in something, Mrs. Bunting. We've always wondered how
+he hid it. They generally throws the knife or fire-arms away, you
+know."
+
+"Do they, indeed?" Mrs. Bunting still spoke in that absent, wondering
+way. She was thinking that she really must try and see what the
+lodger had done with his bag. It was possible--in fact, when one
+came to think of it, it was very probable--that he had just lost
+it, being so forgetful a gentleman, on one of the days he had gone
+out, as she knew he was fond of doing, into the Regent's Park.
+
+"There'll be a description circulated in an hour or two," went on
+Chandler. "Perhaps that'll help catch him. There isn't a London
+man or woman, I don't suppose, who wouldn't give a good bit to lay
+that chap by the heels. Well, I suppose I must be going now."
+
+"Won't you wait a bit longer for Bunting?" she said hesitatingly.
+
+"No, I can't do that. But I'll come in, maybe, either this evening
+or to-morrow, and tell you any more that's happened. Thanks kindly
+for the tea. It's made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Well, you've had enough to unman you, Joe."
+
+"Aye, that I have," he said heavily.
+
+A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife had
+quite a little tiff--the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuth
+became their lodger.
+
+It fell out this way. When he heard who had been there, Bunting
+was angry that Mrs. Bunting hadn't got more details of the horrible
+occurrence which had taken place that morning, out of Chandler.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Ellen, that you can't even tell me where it
+happened?" he said indignantly. "I suppose you put Chandler off
+--that's what you did! Why, whatever did he come here for,
+excepting to tell us all about it?"
+
+"He came to have something to eat and drink," snapped out Mrs.
+Bunting. "That's what the poor lad came for, if you wants to know.
+He could hardly speak of it at all--he felt so bad. In fact, he
+didn't say a word about it until he'd come right into the room and
+sat down. He told me quite enough!"
+
+"Didn't he tell you if the piece of paper on which the murderer had
+written his name was square or three-cornered?" demanded Bunting.
+
+"No; he did not. And that isn't the sort of thing I should have
+cared to ask him."
+
+"The more fool you!" And then he stopped abruptly. The newsboys
+were coming down the Marylebone Road, shouting out the awful
+discovery which had been made that morning--that of The Avenger's
+fifth murder. Bunting went out to buy a paper, and his wife took
+the things he had brought in down to the kitchen.
+
+The noise the newspaper-sellers made outside had evidently wakened
+Mr. Sleuth, for his landlady hadn't been in the kitchen ten minutes
+before his bell rang.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell rang again.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's breakfast was quite ready, but for the first time since
+he had been her lodger Mrs. Bunting did not answer the summons at
+once. But when there came the second imperative tinkle--for
+electric bells had not been fitted into that old-fashioned house--
+she made up her mind to go upstairs.
+
+As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting,
+sitting comfortably in their parlour, heard his wife stepping heavily
+under the load of the well-laden tray.
+
+"Wait a minute!" he called out. "I'll help you, Ellen," and he came
+out and took the tray from her.
+
+She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-room
+floor landing.
+
+There she stopped him. "Here," she whispered quickly, "you give me
+that, Bunting. The lodger won't like your going in to him." And
+then, as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, she
+added in a rather acid tone, "You might open the door for me, at
+any rate! How can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray on
+my hands?"
+
+She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised--rather
+put out. Ellen wasn't exactly what you'd call a lively, jolly woman,
+but when things were going well--as now--she was generally equable
+enough. He supposed she was still resentful of the way he had
+spoken to her about young Chandler and the new Avenger murder.
+
+However, he was always for peace, so he opened the drawing-room door,
+and as soon as he had started going downstairs Mrs. Bunting walked
+into the room.
+
+And then at once there came over her the queerest feeling of relief,
+of lightness of heart.
+
+As usual, the lodger was sitting at his old place, reading the Bible.
+
+Somehow--she could not have told you why, she would not willingly
+have told herself--she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth looking
+different. But no, he appeared to be exactly the same--in fact,
+as he glanced up at her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted up
+his thin, pallid face.
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting," he said genially, "I overslept myself this
+morning, but I feel all the better for the rest."
+
+"I'm glad of that, sir," she answered, in a low voice. "One of the
+ladies I once lived with used to say, 'Rest is an old-fashioned
+remedy, but it's the best remedy of all.'"
+
+Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden's Concordance off
+the table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady
+laying the cloth.
+
+Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in the
+morning. "I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you
+outside the door just now?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Bunting helped me up with the tray."
+
+"I'm afraid I give you a good deal of trouble," he said hesitatingly.
+
+But she answered quickly, "Oh, no, sir! Not at all, sir! I was
+only saying yesterday that we've never had a lodger that gave us as
+little trouble as you do, sir."
+
+"I'm glad of that. I am aware that my habits are somewhat peculiar."
+
+He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of
+denial to this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and
+truthful woman. It never occurred to her to question his statement.
+Mr. Sleuth's habits were somewhat peculiar. Take that going out at
+night, or rather in the early morning, for instance? So she remained
+silent.
+
+After she had laid the lodger's breakfast on the table she prepared
+to leave the room. "I suppose I'm not to do your room till you goes
+out, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply. "No, no!" he said. "I never
+want my room done when I am engaged in studying the Scriptures, Mrs.
+Bunting. But I am not going out to-day. I shall be carrying out a
+somewhat elaborate experiment--upstairs. If I go out at all" he
+waited a moment, and again he looked at her fixedly "--I shall wait
+till night-time to do so." And then, coming back to the matter in
+hand, he added hastily, "Perhaps you could do my room when I go
+upstairs, about five o'clock--if that time is convenient to you,
+that is?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir! That'll do nicely!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she did so she took herself
+wordlessly, ruthlessly to task, but she did not face--even in her
+inmost heart--the strange tenors and tremors which had so shaken
+her. She only repeated to herself again and again, "I've got upset
+--that's what I've done," and then she spoke aloud, "I must get
+myself a dose at the chemist's next time I'm out. That's what I
+must do."
+
+And just as she murmured the word "do," there came a loud double
+knock on the front door.
+
+It was only the postman's knock, but the postman was an unfamiliar
+visitor in that house, and Mrs. Bunting started violently. She was
+nervous, that's what was the matter with her,--so she told herself
+angrily. No doubt this was a letter for Mr. Sleuth; the lodger must
+have relations and acquaintances somewhere in the world. All
+gentlefolk have. But when she picked the small envelope off the
+hall floor, she saw it was a letter from Daisy, her husband's daughter.
+
+"Bunting!" she called out sharply. "Here's a letter for you."
+
+She opened the door of their sitting-room and looked in. Yes, there
+was her husband, sitting back comfortably in his easy chair, reading
+a paper. And as she saw his broad, rather rounded back, Mrs. Bunting
+felt a sudden thrill of sharp irritation. There he was, doing
+nothing--in fact, doing worse than nothing--wasting his time
+reading all about those horrid crimes.
+
+She sighed--a long, unconscious sigh. Bunting was getting into
+idle ways, bad ways for a man of his years. But how could she
+prevent it? He had been such an active, conscientious sort of man
+when they had first made acquaintance. . .
+
+She also could remember, even more clearly than Bunting did himself,
+that first meeting of theirs in the dining-room of No. 90 Cumberland
+Terrace. As she had stood there, pouring out her mistress's glass of
+port wine, she had not been too much absorbed in her task to have a
+good out-of-her-eye look at the spruce, nice, respectable-looking
+fellow who was standing over by the window. How superior he had
+appeared even then to the man she already hoped he would succeed as
+butler!
+
+To-day, perhaps because she was not feeling quite herself, the past
+rose before her very vividly, and a lump came into her throat.
+
+Putting the letter addressed to her husband on the table, she closed
+the door softly, and went down into the kitchen; there were various
+little things to put away and clean up, as well as their dinner to
+cook. And all the time she was down there she fixed her mind
+obstinately, determinedly on Bunting and on the problem of Bunting.
+She wondered what she'd better do to get him into good ways again.
+
+Thanks to Mr. Sleuth, their outlook was now moderately bright. A
+week ago everything had seemed utterly hopeless. It seemed as if
+nothing could save them from disaster. But everything was now
+changed!
+
+Perhaps it would be well for her to go and see the new proprietor
+of that registry office, in Baker Street, which had lately changed
+hands. It would be a good thing for Bunting to get even an
+occasional job--for the matter of that he could now take up a
+fairly regular thing in the way of waiting. Mrs. Bunting knew that
+it isn't easy to get a man out of idle ways once he has acquired
+those ways.
+
+When, at last, she went upstairs again she felt a little ashamed of
+what she had been thinking, for Bunting had laid the cloth, and laid
+it very nicely, too, and brought up the two chairs to the table.
+
+"Ellen?" he cried eagerly, "here's news! Daisy's coming to-morrow!
+There's scarlet fever in their house. Old Aunt thinks she'd better
+come away for a few days. So, you see, she'll be here for her
+birthday. Eighteen, that's what she be on the nineteenth! It do
+make me feel old--that it do!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting put down the tray. "I can't have the girl here just
+now," she said shortly. "I've just as much to do as I can manage.
+The lodger gives me more trouble than you seem to think for."
+
+"Rubbish!" he said sharply. "I'll help you with the lodger. It's
+your own fault you haven't had help with him before. Of course,
+Daisy must come here. Whatever other place could the girl go to?"
+
+Bunting felt pugnacious--so cheerful as to be almost light-hearted.
+But as he looked across at his wife his feeling of satisfaction
+vanished. Ellen's face was pinched and drawn to-day; she looked ill
+--ill and horribly tired. It was very aggravating of her to go and
+behave like this--just when they were beginning to get on nicely
+again.
+
+"For the matter of that," he said suddenly, "Daisy'll be able to help
+you with the work, Ellen, and she'll brisk us both up a bit."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer. She sat down heavily at the table.
+And then she said languidly, "You might as well show me the girl's
+letter."
+
+He handed it across to her, and she read it slowly to herself.
+
+"DEAR FATHER (it ran)--I hope this finds you as well at it leaves
+me. Mrs. Puddle's youngest has got scarlet fever, and Aunt thinks
+I had better come away at once, just to stay with you for a few
+days. Please tell Ellen I won't give her no trouble. I'll start
+at ten if I don't hear nothing.--Your loving daughter,
+
+
+"Yes, I suppose Daisy will have to come here," Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+"It'll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her life."
+
+And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to content
+himself.
+
+******
+
+Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by. When dusk fell Mr.
+Sleuth's landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor. She
+remembered that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
+
+He was a tidy man, was the lodger; he did not throw his things
+about as so many gentlemen do, leaving them all over the place.
+No, he kept everything scrupulously tidy. His clothes, and the
+various articles Mrs. Bunting had bought for him during the first
+two days he had been there, were carefully arranged in the chest
+of drawers. He had lately purchased a pair of boots. Those he
+had arrived in were peculiar-looking footgear, buff leather shoes
+with rubber soles, and he had told his landlady on that very first
+day that he never wished them to go down to be cleaned.
+
+A funny idea--a funny habit that, of going out for a walk after
+midnight in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk were
+glad to be at home, snug in bed. But then Mr. Sleuth himself
+admitted that he was a funny sort of gentleman.
+
+After she had done his bedroom the landlady went into the
+sitting-room and gave it a good dusting. This room was not kept
+quite as nice as she would have liked it to be. Mrs. Bunting
+longed to give the drawing-room something of a good turn out; but
+Mr. Sleuth disliked her to be moving about in it when he himself
+was in his bedroom; and when up he sat there almost all the time.
+Delighted as he had seemed to be with the top room, he only used
+it when making his mysterious experiments, and never during the
+day-time.
+
+And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier with
+longing eyes--she even gave that pretty little piece of furniture
+a slight shake. If only the doors would fly open, as the locked
+doors of old cupboards sometimes do, even after they have been
+securely fastened, how pleased she would be, how much more
+comfortable somehow she would feel!
+
+But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret.
+
+******
+
+About eight o'clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, just
+for a few minutes' chat. He had recovered from his agitation of the
+morning, but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Bunting
+listened in silence, intensely interested in spite of herself, while
+he and Bunting talked.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I'm as right as a trivet now! I've had a good rest
+--laid down all this afternoon. You see, the Yard thinks there's
+going to be something on to-night. He's always done them in pairs."
+
+"So he has," exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. "So he has! Now, I
+never thought o' that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster'll be
+on the job again to-night?"
+
+Chandler nodded. "Yes. And I think there's a very good chance of
+his being caught too--"
+
+"I suppose there'll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?"
+
+"I should think there will be! How many of our men d'you think
+there'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
+
+Bunting shook his head. "I don't know," he said helplessly.
+
+"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice.
+
+"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
+
+"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting."
+
+"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
+
+And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!" incredulously.
+
+"Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!"
+Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. "Just
+listen to this:
+
+"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to
+the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any
+surprise at the information that a popular attack has been organised
+on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is even
+talk of an indignation mass meeting.'
+
+"What d'you think of that? That's not a pleasant thing for a
+gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
+
+"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't catch him, now
+doesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
+
+"I don't think it's queer at all," said young Chandler crossly.
+"Now you just listen again! Here's a bit of the truth for once--
+in a newspaper." And slowly he read out:
+
+"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind
+man's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes
+bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through
+the slums of a great city.'"
+
+"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting. "Your hands aren't tied,
+and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
+
+"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr. Bunting. We haven't
+got the same facilities--no, not a quarter of them--that the
+French 'tecs have."
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: "What was that
+word, Joe--'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit you read out."
+
+"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
+
+"Then do they think there's more than one of them?" she said, and
+a look of relief came over her thin face.
+
+"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said Chandler.
+"They say it can't be the work of one man."
+
+"What do you think, Joe?"
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think. I'm fair puzzled."
+
+He got up. "Don't you come to the door. I'll shut it all right.
+So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps." As he had done the other
+evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door. "Any
+news of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
+
+"Yes; she's coming to-morrow," said her father. "They've got scarlet
+fever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks she'd better clear out."
+
+
+The husband and wife went to bed early that night, but Mrs. Bunting
+found she could not sleep. She lay wide awake, hearing the hours,
+the half-hours, the quarters chime out from the belfry of the old
+church close by.
+
+And then, just as she was dozing off--it must have been about one
+o'clock--she heard the sound she had half unconsciously been
+expecting to hear, that of the lodger's stealthy footsteps coming
+down the stairs just outside her room.
+
+He crept along the passage and let himself out very, very quietly.
+
+But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did not hear him
+come in again, for she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
+
+Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next morning; odder
+still, it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of bed, and going
+out into the passage, picked up the newspaper which had just been
+pushed through the letter-box.
+
+But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go back at once into
+her bedroom. Instead she lit the gas in the passage, and leaning
+up against the wall to steady herself, for she was trembling with
+cold and fatigue, she opened the paper.
+
+Yes, there was the heading she sought:
+
+"The AVENGER Murders"
+
+But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that followed:
+
+"Up to the time of going to press there is little new to report
+concerning the extraordinary series of crimes which are amazing,
+and, indeed, staggering not only London, but the whole civilised
+world, and which would seem to be the work of some woman-hating
+teetotal fanatic. Since yesterday morning, when the last of these
+dastardly murders was committed, no reliable clue to the perpetrator,
+or perpetrators, has been obtained, though several arrests were made
+in the course of the day. In every case, however, those arrested
+were able to prove a satisfactory alibi."
+
+And then, a little lower down:
+
+"The excitement grows and grows. It is not too much to say that
+even a stranger to London would know that something very unusual
+was in the air. As for the place where the murder was committed
+last night--"
+
+"Last night!" thought Mrs. Bunting, startled; and then she realised
+that "last night," in this connection, meant the night before last.
+
+She began the sentence again:
+
+"As for the place where the murder was committed last night, all
+approaches to it were still blocked up to a late hour by hundreds
+of onlookers, though, of course, nothing now remains in the way of
+traces of the tragedy."
+
+Slowly and carefully Mrs. Bunting folded the paper up again in its
+original creases, and then she stooped and put it back down on the
+mat where she had found it. She then turned out the gas, and going
+back into bed she lay down by her still sleeping husband.
+
+"Anything the matter?" Bunting murmured, and stirred uneasily.
+"Anything the matter, Ellen?"
+
+She answered in a whisper, a whisper thrilling with a strange
+gladness, "No, nothing, Bunting--nothing the matter! Go to sleep
+again, my dear."
+
+They got up an hour later, both in a happy, cheerful mood. Bunting
+rejoiced at the thought of his daughter's coming, and even Daisy's
+stepmother told herself that it would be pleasant having the girl
+about the house to help her a bit.
+
+About ten o'clock Bunting went out to do some shopping. He brought
+back with him a nice little bit of pork for Daisy's dinner, and
+three mince-pies. He even remembered to get some apples for the
+sauce.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+Just as twelve was striking a four-wheeler drew up to the gate.
+
+It brought Daisy--pink-cheeked, excited, laughing-eyed Daisy--a
+sight to gladden any father's heart.
+
+"Old Aunt said I was to have a cab if the weather was bad," she
+cried out joyously.
+
+There was a bit of a wrangle over the fare. King's Cross, as all
+the world knows, is nothing like two miles from the Marylebone Road,
+but the man clamoured for one and sixpence, and hinted darkly that
+he had done the young lady a favour in bringing her at all.
+
+While he and Bunting were having words, Daisy, leaving them to it,
+walked up the flagged path to the door where her stepmother was
+awaiting her.
+
+As they were exchanging a rather frigid kiss, indeed, 'twas a mere
+peck on Mrs. Bunting's part, there fell, with startling suddenness,
+loud cries on the still, cold air. Long-drawn and wailing, they
+sounded strangely sad as they rose and fell across the distant roar
+of traffic in the Edgware Road.
+
+"What's that?" exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. "Why, whatever's
+that?"
+
+The cabman lowered his voice. "Them's 'a-crying out that 'orrible
+affair at King's Cross. He's done for two of 'em this time! That's
+what I meant when I said I might 'a got a better fare. I wouldn't
+say nothink before little missy there, but folk 'ave been coming
+from all over London the last five or six hours; plenty of toffs,
+too--but there, there's nothing to see now!"
+
+"What? Another woman murdered last night?"
+
+Bunting felt tremendously thrilled. What had the five thousand
+constables been about to let such a dreadful thing happen?
+
+The cabman stared at him, surprised. "Two of 'em, I tell yer--
+within a few yards of one another. He 'ave--got a nerve--But,
+of course, they was drunk. He are got a down on the drink!"
+
+"Have they caught him?" asked Bunting perfunctorily.
+
+"Lord, no! They'll never catch 'im! It must 'ave happened hours
+and hours ago--they was both stone cold. One each end of a little
+passage what ain't used no more. That's why they didn't find 'em
+before."
+
+The hoarse cries were coming nearer and nearer--two news vendors
+trying to outshout each other.
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross!" they yelled exultingly.
+"The Avenger again!"
+
+And Bunting, with his daughter's large straw hold-all in his hand,
+ran forward into the roadway and recklessly gave a boy a penny for
+a halfpenny paper.
+
+He felt very much moved and excited. Somehow his acquaintance with
+young Joe Chandler made these murders seem a personal affair. He
+hoped that Chandler would come in soon and tell them all about it,
+as he had done yesterday morning when he, Bunting, had unluckily
+been out.
+
+As he walked back into the little hall, he heard Daisy's voice--
+high, voluble, excited--giving her stepmother a long account of
+the scarlet fever case, and how at first Old Aunt's neighbours had
+thought it was not scarlet fever at all, but just nettlerash.
+
+But as Bunting pushed open the door of the sitting-room, there
+came a note of sharp alarm in his daughter's voice, and he heard
+her cry, "Why, Ellen, whatever is the matter? You do look bad!"
+and his wife's muffled answer, "Open the window--do."
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross--a clue at last!" yelled
+the newspaper-boys triumphantly.
+
+And then, helplessly, Mrs. Bunting began to laugh. She laughed,
+and laughed, and laughed, rocking herself to and fro as if in an
+ecstasy of mirth.
+
+"Why, father, whatever's the matter with her?"
+
+Daisy looked quite scared.
+
+"She's in 'sterics--that's what it is," he said shortly.
+"I'll just get the water-jug. Wait a minute!"
+
+Bunting felt very put out. Ellen was ridiculous--that's what she
+was, to be so easily upset.
+
+The lodger's bell suddenly pealed through the quiet house. Either
+that sound, or maybe the threat of the water-jug, had a magical
+effect on Mrs. Bunting. She rose to her feet, still shaking all
+over, but mentally composed.
+
+"I'll go up," she said a little chokingly. "As for you, child,
+just run down into the kitchen. You'll find a piece of pork
+roasting in the oven. You might start paring the apples for the
+sauce."
+
+As Mrs. Bunting went upstairs her legs felt as if they were made
+of cotton wool. She put out a trembling hand, and clutched at the
+banister for support. But soon, making a great effort over herself,
+she began to feel more steady; and after waiting for a few moments
+on the landing, she knocked at the door of the drawing-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's voice answered her from the bedroom. "I'm not well,"
+he called out querulously; "I think I've caught a chill. I should
+be obliged if you would kindly bring me up a cup of tea, and put it
+outside my door, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Very well, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting turned and went downstairs. She still felt queer and
+giddy, so instead of going into the kitchen, she made the lodger his
+cup of tea over her sitting-room gas-ring.
+
+During their midday dinner the husband and wife had a little
+discussion as to where Daisy should sleep. It had been settled
+that a bed should be made up for her in the top back room, but
+Mrs. Bunting saw reason to change this plan. "I think 'twould be
+better if Daisy were to sleep with me, Bunting, and you was to
+sleep upstairs."
+
+Bunting felt and looked rather surprised, but he acquiesced. Ellen
+was probably right; the girl would be rather lonely up there, and,
+after all, they didn't know much about the lodger, though he seemed
+a respectable gentleman enough.
+
+Daisy was a good-natured girl; she liked London, and wanted to make
+herself useful to her stepmother. "I'll wash up; don't you bother to
+come downstairs," she said cheerfully.
+
+Bunting began to walk up and down the room. His wife gave him a
+furtive glance; she wondered what he was thinking about.
+
+"Didn't you get a paper?" she said at last.
+
+"Yes, of course I did," he answered hastily. "But I've put it away.
+I thought you'd rather not look at it, as you're that nervous."
+
+Again she glanced at him quickly, furtively, but he seemed just as
+usual--he evidently meant just what he said and no more.
+
+"I thought they was shouting something in the street--I mean just
+before I was took bad."
+
+It was now Bunting's turn to stare at his wife quickly and rather
+furtively. He had felt sure that her sudden attack of queerness,
+of hysterics--call it what you might--had been due to the shouting
+outside. She was not the only woman in London who had got the
+Avenger murders on her nerves. His morning paper said quite a lot
+of women were afraid to go out alone. Was it possible that the
+curious way she had been taken just now had had nothing to do with
+the shouts and excitement outside?
+
+"Don't you know what it was they were calling out?" he asked slowly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked across at him. She would have given a very
+great deal to be able to lie, to pretend that she did not know what
+those dreadful cries had portended. But when it came to the point
+she found she could not do so.
+
+"Yes," she said dully. "I heard a word here and there. There's
+been another murder, hasn't there?"
+
+"Two other murders," he said soberly.
+
+"Two? That's worse news!" She turned so pale--a sallow
+greenish-white--that Bunting thought she was again going queer.
+
+"Ellen?" he said warningly, "Ellen, now do have a care! I can't
+think what's come over you about these murders. Turn your mind
+away from them, do! We needn't talk about them--not so much,
+that is--"
+
+"But I wants to talk about them," cried Mrs. Bunting hysterically.
+
+The husband and wife were standing, one each side of the table,
+the man with his back to the fire, the woman with her back to the
+door.
+
+Bunting, staring across at his wife, felt sadly perplexed and
+disturbed. She really did seem ill; even her slight, spare figure
+looked shrunk. For the first time, so he told himself ruefully,
+Ellen was beginning to look her full age. Her slender hands--she
+had kept the pretty, soft white hands of the woman who has never
+done rough work--grasped the edge of the table with a convulsive
+movement.
+
+Bunting didn't at all like the look of her. "Oh, dear," he said
+to himself, "I do hope Ellen isn't going to be ill! That would be
+a to-do just now."
+
+"Tell me about it," she commanded, in a low voice. "Can't you see
+I'm waiting to hear? Be quick now, Bunting!"
+
+"There isn't very much to tell," he said reluctantly. "There's
+precious little in this paper, anyway. But the cabman what brought
+Daisy told me--"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"What I said just now. There's two of 'em this time, and they'd
+both been drinking heavily, poor creatures."
+
+"Was it where the others was done?" she asked looking at her husband
+fearfully.
+
+"No," he said awkwardly. "No, it wasn't, Ellen. It was a good bit
+farther West--in fact, not so very far from here. Near King's Cross
+--that's how the cabman knew about it, you see. They seems to have
+been done in a passage which isn't used no more." And then, as he
+thought his wife's eyes were beginning to look rather funny, he added
+hastily. "There, that's enough for the present! We shall soon be
+hearing a lot more about it from Joe Chandler. He's pretty sure to
+come in some time to-day."
+
+"Then the five thousand constables weren't no use?" said Mrs.
+Bunting slowly.
+
+She had relaxed her grip of the table, and was standing more
+upright.
+
+"No use at all," said Bunting briefly. "He is artful and no mistake
+about it. But wait a minute--" he turned and took up the paper
+which he had laid aside, on a chair. "Yes they says here that they
+has a clue."
+
+"A clue, Bunting?" Mrs. Bunting spoke in a soft, weak, die-away
+voice, and again, stooping somewhat, she grasped the edge of the
+table.
+
+But her husband was not noticing her now. He was holding the paper
+close up to his eyes, and he read from it, in a tone of considerable
+satisfaction:
+
+"'It is gratifying to be able to state that the police at last
+believe they are in possession of a clue which will lead to the
+arrest of the--'" and then Bunting dropped the paper and rushed
+round the table.
+
+His wife, with a curious sighing moan, had slipped down on to the
+floor, taking with her the tablecloth as she went. She lay there
+in what appeared to be a dead faint. And Bunting, scared out of
+his wits, opened the door and screamed out, "Daisy! Daisy! Come
+up, child. Ellen's took bad again."
+
+And Daisy, hurrying in, showed an amount of sense and resource
+which even at this anxious moment roused her fond father's
+admiration.
+
+"Get a wet sponge, Dad--quick!" she cried, "a sponge,--and, if
+you've got such a thing, a drop o' brandy. I'll see after her!"
+And then, after he had got the little medicine flask, "I can't think
+what's wrong with Ellen," said Daisy wonderingly. "She seemed quite
+all right when I first came in. She was listening, interested-like,
+to what I was telling her, and then, suddenly--well, you saw how
+she was took, father? 'Tain't like Ellen this, is it now?"
+
+"No," he whispered. "No, 'tain't. But you see, child, we've been
+going through a pretty bad time--worse nor I should ever have let
+you know of, my dear. Ellen's just feeling it now--that's what it
+is. She didn't say nothing, for Ellen's a good plucked one, but
+it's told on her--it's told on her!"
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting, sitting up, slowly opened her eyes, and
+instinctively put her hand up to her head to see if her hair was
+all right.
+
+She hadn't really been quite "off." It would have been better for
+her if she had. She had simply had an awful feeling that she
+couldn't stand up--more, that she must fall down. Bunting's words
+touched a most unwonted chord in the poor woman's heart, and the
+eyes which she opened were full of tears. She had not thought her
+husband knew how she had suffered during those weeks of starving
+and waiting.
+
+But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment. To her
+such betrayal betokened "foolishness," and so all she said was,
+"There's no need to make a fuss! I only turned over a little queer.
+I never was right off, Daisy."
+
+Pettishly she pushed away the glass in which Bunting had hurriedly
+poured a little brandy. "I wouldn't touch such stuff--no, not if
+I was dying!" she exclaimed.
+
+Putting out a languid hand, she pulled herself up, with the help of
+the table, on to her feet. "Go down again to the kitchen, child";
+but there was a sob, a kind of tremor in her voice.
+
+"You haven't been eating properly, Ellen--that's what's the matter
+with you," said Bunting suddenly. "Now I come to think of it, you
+haven't eat half enough these last two days. I always did say--in
+old days many a time I telled you--that a woman couldn't live on
+air. But there, you never believed me!"
+
+Daisy stood looking from one to the other, a shadow over her bright,
+pretty face. "I'd no idea you'd had such a bad time, father," she
+said feelingly. "Why didn't you let me know about it? I might have
+got something out of Old Aunt."
+
+"We didn't want anything of that sort," said her stepmother hastily.
+"But of course--well, I expect I'm still feeling the worry now. I
+don't seem able to forget it. Those days of waiting, of--of--"
+she restrained herself; another moment and the word "starving" would
+have left her lips.
+
+"But everything's all right now," said Bunting eagerly, "all right,
+thanks to Mr. Sleuth, that is."
+
+"Yes," repeated his wife, in a low, strange tone of voice. "Yes,
+we're all right now, and as you say, Bunting, it's all along of
+Mr. Sleuth."
+
+She walked across to a chair and sat down on it. "I'm just a little
+tottery still," she muttered.
+
+And Daisy, looking at her, turned to her father and said in a
+whisper, but not so low but that Mrs. Bunting heard her, "Don't you
+think Ellen ought to see a doctor, father? He might give her
+something that would pull her round."
+
+"I won't see no doctor!" said Mrs. Bunting with sudden emphasis. "I
+saw enough of doctors in my last place. Thirty-eight doctors in ten
+months did my poor missis have. Just determined on having 'em she
+was! Did they save her? No! She died just the same! Maybe a bit
+sooner."
+
+"She was a freak, was your last mistress, Ellen," began Bunting
+aggressively.
+
+Ellen had insisted on staying on in that place till her poor mistress
+died. They might have been married some months before they were
+married but for that fact. Bunting had always resented it.
+
+His wife smile wanly. "We won't have no words about that," she said,
+and again she spoke in a softer, kindlier tone than usual. "Daisy?
+If you won't go down to the kitchen again, then I must"--she turned
+to her stepdaughter, and the girl flew out of the room.
+
+"I think the child grows prettier every minute," said Bunting fondly.
+
+"Folks are too apt to forget that beauty is but skin deep," said his
+wife. She was beginning to feel better. "But still, I do agree,
+Bunting, that Daisy's well enough. And she seems more willing, too."
+
+"I say, we mustn't forget the lodger's dinner," Bunting spoke
+uneasily. "It's a bit of fish to-day, isn't it? Hadn't I better
+just tell Daisy to see to it, and then I can take it up to him, as
+you're not feeling quite the thing, Ellen?"
+
+"I'm quite well enough to take up Mr. Sleuth's luncheon," she said
+quickly. It irritated her to hear her husband speak of the lodger's
+dinner. They had dinner in the middle of the day, but Mr. Sleuth
+had luncheon. However odd he might be, Mrs. Bunting never forgot
+her lodger was a gentleman.
+
+"After all, he likes me to wait on him, doesn't he? I can manage
+all right. Don't you worry," she added after a long pause.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+Perhaps because his luncheon was served to him a good deal later
+than usual, Mr. Sleuth ate his nice piece of steamed sole upstairs
+with far heartier an appetite than his landlady had eaten her nice
+slice of roast pork downstairs.
+
+"I hope you're feeling a little better, sir," Mrs. Bunting had forced
+herself to say when she first took in his tray.
+
+And he had answered plaintively, querulously, "No, I can't say I
+feel well to-day, Mrs. Bunting. I am tired--very tired. And as I
+lay in bed I seemed to hear so many sounds--so much crying and
+shouting. I trust the Marylebone Road is not going to become a noisy
+thoroughfare, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I don't think that. We're generally reckoned very
+quiet indeed, sir."
+
+She waited a moment--try as she would, she could not allude to what
+those unwonted shouts and noises had betokened. "I expect you've
+got a chill, sir," she said suddenly. "If I was you, I shouldn't
+go out this afternoon; I'd just stay quietly indoors. There's a lot
+of rough people about--" Perhaps there was an undercurrent of
+warning, of painful pleading, in her toneless voice which penetrated
+in some way to the brain of the lodger, for Mr. Sleuth looked up, and
+an uneasy, watchful look came into his luminous grey eyes.
+
+"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bunting. But I think I'll take your
+advice. That is, I will stay quietly at home, I am never at a loss
+to know what to do with myself so long as I can study the Book of
+Books."
+
+"Then you're not afraid about your eyes, sir?" said Mrs. Bunting
+curiously. Somehow she was beginning to feel better. It comforted
+her to be up here, talking to Mr. Sleuth, instead of thinking about
+him downstairs. It seemed to banish the terror which filled her
+soul--aye, and her body, too--at other times. When she was with
+him Mr. Sleuth was so gentle, so reasonable, so--so grateful.
+
+Poor kindly, solitary Mr. Sleuth! This kind of gentleman surely
+wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a human being. Eccentric--so much
+must be admitted. But Mrs. Bunting had seen a good deal of eccentric
+folk, eccentric women rather than eccentric men, in her long career
+as useful maid.
+
+Being at ordinary times an exceptionally sensible, well-balanced
+woman, she had never, in old days, allowed her mind to dwell on
+certain things she had learnt as to the aberrations of which human
+nature is capable--even well-born, well-nurtured, gentle human
+nature--as exemplified in some of the households where she had
+served. It would, indeed, be unfortunate if she now became morbid
+or--or hysterical.
+
+So it was in a sharp, cheerful voice, almost the voice in which she
+had talked during the first few days of Mr. Sleuth's stay in her
+house, that she exclaimed, "Well, sir, I'll be up again to clear
+away in about half an hour. And if you'll forgive me for saying so,
+I hope you will stay in and have a rest to-day. Nasty, muggy weather
+--that's what it is! If there's any little thing you want, me or
+Bunting can go out and get it."
+
+******
+
+It must have been about four o'clock when there came a ring at the
+front door.
+
+The three were sitting chatting together, for Daisy had washed up
+--she really was saving her stepmother a good bit of trouble--and
+the girl was now amusing her elders by a funny account of Old Aunt's
+pernickety ways.
+
+"Whoever can that be?" said Bunting, looking up. "It's too early
+for Joe Chandler, surely."
+
+"I'll go," said his wife, hurriedly jumping up from her chair.
+"I'll go! We don't want no strangers in here."
+
+And as she stepped down the short bit of passage she said to herself,
+"A clue? What clue?"
+
+But when she opened the front door a glad sigh of relief broke from
+her. "Why, Joe? We never thought 'twas you! But you're very
+welcome, I'm sure. Come in."
+
+And Chandler came in, a rather sheepish look on his good-looking,
+fair young face.
+
+"I thought maybe that Mr. Bunting would like to know--" he began,
+in a loud, cheerful voice, and Mrs. Bunting hurriedly checked him.
+She didn't want the lodger upstairs to hear what young Chandler
+might be going to say.
+
+"Don't talk so loud," she said a little sharply. "The lodger is
+not very well to-day. He's had a cold," she added hastily, "and
+during the last two or three days he hasn't been able to go out."
+
+She wondered at her temerity, her--her hypocrisy, and that moment,
+those few words, marked an epoch in Ellen Bunting's life. It was
+the first time she had told a bold and deliberate lie. She was
+one of those women--there are many, many such--to whom there is
+a whole world of difference between the suppression of the truth
+and the utterance of an untruth.
+
+But Chandler paid no heed to her remarks. "Has Miss Daisy arrived?"
+he asked, in a lower voice.
+
+She nodded. And then he went through into the room where the father
+and daughter were sitting.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting, starting up. "Well, Joe? Now you can tell
+us all about that mysterious clue. I suppose it'd be too good news
+to expect you to tell us they've caught him?"
+
+"No fear of such good news as that yet awhile. If they'd caught
+him," said Joe ruefully, "well, I don't suppose I should be here,
+Mr. Bunting. But the Yard are circulating a description at last.
+And--well, they've found his weapon!"
+
+"No?" cried Bunting excitedly. "You don't say so! Whatever sort
+of a thing is it? And are they sure 'tis his?"
+
+"Well, 'tain't sure, but it seems to be likely."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.
+But she was still standing with her back against the door, looking
+at the group in front of her. None of them were thinking of her
+--she thanked God for that! She could hear everything that was
+said without joining in the talk and excitement.
+
+"Listen to this!" cried Joe Chandler exultantly. "'Tain't given
+out yet--not for the public, that is--but we was all given it by
+eight o'clock this morning. Quick work that, eh?" He read out:
+
+
+  "WANTED
+
+  A man, of age approximately 28, slight in figure, height
+  approximately 5 ft. 8 in. Complexion dark. No beard or
+  whiskers. Wearing a black diagonal coat, hard felt hat, high
+  white collar, and tie. Carried a newspaper parcel. Very
+  respectable appearance."
+
+
+Mrs. Bunting walked forward. She gave a long, fluttering sigh of
+unutterable relief.
+
+"There's the chap!" said Joe Chandler triumphantly. "And now, Miss
+Daisy"--he turned to her jokingly, but there was a funny little
+tremor in his frank, cheerful-sounding voice--"if you knows of any
+nice, likely young fellow that answers to that description--well,
+you've only got to walk in and earn your reward of five hundred
+pounds."
+
+"Five hundred pounds!" cried Daisy and her father simultaneously.
+
+"Yes. That's what the Lord Mayor offered yesterday. Some private
+bloke--nothing official about it. But we of the Yard is barred
+from taking that reward, worse luck. And it's too bad, for we has
+all the trouble, after all."
+
+"Just hand that bit of paper over, will you?" said Bunting. "I'd
+like to con it over to myself."
+
+Chandler threw over the bit of flimsy.
+
+A moment later Bunting looked up and handed it back. "Well, it's
+clear enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes. And there's hundreds--nay, thousands--of young fellows
+that might be a description of," said Chandler sarcastically. "As
+a pal of mine said this morning, 'There isn't a chap will like to
+carry a newspaper parcel after this.' And it won't do to have a
+respectable appearance--eh?"
+
+Daisy's voice rang out in merry, pealing laughter. She greatly
+appreciated Mr. Chandler's witticism.
+
+"Why on earth didn't the people who saw him try and catch him?"
+asked Bunting suddenly.
+
+And Mrs. Bunting broke in, in a lower voice, "Yes, Joe--that seems
+odd, don't it?"
+
+Joe Chandler coughed. "Well, it's this way," he said. "No one
+person did see all that. The man who's described here is just made
+up from the description of two different folk who think they saw
+him. You see, the murders must have taken place--well, now, let
+me see--perhaps at two o'clock this last time. Two o'clock--
+that's the idea. Well, at such a time as that not many people are
+about, especially on a foggy night. Yes, one woman declares she
+saw a young chap walking away from the spot where 'twas done; and
+another one--but that was a good bit later--says The Avenger
+passed by her. It's mostly her they're following in this 'ere
+description. And then the boss who has charge of that sort of
+thing looked up what other people had said--I mean when the other
+crimes was committed. That's how he made up this 'Wanted.'"
+
+"Then The Avenger may be quite a different sort of man?" said
+Bunting slowly, disappointedly.
+
+"Well, of course he may be. But, no; I think that description
+fits him all right," said Chandler; but he also spoke in a
+hesitating voice.
+
+"You was saying, Joe, that they found a weapon?" observed Bunting
+insinuatingly.
+
+He was glad that Ellen allowed the discussion to go on--in fact,
+that she even seemed to take an intelligent interest in it. She
+had come up close to them, and now looked quite her old self again.
+
+"Yes. They believe they've found the weapon what he does his awful
+deeds with," said Chandler. "At any rate, within a hundred yards
+of that little dark passage where they found the bodies--one at
+each end, that was--there was discovered this morning a very
+peculiar kind o' knife--'keen as a razor, pointed as a dagger'--
+that's the exact words the boss used when he was describing it to
+a lot of us. He seemed to think a lot more of that clue than of
+the other--I mean than of the description people gave of the chap
+who walked quickly by with a newspaper parcel. But now there's a
+pretty job in front of us. Every shop where they sell or might a'
+sold, such a thing as that knife, including every eating-house in
+the East End, has got to be called at!"
+
+"Whatever for?" asked Daisy.
+
+"Why, with an idea of finding out if anyone saw such a knife fooling
+about there any time, and, if so, in whose possession it was at the
+time. But, Mr. Bunting"--Chandler's voice changed; it became
+businesslike, official--"they're not going to say anything about
+that--not in newspapers--till to-morrow, so don't you go and
+tell anybody. You see, we don't want to frighten the fellow off.
+If he knew they'd got his knife--well, he might just make himself
+scarce, and they don't want that! If it's discovered that any knife
+of that kind was sold, say a month ago, to some customer whose ways
+are known, then--then--"
+
+"What'll happen then?" said Mrs. Bunting, coming nearer.
+
+"Well, then, nothing'll be put about it in the papers at all," said
+Chandler deliberately. "The only objec' of letting the public know
+about it would be if nothink was found--I mean if the search of
+the shops, and so on, was no good. Then, of course, we must try
+and find out someone--some private person-like, who's watched that
+knife in the criminal's possession. It's there the reward--the
+five hundred pounds will come in."
+
+"Oh, I'd give anything to see that knife!" exclaimed Daisy, clasping
+her hands together.
+
+"You cruel, bloodthirsty, girl!" cried her stepmother passionately.
+
+They all looked round at her, surprised.
+
+"Come, come, Ellen!" said Bunting reprovingly.
+
+"Well, it is a horrible idea!" said his wife sullenly. "To go and
+sell a fellow-being for five hundred pounds."
+
+But Daisy was offended. "Of course I'd like to see it!" she cried
+defiantly. "I never said nothing about the reward. That was Mr.
+Chandler said that! I only said I'd like to see the knife."
+
+Chandler looked at her soothingly. "Well, the day may come when
+you will see it," he said slowly.
+
+A great idea had come into his mind.
+
+"No! What makes you think that?"
+
+"If they catches him, and if you comes along with me to see our
+Black Museum at the Yard, you'll certainly see the knife, Miss Daisy.
+They keeps all them kind of things there. So if, as I say, this
+weapon should lead to the conviction of The Avenger--well, then,
+that knife 'ull be there, and you'll see it!"
+
+"The Black Museum? Why, whatever do they have a museum in your
+place for?" asked Daisy wonderingly. "I thought there was only the
+British Museum--"
+
+And then even Mrs. Bunting, as well as Bunting and Chandler,
+laughed aloud.
+
+"You are a goosey girl!" said her father fondly. "Why, there's a
+lot of museums in London; the town's thick with 'em. Ask Ellen
+there. She and me used to go to them kind of places when we was
+courting--if the weather was bad."
+
+"But our museum's the one that would interest Miss Daisy," broke in
+Chandler eagerly. "It's a regular Chamber of 'Orrors!"
+
+"Why, Joe, you never told us about that place before," said Bunting
+excitedly. "D'you really mean that there's a museum where they
+keeps all sorts of things connected with crimes? Things like knives
+murders have been committed with?"
+
+"Knives?" cried Joe, pleased at having become the centre of
+attention, for Daisy had also fixed her blue eyes on him, and even
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him expectantly. "Much more than knives, Mr.
+Bunting! Why, they've got there, in little bottles, the real poison
+what people have been done away with."
+
+"And can you go there whenever you like?" asked Daisy wonderingly.
+She had not realised before what extraordinary and agreeable
+privileges are attached to the position of a detective member of
+the London Police Force.
+
+"Well, I suppose I could--" Joe smiled. "Anyway I can certainly
+get leave to take a friend there." He looked meaningly at Daisy,
+and Daisy looked eagerly at him.
+
+But would Ellen ever let her go out by herself with Mr. Chandler?
+Ellen was so prim, so--so irritatingly proper. But what was this
+father was saying? "D'you really mean that, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, of course I do!"
+
+"Well, then, look here! If it isn't asking too much of a favour, I
+should like to go along there with you very much one day. I don't
+want to wait till The Avenger's caught"--Bunting smiled broadly.
+"I'd be quite content as it is with what there is in that museum
+o' yours. Ellen, there,"--he looked across at his wife--"don't
+agree with me about such things. Yet I don't think I'm a
+bloodthirsty man! But I'm just terribly interested in all that sort
+of thing--always have been. I used to positively envy the butler
+in that Balham Mystery!"
+
+Again a look passed between Daisy and the young man--it was a look
+which contained and carried a great many things backwards and
+forwards, such as--"Now, isn't it funny that your father should
+want to go to such a place? But still, I can't help it if he does
+want to go, so we must put up with his company, though it would
+have been much nicer for us to go just by our two selves." And
+then Daisy's look answered quite as plainly, though perhaps Joe
+didn't read her glance quite as clearly as she had read his: "Yes,
+it is tiresome. But father means well; and 'twill be very pleasant
+going there, even if he does come too."
+
+"Well, what d'you say to the day after to-morrow, Mr. Bunting? I'd
+call for you here about--shall we say half-past two?--and just
+take you and Miss Daisy down to the Yard. 'Twouldn't take very
+long; we could go all the way by bus, right down to Westminster
+Bridge." He looked round at his hostess: "Wouldn't you join us,
+Mrs. Bunting? 'Tis truly a wonderful interesting place."
+
+But his hostess shook her head decidedly. "'Twould turn me sick,"
+she exclaimed, "to see the bottle of poison what had done away with
+the life of some poor creature!
+
+"And as for knives--!" a look of real horror, of startled fear,
+crept over her pale face.
+
+"There, there!" said Bunting hastily. "Live and let live--that's
+what I always say. Ellen ain't on in this turn. She can just
+stay at home and mind the cat--I beg his pardon, I mean the lodger!"
+
+"I won't have Mr. Sleuth laughed at," said Mrs. Bunting darkly.
+"But there! I'm sure it's very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving
+Bunting and Daisy such a rare treat"--she spoke sarcastically, but
+none of the three who heard her understood that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+The moment she passed though the great arched door which admits the
+stranger to that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart
+of that great organism which fights the forces of civilised crime,
+Daisy Bunting felt that she had indeed become free of the Kingdom of
+Romance. Even the lift in which the three of them were whirled up
+to one of the upper floors of the huge building was to the girl a
+new and delightful experience. Daisy had always lived a simple,
+quiet life in the little country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this
+was the first time a lift had come her way.
+
+With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler
+marched his friends down a wide, airy corridor.
+
+Daisy clung to her father's arm, a little bewildered, a little
+oppressed by her good fortune. Her happy young voice was
+stilled by the awe she felt at the wonderful place where she
+found herself, and by the glimpses she caught of great rooms full
+of busy, silent men engaged in unravelling--or so she supposed
+--the mysteries of crime.
+
+They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped
+short. "Look in there," he said, in a low voice, addressing the
+father rather than the daughter, "that's the Finger-Print Room.
+We've records here of over two hundred thousand men's and women's
+finger-tips! I expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once we've got
+the print of a man's five finger-tips, well, he's done for--if he
+ever does anything else, that is. Once we've got that bit of him
+registered he can't never escape us--no, not if he tries ever so.
+But though there's nigh on a quarter of a million records in there,
+yet it don't take--well, not half an hour, for them to tell
+whether any particular man has ever been convicted before! Wonderful
+thought, ain't it?"
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing a deep breath. And then a
+troubled look came over his stolid face. "Wonderful, but also a
+very fearful thought for the poor wretches as has got their
+finger-prints in, Joe."
+
+Joe laughed. "Agreed!" he said. "And the cleverer ones knows that
+only too well. Why, not long ago, one man who knew his record was
+here safe, managed to slash about his fingers something awful, just
+so as to make a blurred impression--you takes my meaning? But
+there, at the end of six weeks the skin grew all right again, and
+in exactly the same little creases as before!"
+
+"Poor devil!" said Bunting under his breath, and a cloud even came
+over Daisy's bright eager face.
+
+They were now going along a narrower passage, and then again they
+came to a half-open door, leading into a room far smaller than
+that of the Finger-Print Identification Room.
+
+"If you'll glance in there," said Joe briefly, "you'll see how we
+finds out all about any man whose finger-tips has given him away, so
+to speak. It's here we keeps an account of what he's done, his
+previous convictions, and so on. His finger-tips are where I told
+you, and his record in there--just connected by a number."
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing in his breath. But Daisy was
+longing to get on--to get to the Black Museum. All this that Joe
+and her father were saying was quite unreal to her, and, for the
+matter of that not worth taking the trouble to understand. However,
+she had not long to wait.
+
+A broad-shouldered, pleasant-looking young fellow, who seemed on
+very friendly terms with Joe Chandler, came forward suddenly, and,
+unlocking a common-place-looking door, ushered the little party of
+three through into the Black Museum.
+
+For a moment there came across Daisy a feeling of keen disappointment
+and surprise. This big, light room simply reminded her of what they
+called the Science Room in the public library of the town where she
+lived with Old Aunt. Here, as there, the centre was taken up with
+plain glass cases fixed at a height from the floor which enabled
+their contents to be looked at closely.
+
+She walked forward and peered into the case nearest the door. The
+exhibits shown there were mostly small, shabby-looking little things,
+the sort of things one might turn out of an old rubbish cupboard in
+an untidy house--old medicine bottles, a soiled neckerchief, what
+looked like a child's broken lantern, even a box of pills. . .
+
+As for the walls, they were covered with the queerest-looking
+objects; bits of old iron, odd-looking things made of wood and
+leather, and so on.
+
+It was really rather disappointing.
+
+Then Daisy Bunting gradually became aware that standing on a shelf
+just below the first of the broad, spacious windows which made the
+great room look so light and shadowless, was a row of life-size
+white plaster heads, each head slightly inclined to the right.
+There were about a dozen of these, not more--and they had such odd,
+staring, helpless, real-looking faces.
+
+"Whatever's those?" asked Bunting in a low voice.
+
+Daisy clung a thought closer to her father's arm. Even she guessed
+that these strange, pathetic, staring faces were the death-masks of
+those men and women who had fulfilled the awful law which ordains
+that the murderer shall be, in his turn, done to death.
+
+"All hanged!" said the guardian of the Black Museum briefly. "Casts
+taken after death."
+
+Bunting smiled nervously. "They don't look dead somehow. They
+looks more as if they were listening," he said.
+
+"That's the fault of Jack Ketch," said the man facetiously. "It's
+his idea--that of knotting his patient's necktie under the left
+ear! That's what he does to each of the gentlemen to whom he has
+to act valet on just one occasion only. It makes them lean just a
+bit to one side. You look here--?"
+
+Daisy and her father came a little closer, and the speaker pointed
+with his finger to a little dent imprinted on the left side of each
+neck; running from this indentation was a curious little furrow,
+well ridged above, showing how tightly Jack Ketch's necktie had been
+drawn when its wearer was hurried through the gates of eternity.
+
+"They looks foolish-like, rather than terrified, or--or hurt," said
+Bunting wonderingly.
+
+He was extraordinarily moved and fascinated by those dumb, staring
+faces.
+
+But young Chandler exclaimed in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice,
+"Well, a man would look foolish at such a time as that, with all his
+plans brought to naught--and knowing he's only got a second to live
+--now wouldn't he?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose he would," said Bunting slowly.
+
+Daisy had gone a little pale. The sinister, breathless atmosphere
+of the place was beginning to tell on her. She now began to
+understand that the shabby little objects lying there in the glass
+case close to her were each and all links in the chain of evidence
+which, in almost every case, had brought some guilty man or woman
+to the gallows.
+
+"We had a yellow gentleman here the other day," observed the guardian
+suddenly; "one of those Brahmins--so they calls themselves. Well,
+you'd a been quite surprised to see how that heathen took on! He
+declared--what was the word he used?"--he turned to Chandler.
+
+"He said that each of these things, with the exception of the casts,
+mind you--queer to say, he left them out--exuded evil, that was
+the word he used! Exuded--squeezed out it means. He said that
+being here made him feel very bad. And twasn't all nonsense either.
+He turned quite green under his yellow skin, and we had to shove him
+out quick. He didn't feel better till he'd got right to the other
+end of the passage!"
+
+"There now! Who'd ever think of that?" said Bunting. "I should say
+that man 'ud got something on his conscience, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Well, I needn't stay now," said Joe's good-natured friend. "You
+show your friends round, Chandler. You knows the place nearly as
+well as I do, don't you?"
+
+He smiled at Joe's visitors, as if to say good-bye, but it seemed
+that he could not tear himself away after all.
+
+"Look here," he said to Bunting. "In this here little case are the
+tools of Charles Peace. I expect you've heard of him."
+
+"I should think I have!" cried Bunting eagerly.
+
+"Many gents as comes here thinks this case the most interesting of
+all. Peace was such a wonderful man! A great inventor they say he
+would have been, had he been put in the way of it. Here's his
+ladder; you see it folds up quite compactly, and makes a nice little
+bundle--just like a bundle of old sticks any man might have been
+seen carrying about London in those days without attracting any
+attention. Why, it probably helped him to look like an honest
+working man time and time again, for on being arrested he declared
+most solemnly he'd always carried that ladder openly under his arm."
+
+"The daring of that!" cried Bunting.
+
+"Yes, and when the ladder was opened out it could reach from the
+ground to the second storey of any old house. And, oh! how clever
+he was! Just open one section, and you see the other sections open
+automatically; so Peace could stand on the ground and force the
+thing quietly up to any window he wished to reach. Then he'd go
+away again, having done his job, with a mere bundle of old wood
+under his arm! My word, he was artful! I wonder if you've heard
+the tale of how Peace once lost a finger. Well, he guessed the
+constables were instructed to look out for a man missing a finger;
+so what did he do?"
+
+"Put on a false finger," suggested Bunting.
+
+"No, indeed! Peace made up his mind just to do without a hand
+altogether. Here's his false stump: you see, it's made of wood
+--wood and black felt? Well, that just held his hand nicely.
+Why, we considers that one of the most ingenious contrivances in
+the whole museum."
+
+Meanwhile, Daisy had let go her hold of her father. With Chandler
+in delighted attendance, she had moved away to the farther end of
+the great room, and now she was bending over yet another glass case.
+"Whatever are those little bottles for?" she asked wonderingly.
+
+There were five small phials, filled with varying quantities of
+cloudy liquids.
+
+"They're full of poison, Miss Daisy, that's what they are. There's
+enough arsenic in that little whack o' brandy to do for you and me
+--aye, and for your father as well, I should say."
+
+"Then chemists shouldn't sell such stuff," said Daisy, smiling.
+Poison was so remote from herself, that the sight of these little
+bottles only brought a pleasant thrill.
+
+"No more they don't. That was sneaked out of a flypaper, that was.
+Lady said she wanted a cosmetic for her complexion, but what she was
+really going for was flypapers for to do away with her husband.
+She'd got a bit tired of him, I suspect."
+
+"Perhaps he was a horrid man, and deserved to be done away with,"
+said Daisy. The idea struck them both as so very comic that they
+began to laugh aloud in unison.
+
+"Did you ever hear what a certain Mrs. Pearce did?" asked Chandler,
+becoming suddenly serious.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Daisy, and she shuddered a little. "That was the
+wicked, wicked woman what killed a pretty little baby and its mother.
+They've got her in Madame Tussaud's. But Ellen, she won't let me go
+to the Chamber of Horrors. She wouldn't let father take me there
+last time I was in London. Cruel of her, I called it. But somehow
+I don't feel as if I wanted to go there now, after having been here!"
+
+"Well," said Chandler slowly, "we've a case full of relics of Mrs.
+Pearce. But the pram the bodies were found in, that's at Madame
+Tussaud's--at least so they claim, I can't say. Now here's something
+just as curious, and not near so dreadful. See that man's jacket
+there?"
+
+"Yes," said Daisy falteringly. She was beginning to feel oppressed,
+frightened. She no longer wondered that the Indian gentleman had
+been taken queer.
+
+"A burglar shot a man dead who'd disturbed him, and by mistake he
+went and left that jacket behind him. Our people noticed that one
+of the buttons was broken in two. Well, that don't seem much of a
+clue, does it, Miss Daisy? Will you believe me when I tells you
+that that other bit of button was discovered, and that it hanged
+the fellow? And 'twas the more wonderful because all three buttons
+was different!"
+
+Daisy stared wonderingly, down at the little broken button which
+had hung a man. "And whatever's that!" she asked, pointing to a
+piece of dirty-looking stuff.
+
+"Well," said Chandler reluctantly, "that's rather a horrible thing
+--that is. That's a bit o' shirt that was buried with a woman--
+buried in the ground, I mean--after her husband had cut her up and
+tried, to burn her. 'Twas that bit o' shirt that brought him to the
+gallows."
+
+"I considers your museum's a very horrid place!" said Daisy
+pettishly, turning away.
+
+She longed to be out in the passage again, away from this brightly
+lighted, cheerful-looking, sinister room.
+
+But her father was now absorbed in the case containing various types
+of infernal machines. "Beautiful little works of art some of them
+are," said his guide eagerly, and Bunting could not but agree.
+
+"Come along--do, father!" said Daisy quickly. "I've seen about
+enough now. If I was to stay in here much longer it 'ud give me
+the horrors. I don't want to have no nightmares to-night. It's
+dreadful to think there are so many wicked people in the world.
+Why, we might knock up against some murderer any minute without
+knowing it, mightn't we?"
+
+"Not you, Miss Daisy," said Chandler smilingly. "I don't suppose
+you'll ever come across even a common swindler, let alone anyone
+who's committed a murder--not one in a million does that. Why,
+even I have never had anything to do with a proper murder case!"
+
+But Bunting was in no hurry. He was thoroughly enjoying every
+moment of the time. Just now he was studying intently the various
+photographs which hung on the walls of the Black Museum; especially
+was he pleased to see those connected with a famous and still
+mysterious case which had taken place not long before in Scotland,
+and in which the servant of the man who died had played a
+considerable part--not in elucidating, but in obscuring, the mystery.
+
+"I suppose a good many murderers get off?" he said musingly.
+
+And Joe Chandler's friend nodded. "I should think they did!" he
+exclaimed. "There's no such thing as justice here in England.
+'Tis odds on the murderer every time. 'Tisn't one in ten that
+come to the end he should do--to the gallows, that is."
+
+"And what d'you think about what's going on now--I mean about
+those Avenger murders?"
+
+Bunting lowered his voice, but Daisy and Chandler were already
+moving towards the door.
+
+"I don't believe he'll ever be caught," said the other
+confidentially. "In some ways 'tis a lot more of a job to catch a
+madman than 'tis to run down just an ordinary criminal. And, of
+course--leastways to my thinking--The Avenger is a madman--one
+of the cunning, quiet sort. Have you heard about the letter?" his
+voice dropped lower.
+
+ "No," said Bunting, staring eagerly at him. "What letter d'you
+mean?"
+
+"Well, there's a letter--it'll be in this museum some day--which
+came just before that last double event. 'Twas signed 'The Avenger,'
+in just the same printed characters as on that bit of paper he always
+leaves behind him. Mind you, it don't follow that it actually was The
+Avenger what sent that letter here, but it looks uncommonly like it,
+and I know that the Boss attaches quite a lot of importance to it."
+
+"And where was it posted?" asked Bunting. "That might be a bit of a
+clue, you know."
+
+"Oh, no," said the other. "They always goes a very long way to
+post anything--criminals do. It stands to reason they would. But
+this particular one was put in the Edgware Road Post Office."
+
+"What? Close to us?" said Bunting. "Goodness! dreadful!"
+
+"Any of us might knock up against him any minute. I don't suppose
+The Avenger's in any way peculiar-looking--in fact we know he ain't."
+
+"Then you think that woman as says she saw him did see him?" asked
+Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+"Our description was made up from what she said," answered the other
+cautiously. "But, there, you can't tell! In a case like that it's
+groping--groping in the dark all the time--and it's just a lucky
+accident if it comes out right in the end. Of course, it's upsetting
+us all very much here. You can't wonder at that!"
+
+"No, indeed," said Bunting quickly. "I give you my word, I've hardly
+thought of anything else for the last month."
+
+Daisy had disappeared, and when her father joined her in the passage
+she was listening, with downcast eyes, to what Joe Chandler was
+saying.
+
+He was telling her about his real home, of the place where his mother
+lived, at Richmond--that it was a nice little house, close to the
+park. He was asking her whether she could manage to come out there
+one afternoon, explaining that his mother would give them tea, and
+how nice it would be.
+
+"I don't see why Ellen shouldn't let me," the girl said rebelliously.
+"But she's that old-fashioned and pernickety is Ellen--a regular
+old maid! And, you see, Mr. Chandler, when I'm staying with them,
+father don't like for me to do anything that Ellen don't approve of.
+But she's got quite fond of you, so perhaps if you ask her--?"
+She looked at him, and he nodded sagely.
+
+"Don't you be afraid," he said confidently. "I'll get round Mrs.
+Bunting. But, Miss Daisy"--he grew very red--"I'd just like to
+ask you a question--no offence meant--"
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy a little breathlessly. "There's father close to
+us, Mr. Chandler. Tell me quick; what is it?"
+
+"Well, I take it, by what you said just now, that you've never
+walked out with any young fellow?"
+
+Daisy hesitated a moment; then a very pretty dimple came into her
+cheek. "No," she said sadly. "No, Mr. Chandler, that I have not."
+In a burst of candour she added, "You see, I never had the chance!"
+
+And Joe Chandler smiled, well pleased.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+By what she regarded as a fortunate chance, Mrs. Bunting found
+herself for close on an hour quite alone in the house during her
+husband's and Daisy's jaunt with young Chandler.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not often go out in the daytime, but on this
+particular afternoon, after he had finished his tea, when dusk was
+falling, he suddenly observed that he wanted a new suit of clothes,
+and his landlady eagerly acquiesced in his going out to purchase it.
+
+As soon as he had left the house, she went quickly up to the
+drawing-room floor. Now had come her opportunity of giving the two
+rooms a good dusting; but Mrs. Bunting knew well, deep in her heart,
+that it was not so much the dusting of Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room she
+wanted to do--as to engage in a vague search for--she hardly knew
+for what.
+
+During the years she had been in service Mrs. Bunting had always
+had a deep, wordless contempt for those of her fellow-servants who
+read their employers' private letters, and who furtively peeped
+into desks and cupboards in the hope, more vague than positive, of
+discovering family skeletons.
+
+But now, with regard to Mr. Sleuth, she was ready, aye, eager, to
+do herself what she had once so scorned others for doing.
+
+Beginning with the bedroom, she started on a methodical search. He
+was a very tidy gentleman was the lodger, and his few things,
+under-garments, and so on, were in apple-pie order. She had early
+undertaken, much to his satisfaction, to do the very little bit of
+washing he required done, with her own and Bunting's. Luckily he
+wore soft shirts.
+
+At one time Mrs. Bunting had always had a woman in to help her with
+this tiresome weekly job, but lately she had grown quite clever at
+it herself. The only things she had to send out were Bunting's
+shirts. Everything else she managed to do herself.
+
+From the chest of drawers she now turned her attention to the
+dressing-table.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not take his money with him when he went out, he
+generally left it in one of the drawers below the old-fashioned
+looking-glass. And now, in a perfunctory way, his landlady pulled
+out the little drawer, but she did not touch what was lying there;
+she only glanced at the heap of sovereigns and a few bits of silver.
+The lodger had taken just enough money with him to buy the clothes
+he required. He had consulted her as to how much they would cost,
+making no secret of why he was going out, and the fact had vaguely
+comforted Mrs. Bunting.
+
+Now she lifted the toilet-cover, and even rolled up the carpet a
+little way, but no, there was nothing there, not so much as a scrap
+of paper. And at last, when more or less giving up the search, as
+she came and went between the two rooms, leaving the connecting door
+wide open, her mind became full of uneasy speculation and wonder as
+to the lodger's past life.
+
+Odd Mr. Sleuth must surely always have been, but odd in a sensible
+sort of way, having on the whole the same moral ideals of conduct
+as have other people of his class. He was queer about the drink--one
+might say almost crazy on the subject--but there, as to that, he
+wasn't the only one! She, Ellen Bunting, had once lived with a
+lady who was just like that, who was quite crazed, that is, on the
+question of drink and drunkards--She looked round the neat
+drawing-room with vague dissatisfaction. There was only one place
+where anything could be kept concealed--that place was the
+substantial if small mahogany chiffonnier. And then an idea
+suddenly came to Mrs. Bunting, one she had never thought of before.
+
+After listening intently for a moment, lest something should suddenly
+bring Mr. Sleuth home earlier than she expected, she went to the
+corner where the chiffonnier stood, and, exerting the whole of her
+not very great physical strength, she tipped forward the heavy piece
+of furniture.
+
+As she did so, she heard a queer rumbling sound,--something rolling
+about on the second shelf, something which had not been there before
+Mr. Sleuth's arrival. Slowly, laboriously, she tipped the chiffonnier
+backwards and forwards--once, twice, thrice--satisfied, yet strangely
+troubled in her mind, for she now felt sure that the bag of which the
+disappearance had so surprised her was there, safely locked away by
+its owner.
+
+Suddenly a very uncomfortable thought came to Mrs. Bunting's mind.
+She hoped Mr. Sleuth would not notice that his bag had shifted inside
+the cupboard. A moment later, with sharp dismay, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady realised that the fact that she had moved the chiffonnier
+must become known to her lodger, for a thin trickle of some
+dark-coloured liquid was oozing out though the bottom of the little
+cupboard door.
+
+She stooped down and touched the stuff. It showed red, bright red,
+on her finger.
+
+Mrs. Bunting grew chalky white, then recovered herself quickly. In
+fact the colour rushed into her face, and she grew hot all over.
+
+It was only a bottle of red ink she had upset--that was all! How
+could she have thought it was anything else?
+
+It was the more silly of her--so she told herself in scornful
+condemnation--because she knew that the lodger used red ink.
+Certain pages of Cruden's Concordance were covered with notes written
+in Mr. Sleuth's peculiar upright handwriting. In fact in some places
+you couldn't see the margin, so closely covered was it with remarks
+and notes of interrogation.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had foolishly placed his bottle of red ink in the
+chiffonnier--that was what her poor, foolish gentleman had done;
+and it was owing to her inquisitiveness, her restless wish to know
+things she would be none the better, none the happier, for knowing,
+that this accident had taken place.
+
+She mopped up with her duster the few drops of ink which had fallen
+on the green carpet and then, still feeling, as she angrily told
+herself, foolishly upset she went once more into the back room.
+
+It was curious that Mr. Sleuth possessed no notepaper. She would
+have expected him to have made that one of his first purchases--the
+more so that paper is so very cheap, especially that rather
+dirty-looking grey Silurian paper. Mrs. Bunting had once lived with
+a lady who always used two kinds of notepaper, white for her friends
+and equals, grey for those whom she called "common people." She,
+Ellen Green, as she then was, had always resented the fact. Strange
+she should remember it now, stranger in a way because that employer
+of her's had not been a real lady, and Mr. Sleuth, whatever his
+peculiarities, was, in every sense of the word, a real gentleman.
+Somehow Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he had bought any notepaper
+it would have been white--white and probably cream-laid--not
+grey and cheap.
+
+Again she opened the drawer of the old-fashioned wardrobe and lifted
+up the few pieces of underclothing Mr. Sleuth now possessed.
+
+But there was nothing there--nothing, that is, hidden away. When
+one came to think of it there seemed something strange in the notion
+of leaving all one's money where anyone could take it, and in locking
+up such a valueless thing as a cheap sham leather bag, to say nothing
+of a bottle of ink.
+
+Mrs. Bunting once more opened out each of the tiny drawers below the
+looking-glass, each delicately fashioned of fine old mahogany. Mr.
+Sleuth kept his money in the centre drawer.
+
+The glass had only cost seven-and-sixpence, and, after the auction
+a dealer had come and offered her first fifteen shillings, and then
+a guinea for it. Not long ago, in Baker Street, she had seen a
+looking-glass which was the very spit of this one, labeled
+"Chippendale, Antique. �21 5s 0d."
+
+There lay Mr. Sleuth's money--the sovereigns, as the landlady well
+knew, would each and all gradually pass into her's and Bunting's
+possession, honestly earned by them no doubt but unattainable--in
+act unearnable--excepting in connection with the present owner of
+those dully shining gold sovereigns.
+
+At last she went downstairs to await Mr. Sleuth's return.
+
+When she heard the key turn in the door, she came out into the
+passage.
+
+"I'm sorry to say I've had an accident, sir," she said a little
+breathlessly. "Taking advantage of your being out I went up to
+dust the drawing-room, and while I was trying to get behind the
+chiffonnier it tilted. I'm afraid, sir, that a bottle of ink that
+was inside may have got broken, for just a few drops oozed out,
+sir. But I hope there's no harm done. I wiped it up as well as
+I could, seeing that the doors of the chiffonnier are locked."
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her with a wild, almost a terrified glance.
+But Mrs. Bunting stood her ground. She felt far less afraid now
+than she had felt before he came in. Then she had been so
+frightened that she had nearly gone out of the house, on to the
+pavement, for company.
+
+"Of course I had no idea, sir, that you kept any ink in there."
+
+She spoke as if she were on the defensive, and the lodger's brow
+cleared.
+
+"I was aware you used ink, sir," Mrs. Bunting went on, "for I have
+seen you marking that book of yours--I mean the book you read
+together with the Bible. Would you like me to go out and get you
+another bottle, sir?"
+
+"No," said Mr. Sleuth. "No, I thank you. I will at once proceed
+upstairs and see what damage has been done. When I require you I
+shall ring."
+
+He shuffled past her, and five minutes later the drawing-room bell
+did ring.
+
+At once, from the door, Mrs. Bunting saw that the chiffonnier was
+wide open, and that the shelves were empty save for the bottle of
+red ink which had turned over and now lay in a red pool of its own
+making on the lower shelf.
+
+"I'm afraid it will have stained the wood, Mrs. Bunting. Perhaps I
+was ill-advised to keep my ink in there."
+
+"Oh, no, sir! That doesn't matter at all. Only a drop or two fell
+out on to the carpet, and they don't show, as you see, sir, for it's
+a dark corner. Shall I take the bottle away? I may as well."
+
+Mr. Sleuth hesitated. "No," he said, after a long pause, "I think
+not, Mrs. Bunting. For the very little I require it the ink
+remaining in the bottle will do quite well, especially if I add a
+little water, or better still, a little tea, to what already
+remains in the bottle. I only require it to mark up passages which
+happen to be of peculiar interest in my Concordance--a work, Mrs.
+Bunting, which I should have taken great pleasure in compiling
+myself had not this--ah--this gentleman called Cruden, been before."
+
+******
+
+Not only Bunting, but Daisy also, thought Ellen far pleasanter in
+her manner than usual that evening. She listened to all they had
+to say about their interesting visit to the Black Museum, and did
+not snub either of them--no, not even when Bunting told of the
+dreadful, haunting, silly-looking death-masks taken from the hanged.
+
+But a few minutes after that, when her husband suddenly asked her
+a question, Mrs. Bunting answered at random. It was clear she had
+not heard the last few words he had been saying.
+
+"A penny for your thoughts!" he said jocularly. But she shook her
+head.
+
+Daisy slipped out of the room, and, five minutes later, came back
+dressed up in a blue-and-white check silk gown.
+
+"My!" said her father. "You do look fine, Daisy. I've never seen
+you wearing that before."
+
+"And a rare figure of fun she looks in it!" observed Mrs. Bunting
+sarcastically. And then, "I suppose this dressing up means that
+you're expecting someone. I should have thought both of you must
+have seen enough of young Chandler for one day. I wonder when that
+young chap does his work--that I do! He never seems too busy to
+come and waste an hour or two here."
+
+But that was the only nasty thing Ellen said all that evening. And
+even Daisy noticed that her stepmother seemed dazed and unlike
+herself. She went about her cooking and the various little things
+she had to do even more silently than was her wont.
+
+Yet under that still, almost sullen, manner, how fierce was the
+storm of dread, of sombre anguish, and, yes, of sick suspense,
+which shook her soul, and which so far affected her poor, ailing
+body that often she felt as if she could not force herself to
+accomplish her simple round of daily work.
+
+After they had finished supper Bunting went out and bought a penny
+evening paper, but as he came in he announced, with a rather rueful
+smile, that he had read so much of that nasty little print this
+last week or two that his eyes hurt him.
+
+"Let me read aloud a bit to you, father," said Daisy eagerly, and he
+handed her the paper.
+
+Scarcely had Daisy opened her lips when a loud ring and a knock
+echoed through the house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+It was only Joe. Somehow, even Bunting called him "Joe" now, and no
+longer "Chandler," as he had mostly used to do.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had opened the front door only a very little way.
+She wasn't going to have any strangers pushing in past her.
+
+To her sharpened, suffering senses her house had become a citadel
+which must be defended; aye, even if the besiegers were a mighty
+horde with right on their side. And she was always expecting that
+first single spy who would herald the battalion against whom her
+only weapon would be her woman's wit and cunning.
+
+But when she saw who stood there smiling at her, the muscles of her
+face relaxed, and it lost the tense, anxious, almost agonised look
+it assumed the moment she turned her back on her husband and
+stepdaughter.
+
+"Why, Joe," she whispered, for she had left the door open behind
+her, and Daisy had already begun to read aloud, as her father had
+bidden her. "Come in, do! It's fairly cold to-night."
+
+A glance at his face had shown her that there was no fresh news.
+
+Joe Chandler walked in, past her, into the little hall. Cold?
+Well, he didn't feel cold, for he had walked quickly to be the
+sooner where he was now.
+
+Nine days had gone by since that last terrible occurrence, the
+double murder which had been committed early in the morning of
+the day Daisy had arrived in London. And though the thousands of
+men belonging to the Metropolitan Police--to say nothing of the
+smaller, more alert body of detectives attached to the Force--
+were keenly on the alert, not one but had begun to feel that
+there was nothing to be alert about. Familiarity, even with
+horror, breeds contempt.
+
+But with the public it was far otherwise. Each day something
+happened to revive and keep alive the mingled horror and interest
+this strange, enigmatic series of crimes had evoked. Even the
+more sober organs of the Press went on attacking, with gathering
+severity and indignation, the Commissioner of Police; and at the
+huge demonstration held in Victoria Park two days before violent
+speeches had also been made against the Home Secretary.
+
+But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that. The little
+house in the Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isle
+of dreams, to which his thoughts were ever turning when he had a
+moment to spare from what had grown to be a wearisome, because an
+unsatisfactory, job. He secretly agreed with one of his pals who
+had exclaimed, and that within twenty-four hours of the last double
+crime, "Why, 'twould be easier to find a needle in a rick o' hay
+than this--bloke!"
+
+And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now--after
+nine long, empty days had gone by?
+
+Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat.
+Then he put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs.
+Bunting to wait a moment. From where he stood in the hall the
+father and daughter made a pleasant little picture of contented
+domesticity. Joe Chandler's honest heart swelled at the sight.
+
+Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which her
+stepmother and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the left
+side of the fire, while Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortable
+arm-chair, was listening, his hand to his ear, in an attitude--as
+it was the first time she had caught him doing it, the fact brought
+a pang to Mrs. Bunting--which showed that age was beginning to
+creep over the listener.
+
+One of Daisy's duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of
+reading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her
+accomplishment.
+
+Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy had been asking,
+"Shall I read this, father?" And Bunting had answered quickly,
+"Aye, do, my dear."
+
+He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the
+door, he had only just nodded his head. The young man was becoming
+so frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.
+
+Daisy read out:
+
+"The Avenger: A--"
+
+And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly.
+Bravely, however, she went on. "A the-o-ry."
+
+"Go in--do!" whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. "Why should
+we stay out here in the cold? It's ridiculous."
+
+"I don't want to interrupt Miss Daisy," whispered Chandler back,
+rather hoarsely.
+
+"Well, you'll hear it all the better in the room. Don't think
+she'll stop because of you, bless you! There's nothing shy about
+our Daisy!"
+
+The young man resented the tart, short tone. "Poor little girl!"
+he said to himself tenderly. "That's what it is having a stepmother,
+instead of a proper mother." But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and then
+he was pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a bright
+blush came over her pretty face.
+
+"Joe begs you won't stop yet awhile. Go on with your reading,"
+commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly. "Now, Joe, you can go and sit over
+there, close to Daisy, and then you won't miss a word."
+
+There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticed
+that, but he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he went
+and sat on a chair just behind Daisy. From there he could note with
+reverent delight the charming way her fair hair grew upwards from
+the nape of her slender neck.
+
+"The AVENGER: A THE-O-RY"
+
+began Daisy again, clearing her throat.
+
+"DEAR Sir--I have a suggestion to put forward for which I think
+there is a great deal to be said. It seems to me very probable
+that The Avenger--to give him the name by which he apparently
+wishes to be known--comprises in his own person the peculiarities
+of Jekyll and Hyde, Mr. Louis Stevenson's now famous hero.
+
+"The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet,
+pleasant-looking gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End of
+London. He has, however, a tragedy in his past life. He is the
+husband of a dipsomaniac wife. She is, of course, under care, and
+is never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe with his
+widowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister. They notice that he
+has become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life,
+occupying himself each day with some harmless hobby. On foggy
+nights, once the quiet household is plunged in sleep, he creeps out
+of the house, maybe between one and two o'clock, and swiftly makes
+his way straight to what has become The Avenger's murder area.
+Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her with Judas-like
+gentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly home
+again. After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, once
+more the quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother,
+esteemed and even beloved by a large circle of friends and
+acquaintances. Meantime, the police are searching about the scene
+of the tragedy for what they regard as the usual type of criminal
+lunatic.
+
+"I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess that
+I am amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries to
+the part of London where these murders have been actually committed.
+I am quite sure from all that has come out--and we must remember
+that full information is never given to the newspapers--The Avenger
+should be sought for in the West and not in the East End of London
+--Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very truly--"
+
+Again Daisy hesitated, and then with an effort she brought out the
+word "Gab-o-ri-you," said she.
+
+"What a funny name!" said Bunting wonderingly.
+
+And then Joe broke in: "That's the name of a French chap what wrote
+detective stories," he said. "Pretty good, some of them are, too!"
+
+"Then this Gaboriyou has come over to study these Avenger murders,
+I take it?" said Bunting.
+
+"Oh, no," Joe spoke with confidence. "Whoever's written that silly
+letter just signed that name for fun."
+
+"It is a silly letter," Mrs. Bunting had broken in resentfully. "I
+wonder a respectable paper prints such rubbish."
+
+"Fancy if The Avenger did turn out to be a gentleman!" cried Daisy, in
+an awe-struck voice. "There'd be a how-to-do!"
+
+"There may be something in the notion," said her father thoughtfully.
+"After all, the monster must be somewhere. This very minute he must
+be somewhere a-hiding of himself."
+
+"Of course he's somewhere," said Mrs. Bunting scornfully.
+
+She had just heard Mr. Sleuth moving overhead. 'Twould soon be time
+for the lodger's supper.
+
+She hurried on: "But what I do say is that--that--he has nothing
+to do with the West End. Why, they say it's a sailor from the Docks
+--that's a good bit more likely, I take it. But there, I'm fair
+sick of the whole subject! We talk of nothing else in this house.
+The Avenger this--The Avenger that--"
+
+"I expect Joe has something to tell us new to-night," said Bunting
+cheerfully. "Well, Joe, is there anything new?"
+
+"I say, father, just listen to this!" Daisy broke in excitedly.
+She read out:
+
+
+"BLOODHOUNDS TO BE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERED"
+
+
+"Bloodhounds?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, and there was terror in her
+tone. "Why bloodhounds? That do seem to me a most horrible idea!"
+
+Bunting looked across at her, mildly astonished. "Why, 'twould be
+a very good idea, if 'twas possible to have bloodhounds in a town.
+But, there, how can that be done in London, full of butchers' shops,
+to say nothing of slaughter-yards and other places o' that sort?"
+
+But Daisy went on, and to her stepmother's shrinking ear there
+seemed a horrible thrill of delight; of gloating pleasure, in her
+fresh young voice.
+
+"Hark to this," she said:
+
+"A man who had committed a murder in a lonely wood near Blackburn
+was traced by the help of a bloodhound, and thanks to the sagacious
+instincts of the animal, the miscreant was finally convicted and
+hanged."
+
+"La, now! Who'd ever have thought of such a thing?" Bunting
+exclaimed, in admiration. "The newspapers do have some useful
+hints in sometimes, Joe."
+
+But young Chandler shook his head. "Bloodhounds ain't no use," he
+said; "no use at all! If the Yard was to listen to all the
+suggestions that the last few days have brought in--well, all I
+can say is our work would be cut out for us--not but what it's
+cut out for us now, if it comes to that!" He sighed ruefully. He
+was beginning to feel very tired; if only he could stay in this
+pleasant, cosy room listening to Daisy Bunting reading on and on
+for ever, instead of having to go out, as he would presently have
+to do, into the cold and foggy night!
+
+Joe Chandler was fast becoming very sick of his new job. There
+was a lot of unpleasantness attached to the business, too. Why,
+even in the house where he lived, and in the little cook-shop where
+he habitually took his meals, the people round him had taken to
+taunt him with the remissness of the police. More than that one of
+his pals, a man he'd always looked up to, because the young fellow
+had the gift of the gab, had actually been among those who had
+spoken at the big demonstration in Victoria Park, making a violent
+speech, not only against the Commissioner of the Metropolitan
+Police, but also against the Home Secretary.
+
+But Daisy, like most people who believe themselves blessed with the
+possession of an accomplishment, had no mind to leave off reading
+just yet.
+
+"Here's another notion!" she exclaimed. "Another letter, father!"
+
+
+"PARDON TO ACCOMPLICES.
+
+
+"DEAR Sir--During the last day or two several of the more
+Intelligent of my acquaintances have suggested that The Avenger,
+whoever he may be, must be known to a certain number of persons.
+It is impossible that the perpetrator of such deeds, however
+nomad he may be in his habits--"
+
+"Now I wonder what 'nomad' can be?" Daisy interrupted herself, and
+looked round at her little audience.
+
+"I've always declared the fellow had all his senses about him,"
+observed Bunting confidently.
+
+Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
+
+"--however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat
+where his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person
+who knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding information
+in expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory
+after the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences. My
+suggestion, Sir, is that the Home Secretary promise a free pardon.
+The more so that only thus can this miscreant be brought to justice.
+Unless he was caught red-handed in the act, it will be exceedingly
+difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for
+English law looks very askance at circumstantial evidence."
+
+"There's something worth listening to in that letter," said Joe,
+leaning forward.
+
+Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as
+she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he
+was saying.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
+
+"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in
+a railway carriage? He took refuge with someone--a woman his
+mother had known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time.
+But at last she gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!"
+
+"I don't think I'd like to give anybody up for a reward," said
+Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
+
+"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You'd
+only be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone--everyone, that
+is, who's a good citizen. And you'd be getting something for doing
+it, which is more than most people gets as does their duty."
+
+"A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common
+informer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man 'ud care to be
+called that! It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It's
+your job to catch those who've done anything wrong. And a man'd be
+a fool who'd take refuge--like with you. He'd be walking into the
+lion's mouth--" Bunting laughed.
+
+And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything I
+wouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
+
+And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn't
+be afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"
+
+And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting,
+sitting with bowed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience
+and anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.
+
+"Why, Ellen, don't you feel well?" asked Bunting quickly.
+
+"Just a spasm, a sharp stitch in my side, like," answered the poor
+woman heavily. "It's over now. Don't mind me."
+
+"But I don't believe--no, that I don't--that there's anybody in
+the world who knows who The Avenger is," went on Chandler quickly.
+"It stands to reason that anybody'd give him up--in their own
+interest, if not in anyone else's. Who'd shelter such a creature?
+Why, 'twould be dangerous to have him in the house along with one!"
+
+"Then it's your idea that he's not responsible for the wicked things
+he does?" Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandler
+with eager, anxious eyes.
+
+"I'd be sorry to think he wasn't responsible enough to hang!" said
+Chandler deliberately. "After all the trouble he's been giving us, too!"
+
+"Hanging'd be too good for that chap," said Bunting.
+
+"Not if he's not responsible," said his wife sharply. "I never
+heard of anything so cruel--that I never did! If the man's a
+madman, he ought to be in an asylum--that's where he ought to be."
+
+"Hark to her now!" Bunting looked at his Ellen with amusement.
+"Contrary isn't the word for her! But there, I've noticed the last
+few days that she seemed to be taking that monster's part. That's
+what comes of being a born total abstainer."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had got up from her chair. "What nonsense you do talk!"
+she said angrily. "Not but what it's a good thing if these murders
+have emptied the public-houses of women for a bit. England's drink
+is England's shame--I'll never depart from that! Now, Daisy, child,
+get up, do! Put down that paper. We've heard quite enough. You can
+be laying the cloth while I goes down the kitchen."
+
+"Yes, you mustn't be forgetting the lodger's supper," called out
+Bunting. "Mr. Sleuth don't always ring--" he turned to Chandler.
+"For one thing, he's often out about this time."
+
+"Not often--just now and again, when he wants to buy something,"
+snapped out Mrs. Bunting. "But I hadn't forgot his supper. He
+never do want it before eight o'clock."
+
+"Let me take up the lodger's supper, Ellen," Daisy's eager voice
+broke in. She had got up in obedience to her stepmother, and was
+now laying the cloth.
+
+"Certainly not! I told you he only wanted me to wait on him. You
+have your work cut out looking after things down here--that's where
+I wants you to help me."
+
+Chandler also got up. Somehow he didn't like to be doing nothing
+while Daisy was so busy. "Yes," he said, looking across at Mrs.
+Bunting, "I'd forgotten about your lodger. Going on all right, eh?"
+
+"Never knew so quiet and well-behaved a gentleman," said Bunting.
+"He turned our luck, did Mr. Sleuth."
+
+His wife left the room, and after she had gone Daisy laughed.
+"You'll hardly believe it, Mr. Chandler, but I've never seen this
+wonderful lodger. Ellen keeps him to herself, that she does! If I
+was father I'd be jealous!"
+
+Both men laughed. Ellen? No, the idea was too funny.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+"All I can say is, I think Daisy ought to go. One can't always do
+just what one wants to do--not in this world, at any rate!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting did not seem to be addressing anyone in particular,
+though both her husband and her stepdaughter were in the room. She
+was standing by the table, staring straight before her, and as she
+spoke she avoided looking at either Bunting or Daisy. There was in
+her voice a tone of cross decision, of thin finality, with which
+they were both acquainted, and to which each listener knew the other
+would have to bow.
+
+There was silence for a moment, then Daisy broke out passionately,
+"I don't see why I should go if I don't want to!" she cried.
+"You'll allow I've been useful to you, Ellen? 'Tisn't even as if
+you was quite well."
+
+"I am quite well--perfectly well!" snapped out Mrs. Bunting, and
+she turned her pale, drawn face, and looked angrily at her
+stepdaughter.
+
+"'Tain't often I has a chance of being with you and father." There
+were tears in Daisy's voice, and Bunting glanced deprecatingly at
+his wife.
+
+An invitation had come to Daisy--an invitation from her own dead
+mother's sister, who was housekeeper in a big house in Belgrave
+Square. "The family" had gone away for the Christmas holidays, and
+Aunt Margaret--Daisy was her godchild--had begged that her niece
+might come and spend two or three days with her.
+
+But the girl had already had more than one taste of what life was
+like in the great gloomy basement of 100 Belgrave Square. Aunt
+Margaret was one of those old-fashioned servants for whom the modern
+employer is always sighing. While "the family" were away it was
+her joy--she regarded it as a privilege--to wash sixty-seven pieces
+of very valuable china contained in two cabinets in the drawing-room;
+she also slept in every bed by turns, to keep them all well aired.
+These were the two duties with which she intended her young niece
+to assist her, and Daisy's soul sickened at the prospect.
+
+But the matter had to be settled at once. The letter had come an
+hour ago, containing a stamped telegraph form, and Aunt Margaret
+was not one to be trifled with.
+
+Since breakfast the three had talked of nothing else, and from the
+very first Mrs. Bunting had said that Daisy ought to go--that there
+was no doubt about it, that it did not admit of discussion. But
+discuss it they all did, and for once Bunting stood up to his wife.
+But that, as was natural, only made his Ellen harder and more set
+on her own view.
+
+"What the child says is true," he observed. "It isn't as if you
+was quite well. You've been took bad twice in the last few days
+--you can't deny of it, Ellen. Why shouldn't I just take a bus
+and go over and see Margaret? I'd tell her just how it is. She'd
+understand, bless you!"
+
+"I won't have you doing nothing of the sort!" cried Mrs. Bunting,
+speaking almost as passionately as her stepdaughter had done.
+"Haven't I a right to be ill, haven't I a right to be took bad,
+aye, and to feel all right again--same as other people?"
+
+Daisy turned round and clasped her hands. "Oh, Ellen!" she cried;
+"do say that you can't spare me! I don't want to go across to that
+horrid old dungeon of a place."
+
+"Do as you like," said Mrs. Bunting sullenly. "I'm fair tired of
+you both! There'll come a day, Daisy, when you'll know, like me,
+that money is the main thing that matters in this world; and when
+your Aunt Margaret's left her savings to somebody else just because
+you wouldn't spend a few days with her this Christmas, then you'll
+know what it's like to go without--you'll know what a fool you
+were, and that nothing can't alter it any more!"
+
+And then, with victory actually in her grasp, poor Daisy saw it
+snatched from her.
+
+"Ellen is right," Bunting said heavily. "Money does matter--a
+terrible deal--though I never thought to hear Ellen say 'twas the
+only thing that mattered. But 'twould be foolish--very, very
+foolish, my girl, to offend your Aunt Margaret. It'll only be
+two days after all--two days isn't a very long time."
+
+But Daisy did not hear her father's last words. She had already
+rushed from the room, and gone down to the kitchen to hide her
+childish tears of disappointment--the childish tears which came
+because she was beginning to be a woman, with a woman's natural
+instinct for building her own human nest.
+
+Aunt Margaret was not one to tolerate the comings of any strange
+young man, and she had a peculiar dislike to the police.
+
+"Who'd ever have thought she'd have minded as much as that!"
+Bunting looked across at Ellen deprecatingly; already his heart
+was misgiving him.
+
+"It's plain enough why she's become so fond of us all of a sudden,"
+said Mrs. Bunting sarcastically. And as her husband stared at her
+uncomprehendingly, she added, in a tantalising tone, "as plain as
+the nose on your face, my man."
+
+"What d'you mean?" he said. "I daresay I'm a bit slow, Ellen, but
+I really don't know what you'd be at?"
+
+"Don't you remember telling me before Daisy came here that Joe
+Chandler had become sweet on her last summer? I thought it only
+foolishness then, but I've come round to your view--that's all."
+
+Bunting nodded his head slowly. Yes, Joe had got into the way of
+coming very often, and there had been the expedition to that gruesome
+Scotland Yard museum, but somehow he, Bunting, had been so interested
+in the Avenger murders that he hadn't thought of Joe in any other
+connection--not this time, at any rate.
+
+"And do you think Daisy likes him?" There was an unwonted tone of
+excitement, of tenderness, in Bunting's voice.
+
+His wife looked over at him; and a thin smile, not an unkindly
+smile by any means, lit up her pale face. "I've never been one
+to prophesy," she answered deliberately. "But this I don't mind
+telling you, Bunting--Daisy'll have plenty o' time to get tired
+of Joe Chandler before they two are dead. Mark my words!"
+
+"Well, she might do worse," said Bunting ruminatingly. "He's as
+steady as God makes them, and he's already earning thirty-two
+shillings a week. But I wonder how Old Aunt'd like the notion?
+I don't see her parting with Daisy before she must."
+
+"I wouldn't let no old aunt interfere with me about such a thing
+as that!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "No, not for millions of gold!"
+And Bunting looked at her in silent wonder. Ellen was singing a
+very different tune now to what she'd sung a few minutes ago, when
+she was so keen about the girl going to Belgrave Square.
+
+"If she still seems upset while she's having her dinner," said his
+wife suddenly, "well, you just wait till I've gone out for something,
+and then you just say to her, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'
+--just that, and nothing more! She'll take it from you. And I
+shouldn't be surprised if it comforted her quite a lot."
+
+"For the matter of that, there's no reason why Joe Chandler shouldn't
+go over and see her there," said Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+"Oh, yes, there is," said Mrs. Bunting, smiling shrewdly. "Plenty of
+reason. Daisy'll be a very foolish girl if she allows her aunt to
+know any of her secrets. I've only seen that woman once, but I know
+exactly the sort Margaret is. She's just waiting for Old Aunt to
+drop off and then she'll want to have Daisy herself--to wait on
+her, like. She'd turn quite nasty if she thought there was a young
+fellow what stood in her way."
+
+She glanced at the dock, the pretty little eight-day clock which
+had been a wedding present from a kind friend of her last mistress.
+It had mysteriously disappeared during their time of trouble, and
+had as mysteriously reappeared three or four days after Mr. Sleuth's
+arrival.
+
+"I've time to go out with that telegram," she said briskly--somehow
+she felt better, different to what she had done the last few days--
+"and then it'll be done. It's no good having more words about it,
+and I expect we should have plenty more words if I wait till the
+child comes upstairs again."
+
+She did not speak unkindly, and Bunting looked at her rather
+wonderingly. Ellen very seldom spoke of Daisy as "the child"
+--in fact, he could only remember her having done so once before,
+and that was a long time ago. They had been talking over their
+future life together, and she had said, very solemnly, "Bunting,
+I promise I will do my duty--as much as lies in my power, that
+is--by the child."
+
+But Ellen had not had much opportunity of doing her duty by Daisy.
+As not infrequently happens with the duties that we are willing to
+do, that particular duty had been taken over by someone else who
+had no mind to let it go.
+
+"What shall I do if Mr. Sleuth rings?" asked Bunting, rather
+nervously. It was the first time since the lodger had come to them
+that Ellen had offered to go out in the morning.
+
+She hesitated. In her anxiety to have the matter of Daisy settled,
+she had forgotten Mr. Sleuth. Strange that she should have done so
+--strange, and, to herself, very comfortable and pleasant.
+
+"Oh, well, you can just go up and knock at the door and say I'll be
+back in a few minutes--that I had to go out with a message. He's
+quite a reasonable gentleman." She went into the back room to put
+on her bonnet and thick jacket for it was very cold--getting colder
+every minute.
+
+As she stood, buttoning her gloves--she wouldn't have gone out
+untidy for the world--Bunting suddenly came across to her. "Give
+us a kiss, old girl," he said. And his wife turned up her face.
+
+"One 'ud think it was catching!" she said, but there was a lilt in
+her voice.
+
+"So it is," Bunting briefly answered. "Didn't that old cook get
+married just after us? She'd never 'a thought of it if it hadn't
+been for you!"
+
+But once she was out, walking along the damp, uneven pavement, Mr.
+Sleuth revenged himself for his landlady's temporary forgetfulness.
+
+During the last two days the lodger had been queer, odder than usual,
+unlike himself, or, rather, very much as he had been some ten days
+ago, just before that double murder had taken place.
+
+The night before, while Daisy was telling all about the dreadful
+place to which Joe Chandler had taken her and her father, Mrs.
+Bunting had heard Mr. Sleuth moving about overhead, restlessly
+walking up and down his sitting-room. And later, when she took up
+his supper, she had listened a moment outside the door, while he
+read aloud some of the texts his soul delighted in--terrible texts
+telling of the grim joys attendant on revenge.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was so absorbed in her thoughts, so possessed with the
+curious personality of her lodger, that she did not look where she
+was going, and suddenly a young woman bumped up against her.
+
+She started violently and looked round, dazed, as the young person
+muttered a word of apology;--then she again fell into deep thought.
+
+It was a good thing Daisy was going away for a few days; it made the
+problem of Mr. Sleuth and his queer ways less disturbing. She,
+Ellen, was sorry she had spoken so sharp-like to the girl, but after
+all it wasn't wonderful that she had been snappy. This last night
+she had hardly slept at all. Instead, she had lain awake listening
+--and there is nothing so tiring as to lie awake listening for a
+sound that never comes.
+
+The house had remained so still you could have heard a pin drop. Mr.
+Sleuth, lying snug in his nice warm bed upstairs, had not stirred.
+Had he stirred his landlady was bound to have heard him, for his bed
+was, as we know, just above hers. No, during those long hours of
+darkness Daisy's light, regular breathing was all that had fallen on
+Mrs. Bunting's ears.
+
+And then her mind switched off Mr. Sleuth. She made a determined
+effort to expel him, to toss him, as it were, out of her thoughts.
+
+It seemed strange that The Avenger had stayed his hand, for, as Joe
+had said only last evening, it was full time that he should again
+turn that awful, mysterious searchlight of his on himself. Mrs.
+Bunting always visioned The Avenger as a black shadow in the centre
+a bright blinding light--but the shadow had no form or definite
+substance. Sometimes he looked like one thing, sometimes like
+another . . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting had now come to the corner which led up the street
+where there was a Post Office. But instead of turning sharp to the
+left she stopped short for a minute.
+
+There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke
+and even self-loathing. It was dreadful that she, of all women,
+should have longed to hear that another murder had been committed
+last night!
+
+Yet such was the shameful fact. She had listened all through
+breakfast hoping to hear the dread news being shouted outside; yes,
+and more or less during the long discussion which had followed on
+the receipt of Margaret's letter she had been hoping--hoping
+against hope--that those dreadful triumphant shouts of the
+newspaper-sellers still might come echoing down the Marylebone Road.
+And yet hypocrite that she was, she had reproved Bunting when he
+had expressed, not disappointment exactly--but, well, surprise,
+that nothing had happened last night.
+
+Now her mind switched off to Joe Chandler. Strange to think how
+afraid she had been of that young man! She was no longer afraid of
+him, or hardly at all. He was dotty--that's what was the matter
+with him, dotty with love for rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little Daisy.
+Anything might now go on, right under Joe Chandler's very nose--but,
+bless you, he'd never see it! Last summer, when this affair, this
+nonsense of young Chandler and Daisy had begun, she had had very
+little patience with it all. In fact, the memory of the way Joe
+had gone on then, the tiresome way he would be always dropping in,
+had been one reason (though not the most important reason of all)
+why she had felt so terribly put about at the idea of the girl
+coming again. But now? Well, now she had become quite tolerant,
+quite kindly--at any rate as far as Joe Chandler was concerned.
+
+She wondered why.
+
+Still, 'twouldn't do Joe a bit of harm not to see the girl for a
+couple of days. In fact 'twould be a very good thing, for then he'd
+think of Daisy--think of her to the exclusion of all else. Absence
+does make the heart grow fonder--at first, at any rate. Mrs.
+Bunting was well aware of that. During the long course of hers
+and Bunting's mild courting, they'd been separated for about three
+months, and it was that three months which had made up her mind for
+her. She had got so used to Bunting that she couldn't do without
+him, and she had felt--oddest fact of all--acutely, miserably
+jealous. But she hadn't let him know that--no fear!
+
+Of course, Joe mustn't neglect his job--that would never do. But
+what a good thing it was, after all, that he wasn't like some of
+those detective chaps that are written about in stories--the sort
+of chaps that know everything, see everything, guess everything
+--even where there isn't anything to see, or know, or guess!
+
+Why, to take only one little fact--Joe Chandler had never shown
+the slightest curiosity about their lodger. . . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting pulled herself together with a start, and hurried
+quickly on. Bunting would begin to wonder what had happened to her.
+
+She went into the Post Office and handed the form to the young woman
+without a word. Margaret, a sensible woman, who was accustomed to
+manage other people's affairs, had even written out the words: "Will
+be with you to tea.--DAISY."
+
+It was a comfort to have the thing settled once for all. If anything
+horrible was going to happen in the next two or three days--it was
+just as well Daisy shouldn't be at home. Not that there was any real
+danger that anything would happen,--Mrs. Bunting felt sure of that.
+
+By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally
+counting up the number of murders The Avenger had committed. Nine,
+or was it ten? Surely by now The Avenger must be avenged? Surely by
+now, if--as that writer in the newspaper had suggested--he was a
+quiet, blameless gentleman living in the West End, whatever vengeance
+he had to wreak, must be satisfied?
+
+She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn't do for the lodger to ring
+before she had got back. Bunting would never know how to manage Mr.
+Sleuth, especially if Mr. Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
+
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting put the key into the front door lock and passed into
+the house. Then her heart stood still with fear and terror. There
+came the sound of voices--of voices she thought she did not know--
+in the sitting-room.
+
+She opened the door, and then drew a long breath. It was only Joe
+Chandler--Joe, Daisy, and Bunting, talking together. They stopped
+rather guiltily as she came in, but not before she had heard
+Chandler utter the words: "That don't mean nothing! I'll just run
+out and send another saying you won't come, Miss Daisy."
+
+And then the strangest smile came over Mrs. Bunting's face. There
+had fallen on her ear the still distant, but unmistakable, shouts
+which betokened that something had happened last night--something
+which made it worth while for the newspaper-sellers to come crying
+down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"Well?" she said a little breathlessly. "Well, Joe? I suppose
+you've brought us news? I suppose there's been another?"
+
+He looked at her, surprised. "No, that there hasn't, Mrs. Bunting
+--not as far as I know, that is. Oh, you're thinking of those
+newspaper chaps? They've got to cry out something," he grinned.
+"You wouldn't 'a thought folk was so bloodthirsty. They're just
+shouting out that there's been an arrest; but we don't take no
+stock of that. It's a Scotchman what gave himself up last night
+at Dorking. He'd been drinking, and was a-pitying of himself.
+Why, since this business began, there's been about twenty arrests,
+but they've all come to nothing."
+
+"Why, Ellen, you looks quite sad, quite disappointed," said Bunting
+jokingly. "Come to think of it, it's high time The Avenger was at
+work again." He laughed as he made his grim joke. Then turned to
+young Chandler: "Well, you'll be glad when its all over, my lad."
+
+"Glad in a way," said Chandler unwillingly. "But one 'ud have liked
+to have caught him. One doesn't like to know such a creature's at
+large, now, does one?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting had taken off her bonnet and jacket. "I must just go
+and see about Mr. Sleuth's breakfast," she said in a weary,
+dispirited voice, and left them there.
+
+She felt disappointed, and very, very depressed. As to the plot
+which had been hatching when she came in, that had no chance of
+success; Bunting would never dare let Daisy send out another
+telegram contradicting the first. Besides, Daisy's stepmother
+shrewdly suspected that by now the girl herself wouldn't care to
+do such a thing. Daisy had plenty of sense tucked away somewhere
+in her pretty little head. If it ever became her fate to live as
+a married woman in London, it would be best to stay on the right
+side of Aunt Margaret.
+
+And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother's heart became
+very soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready. In fact,
+there was nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth's two eggs. Feeling
+suddenly more cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took
+the tray upstairs.
+
+"As it was rather late, I didn't wait for you to ring, sir," she
+said.
+
+And the lodger looked up from the table where, as usual, he was
+studying with painful, almost agonising intentness, the Book.
+"Quite right, Mrs. Bunting--quite right! I have been pondering
+over the command, 'Work while it is yet light.'"
+
+"Yes, sir?" she said, and a queer, cold feeling stole over her
+heart. "Yes, sir?"
+
+"'The spirit is willing, but the flesh--the flesh is weak,'" said
+Mr. Sleuth, with a heavy sigh.
+
+"You studies too hard, and too long--that's what's ailing you, sir,"
+said Mr. Sleuth's landlady suddenly.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down again she found that a great deal had
+been settled in her absence; among other things, that Joe Chandler
+was going to escort Miss Daisy across to Belgrave Square. He
+could carry Daisy's modest bag, and if they wanted to ride instead
+of walk, why, they could take the bus from Baker Street Station
+to Victoria--that would land them very near Belgrave Square.
+
+But Daisy seemed quite willing to walk; she hadn't had a walk, she
+declared, for a long, long time--and then she blushed rosy red,
+and even her stepmother had to admit to herself that Daisy was very
+nice looking, not at all the sort of girl who ought to be allowed to
+go about the London streets by herself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+Daisy's father and stepmother stood side by side at the front door,
+watching the girl and young Chandler walk off into the darkness.
+
+A yellow pall of fog had suddenly descended on London, and Joe had
+come a full half-hour before they expected him, explaining, rather
+lamely, that it was the fog which had brought him so soon.
+
+"If we was to have waited much longer, perhaps, 'twouldn't have been
+possible to walk a yard," he explained, and they had accepted,
+silently, his explanation.
+
+"I hope it's quite safe sending her off like that?" Bunting looked
+deprecatingly at his wife. She had already told him more than once
+that he was too fussy about Daisy, that about his daughter he was
+like an old hen with her last chicken.
+
+"She's safer than she would be, with you or me. She couldn't have
+a smarter young fellow to look after her."
+
+"It'll be awful thick at Hyde Park Corner," said Bunting. "It's
+always worse there than anywhere else. If I was Joe I'd 'a taken
+her by the Underground Railway to Victoria--that 'ud been the best
+way, considering the weather 'tis."
+
+"They don't think anything of the weather, bless you!" said his
+wife. "They'll walk and walk as long as there's a glimmer left for
+'em to steer by. Daisy's just been pining to have a walk with that
+young chap. I wonder you didn't notice how disappointed they both
+were when you was so set on going along with them to that horrid
+place."
+
+"D'you really mean that, Ellen?" Bunting looked upset. "I understood
+Joe to say he liked my company."
+
+"Oh, did you?" said Mrs. Bunting dryly. "I expect he liked it just
+about as much as we liked the company of that old cook who would go
+out with us when we was courting. It always was a wonder to me how
+the woman could force herself upon two people who didn't want her."
+
+"But I'm Daisy's father; and an old friend of Chandler," said Bunting
+remonstratingly. "I'm quite different from that cook. She was
+nothing to us, and we was nothing to her."
+
+"She'd have liked to be something to you, I make no doubt," observed
+his Ellen, shaking her head, and her husband smiled, a little
+foolishly.
+
+By this time they were back in their nice, cosy sitting-room, and
+a feeling of not altogether unpleasant lassitude stole over Mrs.
+Bunting. It was a comfort to have Daisy out of her way for a bit.
+The girl, in some ways, was very wide awake and inquisitive, and
+she had early betrayed what her stepmother thought to be a very
+unseemly and silly curiosity concerning the lodger. "You might
+just let me have one peep at him, Ellen?" she had pleaded, only
+that morning. But Ellen had shaken her head. "No, that I won't!
+He's a very quiet gentleman; but he knows exactly what he likes,
+and he don't like anyone but me waiting on him. Why, even your
+father's hardly seen him."
+
+But that, naturally, had only increased Daisy's desire to view Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+There was another reason why Mrs. Bunting was glad that her
+stepdaughter had gone away for two days. During her absence young
+Chandler was far less likely to haunt them in the way he had taken
+to doing lately, the more so that, in spite of what she had said to
+her husband, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that Daisy would ask Joe
+Chandler to call at Belgrave Square. 'Twouldn't be human nature
+--at any rate, not girlish human nature--not to do so, even if
+Joe's coming did anger Aunt Margaret.
+
+Yes, it was pretty safe that with Daisy away they, the Buntings,
+would be rid of that young chap for a bit, and that would be a
+good thing.
+
+When Daisy wasn't there to occupy the whole of his attention, Mrs.
+Bunting felt queerly afraid of Chandler. After all, he was a
+detective--it was his job to be always nosing about, trying to
+find out things. And, though she couldn't fairly say to herself
+that he had done much of that sort of thing in her house, he might
+start doing it any minute. And then--then--where would she, and
+--and Mr. Sleuth, be?
+
+She thought of the bottle of red ink--of the leather bag which
+must be hidden somewhere--and her heart almost stopped beating.
+Those were the sort of things which, in the stories Bunting was
+so fond of reading, always led to the detection of famous
+criminals. . . .
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell for tea rang that afternoon far earlier than
+usual. The fog had probably misled him, and made him think it
+later than it was.
+
+When she went up, "I would like a cup of tea now, and just one
+piece of bread-and-butter," the lodger said wearily. "I don't
+feel like having anything else this afternoon."
+
+"It's a horrible day," Mrs. Bunting observed, in a cheerier voice
+than usual. "No wonder you don't feel hungry, sir. And then it
+isn't so very long since you had your dinner, is it?"
+
+"No," he said absently. "No, it isn't, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+She went down, made the tea, and brought it up again. And then,
+as she came into the room, she uttered an exclamation of sharp
+dismay.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was dressed for going out. He was wearing his long
+Inverness cloak, and his queer old high hat lay on the table,
+ready for him to put on.
+
+"You're never going out this afternoon, sir?" she asked falteringly.
+"Why, the fog's awful; you can't see a yard ahead of you!"
+
+Unknown to herself, Mrs. Bunting's voice had risen almost to a
+scream. She moved back, still holding the tray, and stood between
+the door and her lodger, as if she meant to bar his way--to erect
+between Mr. Sleuth and the dark, foggy world outside a living
+barrier.
+
+"The weather never affects me at all," he said sullenly; and he
+looked at her with so wild and pleading a look in his eyes that,
+slowly, reluctantly, she moved aside. As she did so she noticed
+for the first time that Mr. Sleuth held something in his right
+hand. It was the key of the chiffonnier cupboard. He had been
+on his way there when her coming in had disturbed him.
+
+"It's very kind of you to be so concerned about me," he stammered,
+"but--but, Mrs. Bunting, you must excuse me if I say that I do
+not welcome such solicitude. I prefer to be left alone. I--I
+cannot stay in your house if I feel that my comings and goings are
+watched--spied upon."
+
+She pulled herself together. "No one spies upon you, sir," she
+said, with considerable dignity. "I've done my best to satisfy
+you--"
+
+"You have--you have!" he spoke in a distressed, apologetic tone.
+"But you spoke just now as if you were trying to prevent my doing
+what I wish to do--indeed, what I have to do. For years I have
+been misunderstood--persecuted"--he waited a moment, then in
+a hollow voice added the one word, "tortured! Do not tell me that
+you are going to add yourself to the number of my tormentors, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him helplessly. "Don't you be afraid I'll ever be
+that, sir. I only spoke as I did because--well, sir, because I
+thought it really wasn't safe for a gentleman to go out this
+afternoon. Why, there's hardly anyone about, though we're so near
+Christmas."
+
+He walked across to the window and looked out. "The fog is clearing
+somewhat; Mrs. Bunting," but there was no relief in his voice, rather
+was there disappointment and dread.
+
+Plucking up courage, she followed him. Yes, Mr. Sleuth was right.
+The fog was lifting--rolling off in that sudden, mysterious way in
+which local fogs sometimes do lift in London.
+
+He turned sharply from the window. "Our conversation has made me
+forget an important thing, Mrs. Bunting. I should be glad if you
+would just leave out a glass of milk and some bread-and-butter for
+me this evening. I shall not require supper when I come in, for
+after my walk I shall probably go straight upstairs to carry through
+a very difficult experiment."
+
+"Very good, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting left the lodger.
+
+But when she found herself downstairs in the fog-laden hall, for it
+had drifted in as she and her husband had stood at the door seeing
+Daisy off, instead of going in to Bunting she did a very odd thing
+--a thing she had never thought of doing in her life before. She
+pressed her hot forehead against the cool bit of looking-glass let
+into the hat-and-umbrella stand. "I don't know what to do!" she
+moaned to herself, and then, "I can't bear it! I can't bear it!"
+
+But though she felt that her secret suspense and trouble was becoming
+intolerable, the one way in which she could have ended her misery
+never occurred to Mrs. Bunting.
+
+In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that
+a woman has betrayed one who has taken refuge with her. The
+timorous and cautious woman has not infrequently hunted a human
+being fleeing from his pursuer from her door, but she has not
+revealed the fact that he was ever there. In fact, it may almost
+be said that such betrayal has never taken place unless the betrayer
+has been actuated by love of gain, or by a longing for revenge. So
+far, perhaps because she is subject rather than citizen, her duty
+as a component part of civilised society weighs but lightly on
+woman's shoulders.
+
+And then--and then, in a sort of way, Mrs. Bunting had become
+attached to Mr. Sleuth. A wan smile would sometimes light up his
+sad face when he saw her come in with one of his meals, and when
+this happened Mrs. Bunting felt pleased--pleased and vaguely
+touched. In between those--those dreadful events outside, which
+filled her with such suspicion, such anguish and such suspense,
+she never felt any fear, only pity, for Mr. Sleuth.
+
+Often and often, when lying wide awake at night, she turned over
+the strange problem in her mind. After all, the lodger must have
+lived somewhere during his forty-odd years of life. She did not
+even know if Mr. Sleuth had any brothers or sisters; friends she
+knew he had none. But, however odd and eccentric he was, he had
+evidently, or so she supposed, led a quiet, undistinguished kind
+of life, till--till now.
+
+What had made him alter all of a sudden--if, that is, he had
+altered? That was what Mrs. Bunting was always debating fitfully
+with herself; and, what was more, and very terribly, to the point,
+having altered, why should he not in time go back to what he
+evidently had been--that is, a blameless, quiet gentleman?
+
+If only he would! If only he would!
+
+As she stood in the hall, cooling her hot forehead, all these
+thoughts, these hopes and fears, jostled at lightning speed through
+her brain.
+
+She remembered what young Chandler had said the other day--that
+there had never been, in the history of the world, so strange a
+murderer as The Avenger had proved himself to be.
+
+She and Bunting, aye, and little Daisy too, had hung, fascinated,
+on Joe's words, as he had told them of other famous series of
+murders which had taken place in the past, not only in England but
+abroad--especially abroad.
+
+One woman, whom all the people round her believed to be a kind,
+respectable soul, had poisoned no fewer than fifteen people in order
+to get their insurance money. Then there had been the terrible tale
+of an apparently respectable, contented innkeeper and his wife, who,
+living at the entrance to a wood, killed all those humble travellers
+who took shelter under their roof, simply for their clothes, and any
+valuables they possessed. But in all those stories the murderer or
+murderers always had a very strong motive, the motive being, in
+almost every case, a wicked lust for gold.
+
+At last, after having passed her handkerchief over her forehead, she
+went into the room where Bunting was sitting smoking his pipe.
+
+"The fog's lifting a bit," she said in an ill-assured voice. "I hope
+that by this time Daisy and that Joe Chandler are right out of it."
+
+But the other shook his head silently. "No such luck!" he said
+briefly. "You don't know what it's like in Hyde Park, Ellen. I
+expect 'twill soon be just as heavy here as 'twas half an hour ago!"
+
+She wandered over to the window, and pulled the curtain back.
+"Quite a lot of people have come out, anyway," she observed.
+
+"There's a fine Christmas show in the Edgware Road. I was thinking
+of asking if you wouldn't like to go along there with me."
+
+"No," she said dully. "I'm quite content to stay at home."
+
+She was listening--listening for the sounds which would betoken
+that the lodger was coming downstairs.
+
+At last she heard the cautious, stuffless tread of his rubber-soled
+shoes shuffling along the hall. But Bunting only woke to the fact
+when the front door shut to.
+
+"That's never Mr. Sleuth going out?" He turned on his wife,
+startled. "Why, the poor gentleman'll come to harm--that he will!
+One has to be wide awake on an evening like this. I hope he hasn't
+taken any of his money out with him."
+
+"'Tisn't the first time Mr. Sleuth's been out in a fog," said Mrs.
+Bunting sombrely.
+
+Somehow she couldn't help uttering these over-true words. And then
+she turned, eager and half frightened, to see how Bunting had taken
+what she said.
+
+But he looked quite placid, as if he had hardly heard her. "We
+don't get the good old fogs we used to get--not what people used
+to call 'London particulars.' I expect the lodger feels like Mrs.
+Crowley--I've often told you about her, Ellen?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting nodded.
+
+Mrs. Crowley had been one of Bunting's ladies, one of those he had
+liked best--a cheerful, jolly lady, who used often to give her
+servants what she called a treat. It was seldom the kind of treat
+they would have chosen for themselves, but still they appreciated
+her kind thought.
+
+"Mrs. Crowley used to say," went on Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic
+way, "that she never minded how bad the weather was in London, so
+long as it was London and not the country. Mr. Crowley, he liked
+the country best, but Mrs. Crowley always felt dull-like there.
+Fog never kept her from going out--no, that it didn't. She wasn't
+a bit afraid. But--" he turned round and looked at his wife--
+"I am a bit surprised at Mr. Sleuth. I should have thought him a
+timid kind of gentleman--"
+
+He waited a moment, and she felt forced to answer him.
+
+"I wouldn't exactly call him timid," she said, in a low voice, "but
+he is very quiet, certainly. That's why he dislikes going out when
+there are a lot of people bustling about the streets. I don't
+suppose he'll be out long."
+
+She hoped with all her soul that Mr. Sleuth would be in very soon
+--that he would be daunted by the now increasing gloom.
+
+Somehow she did not feel she could sit still for very long. She
+got up, and went over to the farthest window.
+
+The fog had lifted, certainly. She could see the lamp-lights on
+the other side of the Marylebone Road, glimmering redly; and
+shadowy figures were hurrying past, mostly making their way towards
+the Edgware Road, to see the Christmas shops.
+
+At last to his wife's relief, Bunting got up too. He went over to
+the cupboard where he kept his little store of books, and took one
+out.
+
+"I think I'll read a bit," he said. "Seems a long time since I've
+looked at a book. The papers was so jolly interesting for a bit,
+but now there's nothing in 'em."
+
+His wife remained silent. She knew what he meant. A good many days
+had gone by since the last two Avenger murders, and the papers had
+very little to say about them that they hadn't said in different
+language a dozen times before.
+
+She went into her bedroom and came back with a bit of plain sewing.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was fond of sewing, and Bunting liked to see her so
+engaged. Since Mr. Sleuth had come to be their lodger she had not
+had much time for that sort of work.
+
+It was funny how quiet the house was without either Daisy, or--or
+the lodger, in it.
+
+At last she let her needle remain idle, and the bit of cambric
+slipped down on her knee, while she listened, longingly, for Mr.
+Sleuth's return home.
+
+And as the minutes sped by she fell to wondering with a painful
+wonder if she would ever see her lodger again, for, from what she
+knew of Mr. Sleuth, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he got into any
+kind of--well, trouble outside, he would never betray where he
+had lived during the last few weeks.
+
+No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way
+as he had come. And Bunting would never suspect, would never know,
+until, perhaps--God, what a horrible thought--a picture published
+in some newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting's
+knowledge.
+
+But if that happened--if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass,
+she made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything. She also
+would pretend to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the
+astounding revelation.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+"There he is at last, and I'm glad of it, Ellen. 'Tain't a night
+you would wish a dog to be out in."
+
+Bunting's voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and
+look at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the
+evening paper he held in his hand.
+
+He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his
+nice arm-chair. He looked very well--well and ruddy. Mrs. Bunting
+stared across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of
+resentment. And this was very curious, for she was, in her own dry
+way, very fond of Bunting.
+
+"You needn't feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for
+himself all right."
+
+Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. "I
+can't think why he wanted to go out in such weather," he said
+impatiently.
+
+"Well, it's none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?"
+
+"No, that's true enough. Still, 'twould be a very bad thing for us
+if anything happened to him. This lodger's the first bit of luck
+we've had for a terrible long time, Ellen."
+
+Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair. She
+remained silent for a moment. What Bunting had said was too obvious
+to be worth answering. Also she was listening, following in
+imagination her lodger's quick, singularly quiet progress--
+"stealthy" she called it to herself--through the fog-filled,
+lamp-lit hall. Yes, now he was going up the staircase. What
+was that Bunting was saying?
+
+"It isn't safe for decent folk to be out in such weather--no, that
+it ain't, not unless they have something to do that won't wait till
+to-morrow." The speaker was looking straight into his wife's narrow,
+colourless face. Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to prove
+himself right. "I've a good mind to speak to him about it, that
+I have! He ought to be told that it isn't safe--not for the sort
+of man he is--to be wandering about the streets at night. I read
+you out the accidents in Lloyd's--shocking, they were, and all
+brought about by the fog! And then, that horrid monster 'ull soon
+be at his work again--"
+
+"Monster?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.
+
+She was trying to hear the lodger's footsteps overhead. She was
+very curious to know whether he had gone into his nice sitting-room,
+or straight upstairs, to that cold experiment-room, as he now always
+called it.
+
+But her husband went on as if he had not heard her, and she gave up
+trying to listen to what was going on above.
+
+"It wouldn't be very pleasant to run up against such a party as that
+in the fog, eh, Ellen?" He spoke as if the notion had a certain
+pleasant thrill in it after all.
+
+"What stuff you do talk!" said Mrs. Bunting sharply. And then she
+got up. Her husband's remarks had disturbed her. Why couldn't they
+talk of something pleasant when they did have a quiet bit of time
+together?
+
+Bunting looked down again at his paper, and she moved quietly about
+the room. Very soon it would be time for supper, and to-night she
+was going to cook her husband a nice piece of toasted cheese. That
+fortunate man, as she was fond of telling him, with mingled contempt
+and envy, had the digestion of an ostrich, and yet he was rather
+fanciful, as gentlemen's servants who have lived in good places
+often are.
+
+Yes, Bunting was very lucky in the matter of his digestion. Mrs.
+Bunting prided herself on having a nice mind, and she would never
+have allowed an unrefined word--such a word as "stomach," for
+instance, to say nothing of an even plainer term--to pass her
+lips, except, of course, to a doctor in a sick-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go down at once into her cold kitchen;
+instead, with a sudden furtive movement, she opened the door leading
+into her bedroom, and then, closing the door quietly, stepped back
+into the darkness, and stood motionless, listening.
+
+At first she heard nothing, but gradually there stole on her
+listening ears the sound of someone moving softly about in the
+room just overhead, that is, in Mr. Sleuth's bedroom. But, try as
+she might, it was impossible for her to guess what the lodger was
+doing.
+
+At last she heard him open the door leading out on the little
+landing. She could hear the stairs creaking. That meant, no doubt,
+that Mr. Sleuth would pass the rest of the evening in the cheerless
+room above. He hadn't spent any time up there for quite a long
+while--in fact, not for nearly ten days. 'Twas odd he chose to-night,
+when it was so foggy, to carry out an experiment.
+
+She groped her way to a chair and sat down. She felt very tired--
+strangely tired, as if she had gone through some great physical
+exertion.
+
+Yes, it was true that Mr. Sleuth had brought her and Bunting luck,
+and it was wrong, very wrong, of her ever to forget that.
+
+As she sat there she also reminded herself, and not for the first
+time, what the lodger's departure would mean. It would almost
+certainly mean ruin; just as his staying meant all sorts of good
+things, of which physical comfort was the least. If Mr. Sleuth
+stayed on with them, as he showed every intention of doing, it
+meant respectability, and, above all, security.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought of Mr. Sleuth's money. He never received a
+letter, and yet he must have some kind of income--so much was
+clear. She supposed he went and drew his money, in sovereigns, out
+of a bank as he required it.
+
+Her mind swung round, consciously, deliberately, away from Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+The Avenger? What a strange name! Again she assured herself that
+there would come a time when The Avenger, whoever he was, must feel
+satiated; when he would feel himself to be, so to speak, avenged.
+
+To go back to Mr. Sleuth; it was lucky that the lodger seemed so
+pleased, not only with the rooms, but with his landlord and landlady
+--indeed, there was no real reason why Mr. Sleuth should ever wish
+to leave such nice lodgings.
+
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly stood up. She made a strong effort, and shook
+off her awful sense of apprehension and unease. Feeling for the
+handle of the door giving into the passage she turned it, and then,
+with light, firm steps, she went down into the kitchen.
+
+When they had first taken the house, the basement had been made by
+her care, if not into a pleasant, then, at any rate, into a very
+clean place. She had had it whitewashed, and against the still
+white walls the gas stove loomed up, a great square of black iron
+and bright steel. It was a large gas-stove, the kind for which one
+pays four shillings a quarter rent to the gas company, and here, in
+the kitchen, there was no foolish shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+Mrs. Bunting was too shrewd a woman to have anything to do with that
+kind of business. There was a proper gas-meter, and she paid for
+what she consumed after she had consumed it.
+
+Putting her candle down on the well-scrubbed wooden table, she
+turned up the gas-jet, and blew out the candle.
+
+Then, lighting one of the gas-rings, she put a frying-pan on the
+stove, and once more her mind reverted, as if in spite of herself,
+to Mr. Sleuth. Never had there been a more confiding or trusting
+gentleman than the lodger, and yet in some ways he was so secret,
+so--so peculiar.
+
+She thought of the bag--that bag which had rumbled about so
+queerly in the chiffonnier. Something seemed to tell her that
+tonight the lodger had taken that bag out with him.
+
+And then she thrust away the thought of the bag almost violently
+from her mind, and went back to the more agreeable thought of Mr.
+Sleuth's income, and of how little trouble he gave. Of course,
+the lodger was eccentric, otherwise he wouldn't be their lodger
+at all--he would be living in quite a different sort of way with
+some of his relations, or with a friend in his own class.
+
+While these thoughts galloped disconnectedly through her mind,
+Mrs. Bunting went on with her cooking, preparing the cheese, cutting
+it up into little shreds, carefully measuring out the butter, doing
+everything, as was always her way, with a certain delicate and
+cleanly precision.
+
+And then, while in the middle of toasting the bread on which was to
+be poured the melted cheese, she suddenly heard sounds which startled
+her, made her feel uncomfortable.
+
+Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.
+
+She looked up and listened.
+
+Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy
+night--going out, as he had done the other evening, for a second
+time? But no; the sounds she heard, the sounds of now familiar
+footsteps, did not continue down the passage leading to the front
+door.
+
+Instead--Why, what was this she heard now? She began to listen
+so intently that the bread she was holding at the end of the
+toasting-fork grew quite black. With a start she became aware
+that this was so, and she frowned, vexed with herself. That came
+of not attending to one's work.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done.
+He was coming down into the kitchen.
+
+Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on the
+kitchen stairs, and Mrs. Bunting's heart began to beat as if in
+response. She put out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of the
+fact that the cheese would stiffen and spoil in the cold air.
+
+Then she turned and faced the door.
+
+There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the door
+opened, and revealed, as she had at once known and feared it would
+do, the lodger.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked even odder than usual. He was clad in a plaid
+dressing-gown, which she had never seen him wear before, though
+she knew that he had purchased it not long after his arrival. In
+his hand was a lighted candle.
+
+When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing in
+it, the lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.
+
+"Yes, sir? What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn't ring, sir?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting held her ground in front of the stove. Mr. Sleuth had
+no business to come like this into her kitchen, and she intended to
+let him know that such was her view.
+
+"No, I--I didn't ring," he stammered awkwardly. "The truth is, I
+didn't know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. Please excuse my costume.
+My gas-stove has gone wrong, or, rather, that shilling-in-the-slot
+arrangement has done so. So I came down to see if you had a
+gas-stove. I am going to ask you to allow me to use it to-night for
+an important experiment I wish to make."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's heart was beating quickly--quickly. She felt
+horribly troubled, unnaturally so. Why couldn't Mr. Sleuth's
+experiment wait till the morning? She stared at him dubiously, but
+there was that in his face that made her at once afraid and pitiful.
+It was a wild, eager, imploring look.
+
+"Oh, certainly, sir; but you will find it very cold down here."
+
+"It seems most pleasantly warm," he observed, his voice full of
+relief, "warm and cosy, after my cold room upstairs."
+
+Warm and cosy? Mrs. Bunting stared at him in amazement. Nay, even
+that cheerless room at the top of the house must be far warmer and
+more cosy than this cold underground kitchen could possibly be.
+
+"I'll make you a fire, sir. We never use the grate, but it's in
+perfect order, for the first thing I did after I came into the house
+was to have the chimney swept. It was terribly dirty. It might
+have set the house on fire." Mrs. Bunting's housewifely instincts
+were roused. "For the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in
+your bedroom this cold night."
+
+"By no means--I would prefer not. I certainly do not want a fire
+there. I dislike an open fire, Mrs. Bunting. I thought I had told
+you as much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth frowned. He stood there, a strange-looking figure, his
+candle still alight, just inside the kitchen door.
+
+"I shan't be very long, sir. Just about a quarter of an hour. You
+could come down then. I'll have everything quite tidy for you. Is
+there anything I can do to help you?"
+
+"I do not require the use of your kitchen yet--thank you all the
+same, Mrs. Bunting. I shall come down later--altogether later--
+after you and your husband have gone to bed. But I should be much
+obliged if you would see that the gas people come to-morrow and
+put my stove in order. It might be done while I am out. That the
+shilling-in-the-slot machine should go wrong is very unpleasant.
+It has upset me greatly."
+
+"Perhaps Bunting could put it right for you, sir. For the matter
+of that, I could ask him to go up now."
+
+"No, no, I don't want anything of that sort done to-night. Besides,
+he couldn't put it right. I am something of an expert, Mrs. Bunting,
+and I have done all I could. The cause of the trouble is quite
+simple. The machine is choked up with shillings; a very foolish
+plan, so I always felt it to be."
+
+Mr. Sleuth spoke pettishly, with far more heat than he was wont to
+speak, but Mrs. Bunting sympathised with him in this matter. She
+had always suspected that those slot machines were as dishonest as
+if they were human. It was dreadful, the way they swallowed up
+the shillings! She had had one once, so she knew.
+
+And as if he were divining her thoughts, Mr. Sleuth walked forward
+and stared at the stove. "Then you haven't got a slot machine?" he
+said wonderingly. "I'm very glad of that, for I expect my experiment
+will take some time. But, of course, I shall pay you something for
+the use of the stove, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I wouldn't think of charging you anything for that.
+We don't use our stove very much, you know, sir. I'm never in the
+kitchen a minute longer than I can help this cold weather."
+
+Mrs. Bunting was beginning to feel better. When she was actually
+in Mr. Sleuth's presence her morbid fears would be lulled, perhaps
+because his manner almost invariably was gentle and very quiet.
+But still there came over her an eerie feeling, as, with him
+preceding her, they made a slow progress to the ground floor.
+
+Once there, the lodger courteously bade his landlady good-night,
+and proceeded upstairs to his own apartments.
+
+Mrs. Bunting returned to the kitchen. Again she lighted the stove;
+but she felt unnerved, afraid of she knew not what. As she was
+cooking the cheese, she tried to concentrate her mind on what she
+was doing, and on the whole she succeeded. But another part of her
+mind seemed to be working independently, asking her insistent
+questions.
+
+The place seemed to her alive with alien presences, and once she
+caught herself listening--which was absurd, for, of course, she
+could not hope to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two, if not three,
+flights upstairs. She wondered in what the lodger's experiments
+consisted. It was odd that she had never been able to discover what
+it was he really did with that big gas-stove. All she knew was
+that he used a very high degree of heat.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+The Buntings went to bed early that night. But Mrs. Bunting made
+up her mind to keep awake. She was set upon knowing at what hour
+of the night the lodger would come down into her kitchen to carry
+through his experiment, and, above all, she was anxious to know
+how long he would stay there.
+
+But she had had a long and a very anxious day, and presently she
+fell asleep.
+
+The church clock hard by struck two, and, suddenly Mrs. Bunting
+awoke. She felt put out, sharply annoyed with herself. How could
+she have dropped off like that? Mr. Sleuth must have been down
+and up again hours ago!
+
+Then, gradually, she became aware that there was a faint acrid
+odour in the room. Elusive, intangible, it yet seemed to encompass
+her and the snoring man by her side, almost as a vapour might have
+done.
+
+Mrs. Bunting sat up in bed and sniffed; and then, in spite of the
+cold, she quietly crept out of her nice, warm bedclothes, and
+crawled along to the bottom of the bed. When there, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady did a very curious thing; she leaned over the brass rail
+and put her face close to the hinge of the door giving into the
+hall. Yes, it was from here that this strange, horrible odor was
+coming; the smell must be very strong in the passage.
+
+As, shivering, she crept back under the bedclothes, she longed to
+give her sleeping husband a good shake, and in fancy she heard
+herself saying, "Bunting, get up! There's something strange and
+dreadful going on downstairs which we ought to know about."
+
+But as she lay there, by her husband's side, listening with painful
+intentness for the slightest sound, she knew very well that she
+would do nothing of the sort.
+
+What if the lodger did make a certain amount of mess--a certain
+amount of smell--in her nice clean kitchen? Was he not--was he
+not an almost perfect lodger? If they did anything to upset him,
+where could they ever hope to get another like him?
+
+Three o'clock struck before Mrs. Bunting heard slow, heavy steps
+creaking up the kitchen stairs. But Mr. Sleuth did not go straight
+up to his own quarters, as she had expected him to do. Instead, he
+went to the front door, and, opening it, put on the chain. Then he
+came past her door, and she thought--but could not be sure--that
+he sat down on the stairs.
+
+At the end of ten minutes or so she heard him go down the passage
+again. Very softly he closed the front door. By then she had
+divined why the lodger had behaved in this funny fashion. He wanted
+to get the strong, acrid smell of burning--was it of burning wool?
+--out of the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting, lying there in the darkness, listening to the
+lodger creeping upstairs, felt as if she herself would never get
+rid of the horrible odour.
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt herself to be all smell.
+
+At last the unhappy woman fell into a deep, troubled sleep; and
+then she dreamed a most terrible and unnatural dream. Hoarse
+voices seemed to be shouting in her ear: "The Avenger close here!
+The Avenger close here!" "'Orrible murder off the Edgware Road!"
+"The Avenger at his work again!"
+
+And even in her dream Mrs. Bunting felt angered--angered and
+impatient. She knew so well why she was being disturbed by this
+horrid nightmare! It was because of Bunting--Bunting, who could
+think and talk of nothing else than those frightful murders, in
+which only morbid and vulgar-minded people took any interest.
+
+Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking
+to her about it:
+
+"Ellen"--so she heard Bunting murmur in her ear--"Ellen, my dear,
+I'm just going to get up to get a paper. It's after seven o'clock."
+
+The shouting--nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet
+smote on her shrinking ears. Pushing back her hair off her forehead
+with both hands, she sat up and listened.
+
+It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse--
+reality.
+
+Why couldn't Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and
+let his poor wife go on dreaming? The most awful dream would have
+been easier to bear than this awakening.
+
+She heard her husband go to the front door, and, as he bought the
+paper, exchange a few excited words with the newspaper-seller. Then
+he came back. There was a pause, and she heard him lighting the
+gas-ring in the sitting-room.
+
+Bunting always made his wife a cup of tea in the morning. He had
+promised to do this when they first married, and he had never yet
+broken his word. It was a very little thing and a very usual thing,
+no doubt, for a kind husband to do, but this morning the knowledge
+that he was doing it brought tears to Mrs. Bunting's pale blue eyes.
+This morning he seemed to be rather longer than usual over the job.
+
+When, at last, he came in with the little tray, Bunting found his
+wife lying with her face to the wall.
+
+"Here's your tea, Ellen," he said, and there was a thrill of eager,
+nay happy, excitement in his voice.
+
+She turned herself round and sat up. "Well?" she asked. "Well?
+Why don't you tell me about it?"
+
+"I thought you was asleep," he stammered out. "I thought, Ellen,
+you never heard nothing."
+
+"How could I have slept through all that din? Of course I heard.
+Why don't you tell me?"
+
+"I've hardly had time to glance at the paper myself," he said slowly.
+
+"You was reading it just now," she said severely, "for I heard the
+rustling. You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring. Don't
+tell me! What was that they was shouting about the Edgware Road?"
+
+"Well," said Bunting, "as you do know, I may as well tell you. The
+Avenger's moving West--that's what he's doing. Last time 'twas
+King's Cross--now 'tis the Edgware Road. I said he'd come our way,
+and he has come our way!"
+
+"You just go and get me that paper," she commanded. "I wants to
+see for myself."
+
+Bunting went into the next room; then he came back and handed her
+silently the odd-looking, thin little sheet.
+
+"Why, whatever's this?" she asked. "This ain't our paper!"
+
+"'Course not," he answered, a trifle crossly. "It's a special early
+edition of the Sun, just because of The Avenger. Here's the bit
+about it"--he showed her the exact spot. But she would have found
+it, even by the comparatively bad light of the gas-jet now flaring
+over the dressing-table, for the news was printed in large, clear
+characters:--
+
+"Once more the murder fiend who chooses to call himself The Avenger
+has escaped detection. While the whole attention of the police,
+and of the great army of amateur detectives who are taking an
+interest in this strange series of atrocious crimes, were
+concentrating their attention round the East End and King's Cross,
+he moved swiftly and silently Westward. And, choosing a time when
+the Edgware Road is at its busiest and most thronged, did another
+human being to death with lightning-like quickness and savagery.
+
+"Within fifty yards of the deserted warehouse yard where he had
+lured his victim to destruction were passing up and down scores of
+happy, busy people, intent on their Christmas shopping. Into that
+cheerful throng he must have plunged within a moment of committing
+his atrocious crime. And it was only owing to the merest accident
+that the body was discovered as soon as it was--that is, just
+after midnight.
+
+"Dr. Dowtray, who was called to the spot at once, is of opinion that
+the woman had been dead at least three hours, if not four. It was at
+first thought--we were going to say, hoped--that this murder had
+nothing to do with the series which is now puzzling and horrifying
+the whole of the civilised world. But no--pinned on the edge of the
+dead woman's dress was the usual now familiar triangular piece of
+grey paper--the grimmest visiting card ever designed by the wit of
+man! And this time The Avenger has surpassed himself as regards his
+audacity and daring--so cold in its maniacal fanaticism and abhorrent
+wickedness."
+
+All the time that Mrs. Bunting was reading with slow, painful
+intentness, her husband was looking at her, longing, yet afraid, to
+burst out with a new idea which he was burning to confide even to his
+Ellen's unsympathetic ears.
+
+At last, when she had quite finished, she looked up defiantly.
+
+"Haven't you anything better to do than to stare at me like that?"
+she said irritably. "Murder or no murder, I've got to get up! Go
+away--do!"
+
+And Bunting went off into the next room.
+
+After he had gone, his wife lay back and closed her eyes. She tried
+to think of nothing. Nay, more--so strong, so determined was her
+will that for a few moments she actually did think of nothing. She
+felt terribly tired and weak, brain and body both quiescent, as does
+a person who is recovering from a long, wearing illness.
+
+Presently detached, puerile thoughts drifted across the surface of
+her mind like little clouds across a summer sky. She wondered if
+those horrid newspaper men were allowed to shout in Belgrave Square;
+she wondered if, in that case, Margaret, who was so unlike her
+brother-in-law, would get up and buy a paper. But no. Margaret
+was not one to leave her nice warm bed for such a silly reason as
+that.
+
+Was it to-morrow Daisy was coming back? Yes--to-morrow, not
+to-day. Well, that was a comfort, at any rate. What amusing things
+Daisy would be able to tell about her visit to Margaret! The girl
+had an excellent gift of mimicry. And Margaret, with her precise,
+funny ways, her perpetual talk about "the family," lent herself to
+the cruel gift.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting's mind--her poor, weak, tired mind--wandered
+off to young Chandler. A funny thing love was, when you came to
+think of it--which she, Ellen Bunting, didn't often do. There was
+Joe, a likely young fellow, seeing a lot of young women, and pretty
+young women, too,--quite as pretty as Daisy, and ten times more
+artful--and yet there! He passed them all by, had done so ever
+since last summer, though you might be sure that they, artful minxes,
+by no manner of means passed him by,--without giving them a thought!
+As Daisy wasn't here, he would probably keep away to-day. There
+was comfort in that thought, too.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat up, and memory returned in a dreadful
+turgid flood. If Joe did come in, she must nerve herself to hear
+all that--that talk there'd be about The Avenger between him and
+Bunting.
+
+Slowly she dragged herself out of bed, feeling exactly as if she
+had just recovered from an illness which had left her very weak,
+very, very tired in body and soul.
+
+She stood for a moment listening--listening, and shivering, for
+it was very cold. Considering how early it still was, there
+seemed a lot of coming and going in the Marylebone Road. She could
+hear the unaccustomed sounds through her closed door and the tightly
+fastened windows of the sitting-room. There must be a regular
+crowd of men and women, on foot and in cabs, hurrying to the scene
+of The Avenger's last extraordinary crime.
+
+She heard the sudden thud made by their usual morning paper falling
+from the letter-box on to the floor of the hall, and a moment later
+came the sound of Bunting quickly, quietly going out and getting it.
+She visualised him coming back, and sitting down with a sigh of
+satisfaction by the newly-lit fire.
+
+Languidly she began dressing herself to the accompaniment of distant
+tramping and of noise of passing traffic, which increased in volume
+and in sound as the moments slipped by.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down into her kitchen everything looked just
+as she had left it, and there was no trace of the acrid smell she
+had expected to find there. Instead, the cavernous, whitewashed
+room was full of fog, but she noticed that, though the shutters were
+bolted and barred as she had left them, the windows behind them had
+been widely opened to the air. She had left them shut.
+
+Making a "spill" out of a twist of newspaper--she had been taught
+the art as a girl by one of her old mistresses--she stooped and
+flung open the oven-door of her gas-stove. Yes, it was as she had
+expected, a fierce heat had been generated there since she had last
+used the oven, and through to the stone floor below had fallen a
+mass of black, gluey soot.
+
+Mrs. Bunting took the ham and eggs that she had bought the previous
+day for her own and Bunting's breakfast upstairs, and broiled them
+over the gas-ring in their sitting-room. Her husband watched her in
+surprised silence. She had never done such a thing before.
+
+"I couldn't stay down there," she said; "it was so cold and foggy.
+I thought I'd make breakfast up here, just for to-day."
+
+"Yes," he said kindly; "that's quite right, Ellen. I think you've
+done quite right, my dear."
+
+But, when it came to the point, his wife could not eat any of the
+nice breakfast she had got ready; she only had another cup of tea.
+
+"I'm afraid you're ill, Ellen?" Bunting asked solicitously.
+
+"No," she said shortly; "I'm not ill at all. Don't be silly! The
+thought of that horrible thing happening so close by has upset me,
+and put me off my food. Just hark to them now!"
+
+Through their closed windows penetrated the sound of scurrying feet
+and loud, ribald laughter. What a crowd; nay, what a mob, must be
+hastening busily to and from the spot where there was now nothing
+to be seen!
+
+Mrs. Bunting made her husband lock the front gate. "I don't want
+any of those ghouls in here!" she exclaimed angrily. And then,
+"What a lot of idle people there are in the world!" she said.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Bunting began moving about the room restlessly. He would go to the
+window; stand there awhile staring out at the people hurrying past;
+then, coming back to the fireplace, sit down.
+
+But he could not stay long quiet. After a glance at his paper, up
+he would rise from his chair, and go to the window again.
+
+"I wish you'd stay still," his wife said at last. And then, a few
+minutes later, "Hadn't you better put your hat and coat on and go
+out?" she exclaimed.
+
+And Bunting, with a rather shamed expression, did put on his hat
+and coat and go out.
+
+As he did so he told himself that, after all, he was but human; it
+was natural that he should be thrilled and excited by the dreadful,
+extraordinary thing which had just happened close by. Ellen wasn't
+reasonable about such things. How queer and disagreeable she had
+been that very morning--angry with him because he had gone out
+to hear what all the row was about, and even more angry when he had
+come back and said nothing, because he thought it would annoy her
+to hear about it!
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Bunting forced herself to go down again into the
+kitchen, and as she went through into the low, whitewashed place,
+a tremor of fear, of quick terror, came over her. She turned and
+did what she had never in her life done before, and what she had
+never heard of anyone else doing in a kitchen. She bolted the door.
+
+But, having done this, finding herself at last alone, shut off from
+everybody, she was still beset by a strange, uncanny dread. She
+felt as if she were locked in with an invisible presence, which
+mocked and jeered, reproached and threatened her, by turns.
+
+Why had she allowed, nay encouraged, Daisy to go away for two days?
+Daisy, at any rate, was company--kind, young, unsuspecting company.
+With Daisy she could be her old sharp self. It was such a comfort
+to be with someone to whom she not only need, but ought to, say
+nothing. When with Bunting she was pursued by a sick feeling of
+guilt, of shame. She was the man's wedded wife--in his stolid way
+he was very kind to her, and yet she was keeping from him something
+he certainly had a right to know.
+
+Not for worlds, however, would she have told Bunting of her dreadful
+suspicion--nay, of her almost certainty.
+
+At last she went across to the door and unlocked it. Then she went
+upstairs and turned out her bedroom. That made her feel a little
+better.
+
+She longed for Bunting to return, and yet in a way she was relieved
+by his absence. She would have liked to feel him near by, and yet
+she welcomed anything that took her husband out of the house.
+
+And as Mrs. Bunting swept and dusted, trying to put her whole mind
+into what she was doing, she was asking herself all the time what
+was going on upstairs.
+
+What a good rest the lodger was having! But there, that was only
+natural. Mr. Sleuth, as she well knew, had been up a long time last
+night, or rather this morning.
+
+******
+
+Suddenly, the drawing-room bell rang. But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did
+not go up, as she generally did, before getting ready the simple meal
+which was the lodger's luncheon and breakfast combined. Instead, she
+went downstairs again and hurriedly prepared the lodger's food.
+
+Then, very slowly, with her heart beating queerly, she walked up, and
+just outside the sitting-room--for she felt sure that Mr. Sleuth had
+got up, that he was there already, waiting for her--she rested the
+tray on the top of the banisters and listened. For a few moments she
+heard nothing; then through the door came the high, quavering voice
+with which she had become so familiar:
+
+"'She saith to him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in
+secret is pleasant. But he knoweth not that the dead are there,
+and that her guests are in the depths of hell.'"
+
+There was a long pause. Mrs. Bunting could hear the leaves of
+her Bible being turned over, eagerly, busily; and then again Mr.
+Sleuth broke out, this time in a softer voice:
+
+"'She hath cast down many wounded from her; yea, many strong men
+have been slain by her.'" And in a softer, lower, plaintive tone
+came the words: "'I applied my heart to know, and to search, and
+to seek out wisdom and the reason of things; and to know the
+wickedness of folly, even of foolishness and madness.'"
+
+And as she stood there listening, a feeling of keen distress, of
+spiritual oppression, came over Mrs. Bunting. For the first time
+in her life she visioned the infinite mystery, the sadness and
+strangeness, of human life.
+
+Poor Mr. Sleuth--poor unhappy, distraught Mr. Sleuth! An
+overwhelming pity blotted out for a moment the fear, aye, and the
+loathing, she had been feeling for her lodger.
+
+She knocked at the door, and then she took up her tray.
+
+"Come in, Mrs. Bunting." Mr. Sleuth's voice sounded feebler, more
+toneless than usual.
+
+She turned the handle of the door and walked in. The lodger was
+not sitting in his usual place; he had taken the little round table
+on which his candle generally rested when he read in bed, out of
+his bedroom, and placed it over by the drawing-room window. On it
+were placed, open, the Bible and the Concordance. But as his
+landlady came in, Mr. Sleuth hastily closed the Bible, and began
+staring dreamily out of the window, down at the sordid, hurrying
+crowd of men and women which now swept along the Marylebone Road.
+
+"There seem a great many people out today," he observed, without
+looking round.
+
+"Yes, sir, there do."
+
+Mrs. Bunting began busying herself with laying the cloth and
+putting out the breakfast-lunch, and as she did so she was seized
+with a mortal, instinctive terror of the man sitting there.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth got up and turned round. She forced herself to
+look at him. How tired, how worn, he looked, and--how strange!
+
+Walking towards the table on which lay his meal, he rubbed his hands
+together with a nervous gesture--it was a gesture he only made when
+something had pleased, nay, satisfied him. Mrs. Bunting, looking at
+him, remembered that he had rubbed his hands together thus when he
+had first seen the room upstairs, and realised that it contained a
+large gas-stove and a convenient sink.
+
+What Mr. Sleuth was doing now also reminded her in an odd way of a
+play she had once seen--a play to which a young man had taken her
+when she was a girl, unnumbered years ago, and which had thrilled
+and fascinated her. "Out, out, damned spot!" that was what the tall,
+fierce, beautiful lady who had played the part of a queen had said,
+twisting her hands together just as the lodger was doing now.
+
+"It's a fine day," said Mr. Sleuth, sitting down and unfolding his
+napkin. "The fog has cleared. I do not know if you will agree with
+me, Mrs. Bunting, but I always feel brighter when the sun is shining,
+as it is now, at any rate, trying to shine." He looked at her
+inquiringly, but Mrs. Bunting could not speak. She only nodded.
+However, that did not affect Mr. Sleuth adversely.
+
+He had acquired a great liking and respect for this well-balanced,
+taciturn woman. She was the first woman for whom he had experienced
+any such feeling for many years past.
+
+He looked down at the still covered dish, and shook his head. "I
+don't feel as if I could eat very much to-day," he said plaintively.
+And then he suddenly took a half-sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket.
+
+Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat
+Mr. Sleuth had been wearing the day before.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?"
+
+And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly
+allowed me to make of your kitchen last night?" he said quietly.
+"I tried to make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but--
+well, the truth is I was carrying out a very elaborate experiment."
+
+Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took
+the coin. The fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against
+her palm were icy cold--cold and clammy. Mr. Sleuth was evidently
+not well.
+
+As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball
+hanging in the smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth's landlady, and
+threw blood-red gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of
+gold she was holding in her hand.
+
+******
+
+The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household,
+but, of course, there was far greater animation outside the little
+house than was usually the case.
+
+Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some
+days, the whole of London seemed to be making holiday in that part
+of the town.
+
+When Bunting at last came back, his wife listened silently while he
+told her of the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere. And
+then, after he had been talking a long while, she suddenly shot a
+strange look at him.
+
+"I suppose you went to see the place?" she said.
+
+And guiltily he acknowledged that he had done so.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, there wasn't anything much to see--not now. But, oh, Ellen,
+the daring of him! Why, Ellen, if the poor soul had had time to cry
+out--which they don't believe she had--it's impossible someone
+wouldn't 'a heard her. They say that if he goes on doing it like
+that--in the afternoon, like--he never will be caught. He must
+have just got mixed up with all the other people within ten seconds
+of what he'd done!"
+
+During the afternoon Bunting bought papers recklessly--in fact, he
+must have spent the best part of six-pence. But in spite of all the
+supposed and suggested clues, there was nothing--nothing at all new
+to read, less, in fact than ever before.
+
+The police, it was clear, were quite at a loss, and Mrs. Bunting
+began to feel curiously better, less tired, less ill, less--less
+terrified than she had felt through the morning.
+
+And then something happened which broke with dramatic suddenness the
+quietude of the day.
+
+They had had their tea, and Bunting was reading the last of the
+papers he had run out to buy, when suddenly there came a loud,
+thundering, double knock at the door.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. "Why, whoever can that be?" she
+said.
+
+But as Bunting got up she added quickly, "You just sit down again.
+I'll go myself. Sounds like someone after lodgings. I'll soon send
+them to the right-about!"
+
+And then she left the room, but not before there had come another
+loud double knock.
+
+Mrs. Bunting opened the front door. In a moment she saw that the
+person who stood there was a stranger to her. He was a big, dark
+man, with fierce, black moustaches. And somehow--she could not
+have told you why--he suggested a policeman to Mrs. Bunting's mind.
+
+This notion of hers was confirmed by the very first words he uttered.
+For, "I'm here to execute a warrant!" he exclaimed in a theatrical,
+hollow tone.
+
+With a weak cry of protest Mrs. Bunting suddenly threw out her arms
+as if to bar the way; she turned deadly white--but then, in an
+instant the supposed stranger's laugh rang out, with loud, jovial,
+familiar sound!
+
+"There now, Mrs. Bunting! I never thought I'd take you in as well
+as all that!"
+
+It was Joe Chandler--Joe Chandler dressed up, as she knew he
+sometimes, not very often, did dress up in the course of his work.
+
+Mrs. Bunting began laughing--laughing helplessly, hysterically,
+just as she had done on the morning of Daisy's arrival, when the
+newspaper-sellers had come shouting down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"What's all this about?" Bunting came out
+
+Young Chandler ruefully shut the front door. "I didn't mean to
+upset her like this," he said, looking foolish; "'twas just my silly
+nonsense, Mr. Bunting." And together they helped her into the
+sitting-room.
+
+But, once there, poor Mrs. Bunting went on worse than ever; she
+threw her black apron over her face, and began to sob hysterically.
+
+"I made sure she'd know who I was when I spoke," went on the young
+fellow apologetically. "But, there now, I have upset her. I am
+sorry!"
+
+"It don't matter!" she exclaimed, throwing the apron off her face,
+but the tears were still streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and
+laughed by turns. "Don't matter one little bit, Joe! 'Twas stupid
+of me to be so taken aback. But, there, that murder that's happened
+close by, it's just upset me--upset me altogether to-day."
+
+"Enough to upset anyone--that was," acknowledged the young man
+ruefully. "I've only come in for a minute, like. I haven't no
+right to come when I'm on duty like this--"
+
+Joe Chandler was looking longingly at what remains of the meal were
+still on the table.
+
+"You can take a minute just to have a bite and a sup," said Bunting
+hospitably; "and then you can tell us any news there is, Joe. We're
+right in the middle of everything now, ain't we?" He spoke with
+evident enjoyment, almost pride, in the gruesome fact.
+
+Joe nodded. Already his mouth was full of bread-and-butter. He
+waited a moment, and then: "Well I have got one piece of news--not
+that I suppose it'll interest you very much."
+
+They both looked at him--Mrs. Bunting suddenly calm, though her
+breast still heaved from time to time.
+
+"Our Boss has resigned!" said Joe Chandler slowly, impressively.
+
+"No! Not the Commissioner o' Police?" exclaimed Bunting.
+
+"Yes, he has. He just can't bear what's said about us any longer
+--and I don't wonder! He done his best, and so's we all. The
+public have just gone daft--in the West End, that is, to-day. As
+for the papers, well, they're something cruel--that's what they
+are. And the ridiculous ideas they print! You'd never believe the
+things they asks us to do--and quite serious-like."
+
+"What d'you mean?" questioned Mrs. Bunting. She really wanted to
+know.
+
+"Well, the Courier declares that there ought to be a house-to-house
+investigation--all over London. Just think of it! Everybody to
+let the police go all over their house, from garret to kitchen,
+just to see if The Avenger isn't concealed there. Dotty, I calls
+it! Why, 'twould take us months and months just to do that one
+job in a town like London."
+
+"I'd like to see them dare come into my house!" said Mrs. Bunting
+angrily.
+
+"It's all along of them blarsted papers that The Avenger went to
+work a different way this time," said Chandler slowly.
+
+Bunting had pushed a tin of sardines towards his guest, and was
+eagerly listening. "How d'you mean?" he asked. "I don't take
+your meaning, Joe."
+
+"Well, you see, it's this way. The newspapers was always saying
+how extraordinary it was that The Avenger chose such a peculiar
+time to do his deeds--I mean, the time when no one's about the
+streets. Now, doesn't it stand to reason that the fellow, reading
+all that, and seeing the sense of it, said to himself, 'I'll go on
+another tack this time'? Just listen to this!" He pulled a strip
+of paper, part of a column cut from a newspaper, out of his pocket:
+
+
+"'AN EX-LORD MAYOR OF LONDON ON THE AVENGER
+
+
+"'Will the murderer be caught? Yes,' replied Sir John, 'he will
+certainly be caught--probably when he commits his next crime. A
+whole army of bloodhounds, metaphorical and literal, will be on his
+track the moment he draws blood again. With the whole community
+against him, he cannot escape, especially when it be remembered that
+he chooses the quietest hour in the twenty-four to commit his crimes.
+
+"'Londoners are now in such a state of nerves--if I may use the
+expression, in such a state of funk--that every passer-by, however
+innocent, is looked at with suspicion by his neighbour if his
+avocation happens to take him abroad between the hours of one and
+three in the morning.'
+
+"I'd like to gag that ex-Lord Mayor!" concluded Joe Chandler
+wrathfully.
+
+Just then the lodger's bell rang.
+
+"Let me go up, my dear," said Bunting.
+
+His wife still looked pale and shaken by the fright she had had.
+
+"No, no," she said hastily. "You stop down here, and talk to Joe.
+I'll look after Mr. Sleuth. He may be wanting his supper just a
+bit earlier than usual to-day."
+
+Slowly, painfully, again feeling as if her legs were made of cotton
+wool, she dragged herself up to the first floor, knocked at the door,
+and then went in.
+
+"You did ring, sir?" she said, in her quiet, respectful way.
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up.
+
+She thought--but, as she reminded herself afterwards, it might have
+been just her idea, and nothing else--that for the first time the
+lodger looked frightened--frightened and cowed.
+
+"I heard a noise downstairs," he said fretfully, "and I wanted to
+know what it was all about. As I told you, Mrs. Bunting, when I
+first took these rooms, quiet is essential to me."
+
+"It was just a friend of ours, sir. I'm sorry you were disturbed.
+Would you like the knocker taken off to-morrow? Bunting'll be
+pleased to do it if you don't like to hear the sound of the knocks."
+
+"Oh, no, I wouldn't put you to such trouble as that." Mr. Sleuth
+looked quite relieved. "Just a friend of yours, was it, Mrs.
+Bunting? He made a great deal of noise."
+
+"Just a young fellow," she said apologetically. "The son of one of
+Bunting's old friends. He often comes here, sir; but he never did
+give such a great big double knock as that before. I'll speak to
+him about it."
+
+"Oh, no, Mrs. Bunting. I would really prefer you did nothing of
+the kind. It was just a passing annoyance--nothing more!"
+
+She waited a moment. How strange that Mr. Sleuth said nothing of
+the hoarse cries which had made of the road outside a perfect Bedlam
+every hour or two throughout that day. But no, Mr. Sleuth made no
+allusion to what might well have disturbed any quiet gentleman at
+his reading.
+
+"I thought maybe you'd like to have supper a little earlier to-night,
+sir?"
+
+"Just when you like, Mrs. Bunting--just when it's convenient. I
+do not wish to put you out in any way."
+
+She felt herself dismissed, and going out quietly, closed the door.
+
+As she did so, she heard the front door banging to. She sighed
+--Joe Chandler was really a very noisy young fellow.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Mrs. Bunting slept well the night following that during which the
+lodger had been engaged in making his mysterious experiments in her
+kitchen. She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, that sleep came
+to her the moment she laid her head upon her pillow.
+
+Perhaps that was why she rose so early the next morning. Hardly
+giving herself time to swallow the tea Bunting had made and brought
+her, she got up and dressed.
+
+She had suddenly come to the conclusion that the hall and staircase
+required a thorough "doing down," and she did not even wait till
+they had eaten their breakfast before beginning her labours. It
+made Bunting feel quite uncomfortable. As he sat by the fire reading
+his morning paper--the paper which was again of such absorbing
+interest--he called out, "There's no need for so much hurry, Ellen.
+Daisy'll be back to-day. Why don't you wait till she's come home to
+help you?"
+
+But from the hall where she was busy dusting, sweeping, polishing,
+his wife's voice came back: "Girls ain't no good at this sort of
+work. Don't you worry about me. I feel as if I'd enjoy doing an
+extra bit of cleaning to-day. I don't like to feel as anyone could
+come in and see my place dirty."
+
+"No fear of that!" Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck
+him. "Ain't you afraid of waking the lodger?" he called out.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night," she
+answered quickly. "As it is, I study him over-much; it's a long,
+long time since I've done this staircase down."
+
+All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left
+the sitting-room door wide open.
+
+That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn't like to get
+up and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn't
+read with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had
+never known Ellen make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he
+looked up and frowned rather crossly.
+
+There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that. Ellen
+was standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
+
+"Come in," he said, "do! Ain't you finished yet?"
+
+"I was only resting a minute," she said. "You don't tell me nothing.
+I'd like to know if there's anything--I mean anything new--in the
+paper this morning."
+
+She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her
+unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting
+suddenly uneasy. "Come in--do!" he repeated sharply. "You've
+done quite enough--and before breakfast, too. 'Tain't necessary.
+Come in and shut that door."
+
+He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
+
+She came in, and did what she had never done before--brought the
+broom with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
+
+Then she sat down.
+
+"I think I'll make breakfast up here," she said. "I--I feel cold,
+Bunting." And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of
+perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
+
+He got up. "All right. I'll go down and bring the eggs up. Don't
+you worry. For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if
+you like."
+
+"No," she said obstinately. "I'd rather do my own work. You just
+bring them up here--that'll be all right. To-morrow morning we'll
+have Daisy to help see to things."
+
+"Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair," he suggested
+kindly. "You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen. I never see'd
+such a woman!"
+
+And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room
+with languid steps.
+
+He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
+
+She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took
+two steps towards her.
+
+"I'll show you the most interesting bit" he said eagerly. "It's
+the piece headed, 'Our Special Investigator.' You see, they've
+started a special investigator of their own, and he's got hold of
+a lot of little facts the police seem to have overlooked. The man
+who writes all that--I mean the Special Investigator--was a
+famous 'tec in his time, and he's just come back out of his
+retirement o' purpose to do this bit of work for the paper. You
+read what he says--I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he ends by
+getting that reward! One can see he just loves the work of
+tracking people down."
+
+"There's nothing to be proud of in such a job," said his wife
+listlessly.
+
+"He'll have something to be proud of if he catches The Avenger!"
+cried Bunting. He was too keen about this affair to be put off
+by Ellen's contradictory remarks. "You just notice that bit about
+the rubber soles. Now, no one's thought o' that. I'll just tell
+Chandler--he don't seem to me to be half awake, that young man
+don't."
+
+"He's quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him!
+How about those eggs, Bunting? I feel quite ready for my breakfast
+even if you don't--"
+
+Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly
+described to himself as "Ellen's snarling voice."
+
+He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled. There
+was something queer about her, and he couldn't make it out. He
+didn't mind it when she spoke sharply and nastily to him. He was
+used to that. But now she was so up and down; so different from
+what she used to be! In old days she had always been the same, but
+now a man never knew where to have her.
+
+And as he went downstairs he pondered uneasily over his wife's
+changed ways and manner.
+
+Take the question of his easy chair. A very small matter, no doubt,
+but he had never known Ellen sit in that chair--no, not even once,
+for a minute, since it had been purchased by her as a present for him.
+
+They had been so happy, so happy, and so--so restful, during that
+first week after Mr. Sleuth had come to them. Perhaps it was the
+sudden, dramatic change from agonising anxiety to peace and security
+which had been too much for Ellen--yes, that was what was the matter
+with her, that and the universal excitement about these Avenger
+murders, which were shaking the nerves of all London. Even Bunting,
+unobservant as he was, had come to realise that his wife took a
+morbid interest in these terrible happenings. And it was the more
+queer of her to do so that at first she refused to discuss them, and
+said openly that she was utterly uninterested in murder or crime of
+any sort.
+
+He, Bunting, had always had a mild pleasure in such things. In his
+time he had been a great reader of detective tales, and even now he
+thought there was no pleasanter reading. It was that which had first
+drawn him to Joe Chandler, and made him welcome the young chap as
+cordially as he had done when they first came to London.
+
+But though Ellen had tolerated, she had never encouraged, that sort
+of talk between the two men. More than once she had exclaimed
+reproachfully: "To hear you two, one would think there was no nice,
+respectable, quiet people left in the world!"
+
+But now all that was changed. She was as keen as anyone could be
+to hear the latest details of an Avenger crime. True, she took her
+own view of any theory suggested. But there! Ellen always had had
+her own notions about everything under the sun. Ellen was a woman
+who thought for herself--a clever woman, not an everyday woman by
+any manner of means.
+
+While these thoughts were going disconnectedly through his mind,
+Bunting was breaking four eggs into a basin. He was going to give
+Ellen a nice little surprise--to cook an omelette as a French chef
+had once taught him to do, years and years ago. He didn't know how
+she would take his doing such a thing after what she had said; but
+never mind, she would enjoy the omelette when done. Ellen hadn't
+been eating her food properly of late.
+
+And when he went up again, his wife, to his relief, and, it must be
+admitted, to his surprise, took it very well. She had not even
+noticed how long he had been downstairs, for she had been reading
+with intense, painful care the column that the great daily paper
+they took in had allotted to the one-time famous detective.
+
+According to this Special Investigator's own account he had
+discovered all sorts of things that had escaped the eye of the
+police and of the official detectives. For instance, owing, he
+admitted, to a fortunate chance, he had been at the place where
+the two last murders had been committed very soon after the double
+crime had been discovered--in fact within half an hour, and he
+had found, or so he felt sure, on the slippery, wet pavement
+imprints of the murderer's right foot.
+
+The paper reproduced the impression of a half-worn rubber sole.
+At the same time, he also admitted--for the Special Investigator
+was very honest, and he had a good bit of space to fill in the
+enterprising paper which had engaged him to probe the awful
+mystery--that there were thousands of rubber soles being worn in
+London. . . .
+
+And when she came to that statement Mrs. Bunting looked up, and
+there came a wan smile over her thin, closely-shut lips. It was
+quite true--that about rubber soles; there were thousands of
+rubber soles being worn just now. She felt grateful to the Special
+Investigator for having stated the fact so clearly.
+
+The column ended up with the words:
+
+"And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten
+days ago. To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public
+inquiry could be held at once. Say, on the very day the discovery
+of a fresh murder is made. In that way alone would it be possible
+to weigh and sift the evidence offered by members of the general
+public. For when a week or more has elapsed, and these same people
+have been examined and cross-examined in private by the police,
+their impressions have had time to become blurred and hopelessly
+confused. On that last occasion but one there seems no doubt
+that several people, at any rate two women and one man, actually
+saw the murderer hurrying from the scene of his atrocious double
+crime--this being so, to-day's investigation may be of the highest
+value and importance. To-morrow I hope to give an account of
+the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements
+made during its course."
+
+Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had
+gone on reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment. At last he
+said rather crossly, "Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute! The
+omelette I've cooked for you will be just like leather if you don't
+eat it."
+
+But once his wife had eaten her breakfast--and, to Bunting's
+mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette untouched
+--she took the paper up again. She turned over the big sheets,
+until she found, at the foot of one of the ten columns devoted to
+The Avenger and his crimes, the information she wanted, and then
+uttered an exclamation under her breath.
+
+What Mrs. Bunting had been looking for--what at last she had found
+--was the time and place of the inquest which was to be held that
+day. The hour named was a rather odd time--two o'clock in the
+afternoon, but, from Mrs. Bunting's point of view, it was most
+convenient.
+
+By two o'clock, nay, by half-past one, the lodger would have had
+his lunch; by hurrying matters a little she and Bunting would have
+had their dinner, and--and Daisy wasn't coming home till tea-time.
+
+She got up out of her husband's chair. "I think you're right," she
+said, in a quick, hoarse tone. "I mean about me seeing a doctor,
+Bunting. I think I will go and see a doctor this very afternoon."
+
+"Wouldn't you like me to go with you?" he asked.
+
+"No, that I wouldn't. In fact I wouldn't go at all you was to go
+with me."
+
+"All right," he said vexedly. "Please yourself, my dear; you know
+best."
+
+"I should think I did know best where my own health is concerned."
+
+Even Bunting was incensed by this lack of gratitude. "'Twas I said,
+long ago, you ought to go and see the doctor; 'twas you said you
+wouldn't!" he exclaimed pugnaciously.
+
+"Well, I've never said you was never right, have I? At any rate,
+I'm going."
+
+"Have you a pain anywhere?" He stared at her with a look of real
+solicitude on his fat, phlegmatic face.
+
+Somehow Ellen didn't look right, standing there opposite him. Her
+shoulders seemed to have shrunk; even her cheeks had fallen in a
+little. She had never looked so bad--not even when they had been
+half starving, and dreadfully, dreadfully worked.
+
+"Yes," she said briefly, "I've a pain in my head, at the back of
+my neck. It doesn't often leave me; it gets worse when anything
+upsets me, like I was upset last night by Joe Chandler."
+
+"He was a silly ass to come and do a thing like that!" said Bunting
+crossly. "I'd a good mind to tell him so, too. But I must say,
+Ellen, I wonder he took you in--he didn't me!"
+
+"Well, you had no chance he should--you knew who it was," she said
+slowly.
+
+And Bunting remained silent, for Ellen was right. Joe Chandler had
+already spoken when he, Bunting, came out into the hall, and saw
+their cleverly disguised visitor.
+
+"Those big black moustaches," he went on complainingly, "and that
+black wig--why, 'twas too ridic'lous--that's what I call it!"
+
+"Not to anyone who didn't know Joe," she said sharply.
+
+"Well, I don't know. He didn't look like a real man--nohow. If
+he's a wise lad, he won't let our Daisy ever see him looking like
+that!" and Bunting laughed, a comfortable laugh.
+
+He had thought a good deal about Daisy and young Chandler the last
+two days, and, on the whole, he was well pleased.  It was a dull,
+unnatural life the girl was leading with Old Aunt. And Joe was
+earning good money. They wouldn't have long to wait, these two
+young people, as a beau and his girl often have to wait, as he,
+Bunting, and Daisy's mother had had to do, for ever so long before
+they could be married. No, there was no reason why they shouldn't
+be spliced quite soon--if so the fancy took them. And Bunting
+had very little doubt that so the fancy would take Joe, at any rate.
+
+But there was plenty of time. Daisy wouldn't be eighteen till the
+week after next. They might wait till she was twenty. By that
+time Old Aunt might be dead, and Daisy might have come into quite
+a tidy little bit of money.
+
+"What are you smiling at?" said his wife sharply.
+
+And he shook himself. "I--smiling? At nothing that I knows of."
+Then he waited a moment. "Well, if you will know, Ellen, I was
+just thinking of Daisy and that young chap Joe Chandler. He is
+gone on her, ain't he?"
+
+"Gone?" And then Mrs. Bunting laughed, a queer, odd, not unkindly
+laugh. "Gone, Bunting?" she repeated. "Why, he's out o' sight
+--right, out of sight!"
+
+Then hesitatingly, and looking narrowly at her husband, she went on,
+twisting a bit of her black apron with her fingers as she spoke:--
+"I suppose he'll be going over this afternoon to fetch her? Or--or
+d'you think he'll have to be at that inquest, Bunting?"
+
+"Inquest? What inquest?" He looked at her puzzled.
+
+"Why, the inquest on them bodies found in the passage near by King's
+Cross."
+
+"Oh, no; he'd have no call to be at the inquest. For the matter o'
+that, I know he's going over to fetch Daisy. He said so last night
+--just when you went up to the lodger."
+
+"That's just as well." Mrs. Bunting spoke with considerable
+satisfaction. "Otherwise I suppose you'd ha' had to go. I wouldn't
+like the house left--not with us out of it. Mr. Sleuth would be
+upset if there came a ring at the door."
+
+"Oh, I won't leave the house, don't you be afraid, Ellen--not while
+you're out."
+
+"Not even if I'm out a good while, Bunting."
+
+"No fear. Of course, you'll be a long time if it's your idea to see
+that doctor at Ealing?"
+
+He looked at her questioningly, and Mrs. Bunting nodded. Somehow
+nodding didn't seem as bad as speaking a lie.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Any ordeal is far less terrifying, far easier to meet with courage,
+when it is repeated, than is even a milder experience which is
+entirely novel.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had already attended an inquest, in the character of a
+witness, and it was one of the few happenings of her life which was
+sharply etched against the somewhat blurred screen of her memory.
+
+In a country house where the then Ellen Green had been staying for
+a fortnight with her elderly mistress, there had occurred one of
+those sudden, pitiful tragedies which occasionally destroy the
+serenity, the apparent decorum, of a large, respectable household.
+
+The under-housemaid, a pretty, happy-natured girl, had drowned
+herself for love of the footman, who had given his sweetheart cause
+for bitter jealousy. The girl had chosen to speak of her troubles
+to the strange lady's maid rather than to her own fellow-servants,
+and it was during the conversation the two women had had together
+that the girl had threatened to take her own life.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting put on her outdoor clothes, preparatory to going
+out, she recalled very clearly all the details of that dreadful
+affair, and of the part she herself had unwillingly played in it.
+
+She visualised the country inn where the inquest on that poor,
+unfortunate creature had been held.
+
+The butler had escorted her from the Hall, for he also was to give
+evidence, and as they came up there had been a look of cheerful
+animation about the inn yard; people coming and going, many women
+as well as men, village folk, among whom the dead girl's fate had
+aroused a great deal of interest, and the kind of horror which those
+who live on a dull countryside welcome rather than avoid.
+
+Everyone there had been particularly nice and polite to her, to
+Ellen Green; there had been a time of waiting in a room upstairs in
+the old inn, and the witnesses had been accommodated, not only with
+chairs, but with cake and wine.
+
+She remembered how she had dreaded being a witness, how she had
+felt as if she would like to run away from her nice, easy place,
+rather than have to get up and tell the little that she knew of the
+sad business.
+
+But it had not been so very dreadful after all. The coroner had
+been a kindly-spoken gentleman; in fact he had complimented her on
+the clear, sensible way she had given her evidence concerning the
+exact words the unhappy girl had used.
+
+One thing Ellen Green had said, in answer to a question put by
+an inquisitive juryman, had raised a laugh in the crowded,
+low-ceilinged room. "Ought not Miss Ellen Green," so the man had
+asked, "to have told someone of the girl's threat? If she had done
+so, might not the girl have been prevented from throwing herself
+into the lake?" And she, the witness, had answered, with some
+asperity--for by that time the coroner's kind manner had put her
+at her ease--that she had not attached any importance to what the
+girl had threatened to do, never believing that any young woman
+could be so silly as to drown herself for love!
+
+******
+
+Vaguely Mrs. Bunting supposed that the inquest at which she was
+going to be present this afternoon would be like that country
+inquest of long ago.
+
+It had been no mere perfunctory inquiry; she remembered very well
+how little by little that pleasant-spoken gentleman, the coroner,
+had got the whole truth out--the story, that is, of how that
+horrid footman, whom she, Ellen Green, had disliked from the first
+minute she had set eyes on him, had taken up with another young
+woman. It had been supposed that this fact would not be elicited
+by the coroner; but it had been, quietly, remorselessly; more, the
+dead girl's letters had been read out--piteous, queerly expressed
+letters, full of wild love and bitter, threatening jealousy. And
+the jury had censured the young man most severely; she remembered
+the look on his face when the people, shrinking back, had made a
+passage for him to slink out of the crowded room.
+
+Come to think of it now, it was strange she had never told Bunting
+that long-ago tale. It had occurred years before she knew him, and
+somehow nothing had ever happened to make her tell him about it.
+
+She wondered whether Bunting had ever been to an inquest. She longed
+to ask him. But if she asked him now, this minute, he might guess
+where she was thinking of going.
+
+And then, while still moving about her bedroom, she shook her head
+--no, no, Bunting would never guess such a thing; he would never,
+never suspect her of telling him a lie.
+
+Stop--had she told a lie? She did mean to go to the doctor after
+the inquest was finished--if there was time, that is. She wondered
+uneasily how long such an inquiry was likely to last. In this case,
+as so very little had been discovered, the proceedings would surely
+be very formal--formal and therefore short.
+
+She herself had one quite definite object--that of hearing the
+evidence of those who believed they had seen the murderer leaving
+the spot where his victims lay weltering in their still flowing
+blood. She was filled with a painful, secret, and, yes, eager
+curiosity to hear how those who were so positive about the matter
+would describe the appearance of The Avenger. After all, a lot of
+people must have seen him, for, as Bunting had said only the day
+before to young Chandler, The Avenger was not a ghost; he was a
+living man with some kind of hiding-place where he was known, and
+where he spent his time between his awful crimes.
+
+As she came back to the sitting-room, her extreme pallor struck her
+husband.
+
+"Why, Ellen," he said, "it is time you went to the doctor. You
+looks just as if you was going to a funeral. I'll come along with
+you as far as the station. You're going by train, ain't you? Not
+by bus, eh? It's a very long way to Ealing, you know."
+
+"There you go! Breaking your solemn promise to me the very first
+minute!" But somehow she did not speak unkindly, only fretfully
+and sadly.
+
+And Bunting hung his head. "Why, to be sure I'd gone and clean
+forgot the lodger! But will you be all right, Ellen? Why not wait
+till to-morrow, and take Daisy with you?"
+
+"I like doing my own business in my own way, and not in someone
+else's way!" she snapped out; and then more gently, for Bunting
+really looked concerned, and she did feel very far from well, "I'll
+be all right, old man. Don't you worry about me!"
+
+As she turned to go across to the door, she drew the black shawl
+she had put over her long jacket more closely round her.
+
+She felt ashamed, deeply ashamed, of deceiving so kind a husband.
+And yet, what could she do? How could she share her dreadful burden
+with poor Bunting? Why, 'twould be enough to make a man go daft.
+Even she often felt as if she could stand it no longer--as if she
+would give the world to tell someone--anyone--what it was that she
+suspected, what deep in her heart she so feared to be the truth.
+
+But, unknown to herself, the fresh outside air, fog-laden though it
+was, soon began to do her good. She had gone out far too little the
+last few days, for she had had a nervous terror of leaving the house
+unprotected, as also a great unwillingness to allow Bunting to come
+into contact with the lodger.
+
+When she reached the Underground station she stopped short. There
+were two ways of getting to St. Pancras--she could go by bus, or
+she could go by train. She decided on the latter. But before
+turning into the station her eyes strayed over the bills of the
+early afternoon papers lying on the ground.
+
+Two words,
+
+  THE AVENGER,
+
+stared up at her in varying type.
+
+Drawing her black shawl yet a little closer about her shoulders,
+Mrs. Bunting looked down at the placards. She did not feel inclined
+to buy a paper, as many of the people round her were doing. Her eyes
+were smarting, even now, from their unaccustomed following of the
+close print in the paper Bunting took in.
+
+Slowly she turned, at last, into the Underground station.
+
+And now a piece of extraordinary good fortune befell Mrs. Bunting.
+
+The third-class carriage in which she took her place happened to be
+empty, save for the presence of a police inspector. And once they
+were well away she summoned up courage, and asked him the question
+she knew she would have to ask of someone within the next few minutes.
+
+"Can you tell me," she said, in a low voice, "where death inquests
+are held"--she moistened her lips, waited a moment, and then
+concluded--"in the neighbourhood of King's Cross?"
+
+The man turned and, looked at her attentively. She did not look at
+all the sort of Londoner who goes to an inquest--there are many
+such--just for the fun of the thing. Approvingly, for he was a
+widower, he noted her neat black coat and skirt; and the plain
+Princess bonnet which framed her pale, refined face.
+
+"I'm going to the Coroner's Court myself." he said good-naturedly.
+"So you can come along of me. You see there's that big Avenger
+inquest going on to-day, so I think they'll have had to make other
+arrangements for--hum, hum--ordinary cases." And as she looked
+at him dumbly, he went on, "There'll be a mighty crowd of people at
+The Avenger inquest--a lot of ticket folk to be accommodated, to
+say nothing of the public."
+
+"That's the inquest I'm going to," faltered Mrs. Bunting. She could
+scarcely get the words out. She realised with acute discomfort,
+yes, and shame, how strange, how untoward, was that which she was
+going to do. Fancy a respectable woman wanting to attend a murder
+inquest!
+
+During the last few days all her perceptions had become sharpened
+by suspense and fear. She realised now, as she looked into the
+stolid face of her unknown friend, how she herself would have
+regarded any woman who wanted to attend such an inquiry from a
+simple, morbid feeling of curiosity. And yet--and yet that was
+just what she was about to do herself.
+
+"I've got a reason for wanting to go there," she murmured. It was
+a comfort to unburden herself this little way even to a stranger.
+
+"Ah!" he said reflectively. "A--a relative connected with one of
+the two victims' husbands, I presume?"
+
+And Mrs. Bunting bent her head.
+
+"Going to give evidence?" he asked casually, and then he turned and
+looked at Mrs. Bunting with far more attention than he had yet done.
+
+"Oh, no!" There was a world of horror, of fear in the speaker's voice.
+
+And the inspector felt concerned and sorry. "Hadn't seen her for
+quite a long time, I suppose?"
+
+"Never had, seen her. I'm from the country." Something impelled
+Mrs. Bunting to say these words. But she hastily corrected herself,
+"At least, I was."
+
+"Will he be there?"
+
+She looked at him dumbly; not in the least knowing to whom he was
+alluding.
+
+"I mean the husband," went on the inspector hastily. "I felt sorry
+for the last poor chap--I mean the husband of the last one--he
+seemed so awfully miserable. You see, she'd been a good wife and a
+good mother till she took to the drink."
+
+"It always is so," breathed out Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Aye." He waited a moment. "D'you know anyone about the court?" he
+asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Well, don't you worry. I'll take you in along o' me. You'd never
+get in by yourself."
+
+They got out; and oh, the comfort of being in some one's charge, of
+having a determined man in uniform to look after one! And yet even
+now there was to Mrs. Bunting something dream-like, unsubstantial
+about the whole business.
+
+"If he knew--if he only knew what I know!" she kept saying over
+and over again to herself as she walked lightly by the big, burly
+form of the police inspector.
+
+"'Tisn't far--not three minutes," he said suddenly. "Am I walking
+too quick for you, ma'am?"'
+
+"No, not at all. I'm a quick walker."
+
+And then suddenly they turned a corner and came on a mass of people,
+a densely packed crowd of men and women, staring at a mean-looking
+little door sunk into a high wall.
+
+"Better take my arm," the inspector suggested. "Make way there!
+Make way!" he cried authoritatively; and he swept her through the
+serried ranks which parted at the sound of his voice, at the sight
+of his uniform.
+
+"Lucky you met me," he said, smiling. "You'd never have got
+through alone. And 'tain't a nice crowd, not by any manner of
+means."
+
+The small door opened just a little way, and they found themselves
+on a narrow stone-flagged path, leading into a square yard. A few
+men were out there, smoking.
+
+Before preceding her into the building which rose at the back of
+the yard, Mrs. Bunting's kind new friend took out his watch.
+"There's another twenty minutes before they'll begin," he said.
+"There's the mortuary"--he pointed with his thumb to a low room
+built out to the right of the court. "Would you like to go in and
+see them?" he whispered.
+
+"Oh, no!" she cried, in a tone of extreme horror. And he looked
+down at her with sympathy, and with increased respect. She was a
+nice, respectable woman, she was. She had not come here imbued
+with any morbid, horrible curiosity, but because she thought it
+her duty to do so. He suspected her of being sister-in-law to
+one of The Avenger's victims.
+
+They walked through into a big room or hall, now full of men
+talking in subdued yet eager, animated tones.
+
+"I think you'd better sit down here," he said considerately, and,
+leading her to one of the benches that stood out from the whitewashed
+walls--"unless you'd rather be with the witnesses, that is."
+
+But again she said, "Oh, no!" And then, with an effort, "Oughtn't
+I to go into the court now, if it's likely to be so full?"
+
+"Don't you worry," he said kindly. "I'll see you get a proper place.
+I must leave you now for a minute, but I'll come back in good time
+and look after you."
+
+She raised the thick veil she had pulled down over her face while
+they were going through that sinister, wolfish-looking crowd outside,
+and looked about her.
+
+Many of the gentlemen--they mostly wore tall hats and good overcoats
+--standing round and about her looked vaguely familiar. She picked
+out one at once. He was a famous journalist, whose shrewd, animated
+face was familiar to her owing to the fact that it was widely
+advertised in connection with a preparation for the hair--the
+preparation which in happier, more prosperous days Bunting had had
+great faith in, and used, or so he always said, with great benefit to
+himself. This gentleman was the centre of an eager circle; half a
+dozen men were talking to him, listening deferentially when he spoke,
+and each of these men, so Mrs. Bunting realised, was a Somebody.
+
+How strange, how amazing, to reflect that from all parts of London,
+from their doubtless important avocations, one unseen, mysterious
+beckoner had brought all these men here together, to this sordid
+place, on this bitterly cold, dreary day. Here they were, all
+thinking of, talking of, evoking one unknown, mysterious personality
+--that of the shadowy and yet terribly real human being who chose
+to call himself The Avenger. And somewhere, not so very far away
+from them all The Avenger was keeping these clever, astute, highly
+trained minds--aye, and bodies, too--at bay.
+
+Even Mrs. Bunting, sitting here unnoticed, realised the irony of her
+presence among them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that she had been sitting there a long
+time--it was really about a quarter of an hour--when her official
+friend came back.
+
+"Better come along now," he whispered; "it'll begin soon."
+
+She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps,
+and so into the Coroner's Court.
+
+The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike a
+chapel, the more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, a
+gallery evidently set aside for the general public, for it was now
+crammed to its utmost capacity.
+
+Mrs. Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces. Had
+it not been for her good fortune in meeting the man she was now
+following, it was there that she would have had to try and make her
+way. And she would have failed. Those people had rushed in the
+moment the doors were opened, pushing, fighting their way in a way
+she could never have pushed or fought.
+
+There were just a few women among them, set, determined-looking
+women, belonging to every class, but made one by their love of
+sensation and their power of forcing their way in where they wanted
+to be. But the women were few; the great majority of those standing
+there were men--men who were also representative of every class of
+Londoner.
+
+The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or three
+steps below the surrounding gallery. Just now it was comparatively
+clear of people, save for the benches on which sat the men who were
+to compose the jury. Some way from these men, huddled together in
+a kind of big pew, stood seven people--three women and four men.
+
+"D'you see the witnesses?" whispered the inspector, pointing these
+out to her. He supposed her to know one of them with familiar
+knowledge, but, if that were so, she made no sign.
+
+Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of little
+platform, on which stood a desk and an arm-chair. Mrs. Bunting
+guessed rightly that it was there the coroner would sit. And to
+the left of the platform was the witness-stand, also raised
+considerably above the jury.
+
+Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring than
+the scene of the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on that
+bright April day, in the village inn. There the coroner had sat on
+the same level as the jury, and the witnesses had simply stepped
+forward one by one, and taken their place before him.
+
+Looking round her fearfully, Mrs. Bunting thought she would surely
+die if ever she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in that
+curious box-like stand, and she stared across at the bench where sat
+the seven witnesses with a feeling of sincere pity in her heart.
+
+But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted. Each woman
+witness looked eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be the
+centre of attention and attraction to the general public. It was
+plain each was enjoying her part of important, if humble, actress
+in the thrilling drama which was now absorbing the attention of all
+London--it might almost be said of the whole world.
+
+Looking at these women, Mrs. Bunting wondered vaguely which was
+which. Was it that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person who
+had certainly, or almost certainly, seen The Avenger within ten
+seconds of the double crime being committed? The woman who, aroused
+by one of his victims' cry of terror, had rushed to her window and
+seen the murderer's shadowy form pass swiftly by in the fog?
+
+Yet another woman, so Mrs. Bunting now remembered, had given a most
+circumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, it
+was supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
+
+Those two women now before her had been interrogated and
+cross-examined again and again, not only by the police, but by
+representatives of every newspaper in London. It was from what they
+had both said--unluckily their accounts materially differed--that
+that official description of The Avenger had been worked up--that
+which described him as being a good-looking, respectable young fellow
+of twenty-eight, carrying a newspaper parcel.
+
+As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a boon
+companion of the dead.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gaze
+on another unfamiliar sight. Specially prominent, running indeed
+through the whole length of the shut-in space, that is, from the
+coroner's high dais right across to the opening in the wooden barrier,
+was an ink-splashed table at which, when she had first taken her
+place, there had been sitting three men busily sketching; but now
+every seat at the table was occupied by tired, intelligent-looking
+men, each with a notebook, or with some loose sheets of paper,
+before him.
+
+"Them's the reporters," whispered her friend. "They don't like
+coming till the last minute, for they has to be the last to go.
+At an ordinary inquest there are only two--maybe three--attending,
+but now every paper in the kingdom has pretty well applied for a
+pass to that reporters' table."
+
+He looked consideringly down into the well of the court. "Now let
+me see what I can do for you--"
+
+Then he beckoned to the coroner's officer: "Perhaps you could put
+this lady just over there, in a corner by herself? Related to a
+relation of the deceased, but doesn't want to be--" He whispered
+a word or two, and the other nodded sympathetically, and looked at
+Mrs. Bunting with interest. "I'll put her just here," he muttered.
+"There's no one coming there to-day. You see, there are only seven
+witnesses--sometimes we have a lot more than that."
+
+And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where the
+seven witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready
+--aye, more than ready--to play their part.
+
+For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs. Bunting, but
+soon those who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realised
+that she had nothing to do with the case. She was evidently there
+as a spectator, and, more fortunate than most, she had a "friend at
+court," and so was able to sit comfortably, instead of having to
+stand in the crowd.
+
+But she was not long left in isolation. Very soon some of the
+important-looking gentlemen she had seen downstairs came into the
+court, and were ushered over to her seat while two or three among
+them, including the famous writer whose face was so familiar that
+it almost seemed to Mrs. Bunting like that of a kindly acquaintance,
+were accommodated at the reporters' table.
+
+"Gentlemen, the Coroner."
+
+The jury stood up, shuffling their feet, and then sat down again;
+over the spectators there fell a sudden silence.
+
+And then what immediately followed recalled to Mrs. Bunting, for the
+first time, that informal little country inquest of long ago.
+
+First came the "Oyez! Oyez!" the old Norman-French summons to all
+whose business it is to attend a solemn inquiry into the death
+--sudden, unexplained, terrible--of a fellow-being.
+
+The jury--there were fourteen of them--all stood up again. They
+raised their hands and solemnly chanted together the curious words
+of their oath.
+
+Then came a quick, informal exchange of sentences 'twixt the coroner
+and his officer.
+
+Yes, everything was in order. The jury had viewed the bodies--he
+quickly corrected himself--the body, for, technically speaking, the
+inquest just about to be held only concerned one body.
+
+And then, amid a silence so absolute that the slightest rustle could
+be heard through the court, the coroner--a clever-looking gentleman,
+though not so old as Mrs. Bunting thought he ought to have been to
+occupy so important a position on so important a day--gave a little
+history, as it were, of the terrible and mysterious Avenger crimes.
+
+He spoke very clearly, warming to his work as he went on.
+
+He told them that he had been present at the inquest held on one of
+The Avenger's former victims. "I only went through professional
+curiosity," he threw in by way of parenthesis, "little thinking,
+gentlemen, that the inquest on one of these unhappy creatures would
+ever be held in my court."
+
+On and on, he went, though he had, in truth, but little to say, and
+though that little was known to every one of his listeners.
+
+Mrs. Bunting heard one of the older gentlemen sitting near her
+whisper to another: "Drawing it out all he can; that's what he's
+doing. Having the time of his life, evidently!" And then the other
+whispered back, so low that she could only just catch the words,
+"Aye, aye. But he's a good chap--I knew his father; we were at
+school together. Takes his job very seriously, you know--he does
+to-day, at any rate."
+
+******
+
+She was listening intently, waiting for a word, a sentence, which
+would relieve her hidden terrors, or, on the other hand, confirm
+them. But the word, the sentence, was never uttered.
+
+And yet, at the very end of his long peroration, the coroner did
+throw out a hint which might mean anything--or nothing.
+
+"I am glad to say that we hope to obtain such evidence to-day as
+will in time lead to the apprehension of the miscreant who has
+committed, and is still committing, these terrible crimes."
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared uneasily up into the coroner's firm,
+determined-looking face. What did he mean by that? Was there any
+new evidence--evidence of which Joe Chandler, for instance, was
+ignorant? And, as if in answer to the unspoken question, her heart
+gave a sudden leap, for a big, burly man had taken his place in the
+witness-box--a policeman who had not been sitting with the other
+witnesses.
+
+But soon her uneasy terror became stilled. This witness was simply
+the constable who had found the first body. In quick, business-like
+tones he described exactly what had happened to him on that cold,
+foggy morning ten days ago. He was shown a plan, and he marked it
+slowly, carefully, with a thick finger. That was the exact place
+--no, he was making a mistake--that was the place where the other
+body had lain. He explained apologetically that he had got rather
+mixed up between the two bodies--that of Johanna Cobbett and Sophy
+Hurtle.
+
+And then the coroner intervened authoritatively: "For the purpose
+of this inquiry," he said, "we must, I think, for a moment consider
+the two murders together."
+
+After that, the witness went on far more comfortably; and as he
+proceeded, in a quick monotone, the full and deadly horror of
+The Avenger's acts came over Mrs. Bunting in a great seething flood
+of sick fear and--and, yes, remorse.
+
+Up to now she had given very little thought--if, indeed, any thought
+--to the drink-sodden victims of The Avenger. It was he who had
+filled her thoughts,--he and those who were trying to track him down.
+But now? Now she felt sick and sorry she had come here to-day. She
+wondered if she would ever be able to get the vision the policeman's
+words had conjured up out of her mind--out of her memory.
+
+And then there came an eager stir of excitement and of attention
+throughout the whole court, for the policeman had stepped down out of
+the witness-box, and one of the women witnesses was being conducted to
+his place.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked with interest and sympathy at the woman,
+remembering how she herself had trembled with fear, trembled as that
+poor, bedraggled, common-looking person was trembling now. The woman
+had looked so cheerful, so--so well pleased with herself till a
+minute ago, but now she had become very pale, and she looked round
+her as a hunted animal might have done.
+
+But the coroner was very kind, very soothing and gentle in his
+manner, just as that other coroner had been when dealing with Ellen
+Green at the inquest on that poor drowned girl.
+
+After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn words
+of the oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story.
+At once Mrs. Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimed
+to have seen The Avenger from her bedroom window. Gaining confidence,
+as she went on, the witness described how she had heard a long-drawn,
+stifled screech, and, aroused from deep sleep, had instinctively
+jumped out of bed and rushed to her window.
+
+The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk. "Let me
+see! Here is the plan. Yes--I think I understand that the house
+in which you are lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimes
+were committed?"
+
+And there arose a quick, futile discussion. The house did not face
+the alley, but the window of the witness's bedroom faced the alley.
+
+"A distinction without a difference," said the coroner testily.
+"And now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw when
+you looked out."
+
+There fell a dead silence on the crowded court. And then the woman
+broke out, speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done.
+"I saw 'im!" she cried. "I shall never forget it--no, not till my
+dying day!" And she looked round defiantly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men had
+had with a person who slept under this woman's room. That person
+had unkindly said she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up that
+night--that she had made up the whole story. She, the speaker, slept
+lightly, and that night had been tending a sick child. Accordingly,
+she would have heard if there had been either the scream described
+by Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping out of bed.
+
+"We quite understand that you think you saw the"--the coroner
+hesitated--"the individual who had just perpetrated these terrible
+crimes. But what we want to have from you is a description of him.
+In spite of the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, you
+say you saw him distinctly, walking along for some yards below your
+window. Now, please, try and tell us what he was like."
+
+The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a coloured
+handkerchief she held in her hand.
+
+"Let us begin at the beginning," said the coroner patiently. "What
+sort of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying from
+the passage?"
+
+"It was just a black 'at" said the witness at last, in a husky,
+rather anxious tone.
+
+"Yes--just a black hat. And a coat--were you able to see what
+sort of a coat he was wearing?"
+
+"'E 'adn't got no coat" she said decidedly. "No coat at all! I
+remembers that very perticulerly. I thought it queer, as it was
+so cold--everybody as can wears some sort o' coat this weather!"
+
+A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, and
+apparently not attending at all to what the witness was saying, here
+jumped up and put out his hand.
+
+"Yes?" the coroner turned to him.
+
+"I just want to say that this 'ere witness--if her name is Lizzie
+Cole, began by saying The Avenger was wearing a coat--a big, heavy
+coat. I've got it here, in this bit of paper."
+
+"I never said so!" cried the woman passionately. "I was made to
+say all those things by the young man what came to me from the
+Evening Sun. Just put in what 'e liked in 'is paper, 'e did--not
+what I said at all!"
+
+At this there was some laughter, quickly suppressed.
+
+"In future," said the coroner severely, addressing the juryman, who
+had now sat down again, "you must ask any question you wish to ask
+through your foreman, and please wait till I have concluded my
+examination of the witness."
+
+But this interruption, this--this accusation, had utterly upset
+the witness. She began contradicting herself hopelessly. The man
+she had seen hurrying by in the semi-darkness below was tall--no,
+he was short. He was thin--no, he was a stoutish young man. And
+as to whether he was carrying anything, there was quite an
+acrimonious discussion.
+
+Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared that she had
+seen a newspaper parcel under his arm; it had bulged out at the back
+--so she declared. But it was proved, very gently and firmly, that
+she had said nothing of the kind to the gentleman from Scotland Yard
+who had taken down her first account--in fact, to him she had
+declared confidently that the man had carried nothing--nothing at
+all; that she had seen his arms swinging up and down.
+
+One fact--if fact it could be called--the coroner did elicit.
+Lizzie Cole suddenly volunteered the statement that as he had passed
+her window he had looked up at her. This was quite a new statement.
+
+"He looked up at you?" repeated the coroner. "You said nothing of
+that in your examination."
+
+"I said nothink because I was scared--nigh scared to death!"
+
+"If you could really see his countenance, for we know the night was
+dark and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like?"
+
+But the coroner was speaking casually, his hand straying over his
+desk; not a creature in that court now believed the woman's story.
+
+"Dark!" she answered dramatically. "Dark, almost black! If you can
+take my meaning, with a sort of nigger look."
+
+And then there was a titter. Even the jury smiled. And sharply the
+coroner bade Lizzie Cole stand down.
+
+Far more credence was given to the evidence of the next witness.
+
+This was an older, quieter-looking woman, decently dressed in black.
+Being the wife of a night watchman whose work lay in a big warehouse
+situated about a hundred yards from the alley or passage where the
+crimes had taken place, she had gone out to take her husband some
+food he always had at one in the morning. And a man had passed her,
+breathing hard and walking very quickly. Her attention had been
+drawn to him because she very seldom met anyone at that hour, and
+because he had such an odd, peculiar look and manner.
+
+Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very much
+from what this witness had said that the official description of The
+Avenger had been composed--that description which had brought such
+comfort to her, Ellen Bunting's, soul.
+
+This witness spoke quietly, confidently, and her account of the
+newspaper parcel the man was carrying was perfectly clear and
+positive.
+
+"It was a neat parcel," she said, "done up with string."
+
+She had thought it an odd thing for a respectably dressed young man
+to carry such a parcel--that was what had made her notice it. But
+when pressed, she had to admit that it had been a very foggy night
+--so foggy that she herself had been afraid of losing her way,
+though every step was familiar.
+
+When the third woman went into the box, and with sighs and tears
+told of her acquaintance with one of the deceased, with Johanna
+Cobbett, there was a stir of sympathetic attention. But she had
+nothing to say throwing any light on the investigation, save that
+she admitted reluctantly that "Anny" would have been such a nice,
+respectable young woman if it hadn't been for the drink.
+
+Her examination was shortened as much as possible; and so was that
+of the next witness, the husband of Johanna Cobbett. He was a very
+respectable-looking man, a foreman in a big business house at Croydon.
+He seemed to feel his position most acutely. He hadn't seen his
+wife for two years; he hadn't had news of her for six months. Before
+she took to drink she had been an admirable wife, and--and yes,
+mother.
+
+Yet another painful few minutes, to anyone who had a heart, or
+imagination to understand, was spent when the father of the murdered
+woman was in the box. He had had later news of his unfortunate
+daughter than her husband had had, but of course he could throw no
+light at all on her murder or murderer.
+
+A barman, who had served both the women with drink just before the
+public-house closed for the night, was handled rather roughly. He
+had stepped with a jaunty air into the box, and came out of it
+looking cast down, uneasy.
+
+And then there took place a very dramatic, because an utterly
+unexpected, incident. It was one of which the evening papers made
+the utmost much to Mrs. Bunting's indignation. But neither coroner
+nor jury--and they, after all, were the people who mattered--
+thought a great deal of it.
+
+There had come a pause in the proceedings. All seven witnesses had
+been heard, and a gentleman near Mrs. Bunting whispered, "They are
+now going to call Dr. Gaunt. He's been in every big murder case for
+the last thirty years. He's sure to have something interesting to
+say. It was really to hear him I came."
+
+But before Dr. Gaunt had time even to get up from the seat with
+which he had been accommodated close to the coroner, there came a
+stir among the general public, or, rather, among those spectators
+who stood near the low wooden door which separated the official
+part of the court from the gallery.
+
+The coroner's officer, with an apologetic air, approached the
+coroner, and handed him up an envelope. And again in an instant,
+there fell absolute silence on the court.
+
+Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope. He glanced
+down the sheet of notepaper it contained. Then he looked up.
+
+"Mr.--" then he glanced down again. "Mr.--ah--Mr.--is it Cannot?"
+he said doubtfully, "may come forward."
+
+There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
+
+A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat,
+with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from
+the place where he had been standing among the general public, to
+the witness-box.
+
+"This is somewhat out of order, Mr.--er--Cannot," said the
+coroner severely. "You should have sent me this note before the
+proceedings began. This gentleman," he said, addressing the jury,
+"informs me that he has something of the utmost importance to
+reveal in connection with our investigation."
+
+"I have remained silent--I have locked what I knew within my own
+breast"--began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, "because I am so
+afraid of the Press! I knew if I said anything, even to the police,
+that my house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . .
+I have a delicate wife, Mr. Coroner. Such a state of things--the
+state of things I imagine--might cause her death--indeed, I hope
+she will never read a report of these proceedings. Fortunately, she
+has an excellent trained nurse--"
+
+"You will now take the oath," said the coroner sharply. He already
+regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
+
+Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been
+lacking in most of those who had preceded him.
+
+"I will address myself to the jury," he began.
+
+"You will do nothing of the sort," broke in the coroner. "Now,
+please attend to me. You assert in your letter that you know who
+is the--the--"
+
+"The Avenger," put in Mr. Cannot promptly.
+
+"The perpetrator of these crimes. You further declare that you met
+him on the very night he committed the murder we are now
+investigating?"
+
+"I do so declare," said Mr. Cannot confidently. "Though in the best
+of health myself,"--he beamed round the court, a now amused,
+attentive court--"it is my fate to be surrounded by sick people, to
+have only ailing friends. I have to trouble you with my private
+affairs, Mr. Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be out
+at so undue an hour as one o'clock in the morning--"
+
+Again a titter ran through the court. Even the jury broke into
+broad smiles.
+
+"Yes," went on the witness solemnly, "I was with a sick friend--in
+fact, I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed away.
+I will not reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on my
+notepaper. It is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understand
+me when I say that in order to come home I had to pass through a
+portion of the Regent's Park; and it was there--to be exact, about
+the middle of Prince's Terrace--when a very peculiar-looking
+individual stopped and accosted me."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's hand shot up to her breast. A feeling of deadly fear
+took possession of her.
+
+"I mustn't faint," she said to herself hurriedly. "I mustn't faint!
+Whatever's the matter with me?" She took out her bottle of
+smelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.
+
+"He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with a
+very odd-looking face. I should say an educated man--in common
+parlance, a gentleman. What drew my special attention to him was
+that he was talking aloud to himself--in fact, he seemed to be
+repeating poetry. I give you my word, I had no thought of The
+Avenger, no thought at all. To tell you the truth, I thought this
+gentleman was a poor escaped lunatic, a man who'd got away from his
+keeper. The Regent's Park, sir, as I need hardly tell you, is a
+most quiet and soothing neighbourhood--"
+
+And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.
+
+"I appeal to you; sir," the old gentleman suddenly cried out "to
+protect me from this unseemly levity! I have not come here with
+any other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!"
+
+"I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant," said the
+coroner stiffly. "Time is going on, and I have another important
+witness to call--a medical witness. Kindly tell me, as shortly as
+possible, what made you suppose that this stranger could possibly
+be--" with an effort he brought out for the first time since the
+proceedings began, the words, "The Avenger?"
+
+"I am coming to that!" said Mr. Cannot hastily. "I am coming to
+that! Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner. It was a foggy
+night, but not as foggy as it became later. And just when we were
+passing one another, I and this man, who was talking aloud to
+himself--he, instead of going on, stopped and turned towards
+me. That made me feel queer and uncomfortable, the more so that
+there was a very wild, mad look on his face. I said to him, as
+soothingly as possible, 'A very foggy night, sir.' And he said,
+'Yes--yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the commission of
+dark and salutary deeds.' A very strange phrase, sir, that--'dark
+and salutary deeds.'" He looked at the coroner expectantly--
+
+"Well? Well, Mr. Cannot? Was that all? Did you see this person
+go off in the direction of--of King's Cross, for instance?"
+
+"No." Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head. "No, I must honestly
+say I did not. He walked along a certain way by my side, and then
+he crossed the road and was lost in the fog."
+
+"That will do," said the coroner. He spoke more kindly. "I thank
+you, Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidently
+consider important information."
+
+Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again some
+of those present tittered rather foolishly.
+
+As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and looked
+up at the coroner, opening his lips as he did so. There was a
+murmur of talking going on, but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heard
+quite distinctly what it was that he said:
+
+"One thing I have forgotten, sir, which may be of importance. The
+man carried a bag--a rather light-coloured leather bag, in his left
+hand. It was such a bag, sir, as might well contain a long-handled
+knife."
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters' table. She remembered suddenly
+that she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth's bag.
+And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a
+single reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that last
+remark of Mr. Cannot. In fact, not one of them had heard it.
+
+Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. And
+then silence did fall on the court.
+
+"One word more," he said in a quavering voice. "May I ask to be
+accommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings? I see
+there is some room left on the witnesses' bench." And, without
+waiting for permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. Her friend, the inspector, was
+bending over her.
+
+"Perhaps you'd like to come along now," he said urgently.--"I
+don't suppose you want to hear the medical evidence. It's always
+painful for a female to hear that. And there'll be an awful rush
+when the inquest's over. I could get you away quietly now."
+
+She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followed
+him obediently.
+
+Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty,
+room downstairs.
+
+"I'll let you out the back way," he said. "I expect you're tired,
+ma'am, and will like to get home to a cup o' tea."
+
+"I don't know how to thank you!" There were tears in her eyes.
+She was trembling with excitement and emotion. "You have been good
+to me."
+
+"Oh, that's nothing," he said a little awkwardly. "I expect you
+went though a pretty bad time, didn't you?"
+
+"Will they be having that old gentleman again?" she spoke in a
+whisper, and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look.
+
+"Good Lord, no! Crazy old fool! We're troubled with a lot of
+those sort of people, you know, ma'am, and they often do have funny
+names, too. You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City,
+or what not; then they retires when they gets about sixty, and
+they're fit to hang themselves with dulness. Why, there's hundreds
+of lunies of the sort to be met in London. You can't go about at
+night and not meet 'em. Plenty of 'em!"
+
+"Then you don't think there was anything in what he said?" she
+ventured.
+
+"In what that old gent said? Goodness--no!" he laughed
+good-naturedly. "But I'll tell you what I do think. If it wasn't
+for the time that had gone by, I should believe that the second
+witness had seen that crafty devil--" he lowered his voice. "But,
+there, Dr. Gaunt declares most positively--so did two other medical
+gentlemen--that the poor creatures had been dead hours when they
+was found. Medical gentlemen are always very positive about their
+evidence. They have to be--otherwise who'd believe 'em? If we'd
+time I could tell you of a case in which--well, 'twas all because
+of Dr. Gaunt that the murderer escaped. We all knew perfectly well
+the man we caught did it, but he was able to prove an alibi as to
+the time Dr. Gaunt said the poor soul was killed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+It was not late even now, for the inquest had begun very punctually,
+but Mrs. Bunting felt that no power on earth should force her to go
+to Ealing. She felt quite tired out and as if she could think of
+nothing.
+
+Pacing along very slowly, as if she were an old, old woman, she
+began listlessly turning her steps towards home. Somehow she felt
+that it would do her more good to stay out in the air than take the
+train. Also she would thus put off the moment--the moment to which
+she looked forward with dread and dislike--when she would have to
+invent a circumstantial story as to what she had said to the doctor,
+and what the doctor had said to her.
+
+Like most men and women of his class, Bunting took a great interest
+in other people's ailments, the more interest that he was himself so
+remarkably healthy. He would feel quite injured if Ellen didn't
+tell him everything that had happened; everything, that is, that the
+doctor had told her.
+
+As she walked swiftly along, at every corner, or so it seemed to her,
+and outside every public-house, stood eager boys selling the latest
+edition of the afternoon papers to equally eager buyers. "Avenger
+Inquest?" they shouted exultantly. "All the latest evidence!" At
+one place, where there were a row of contents-bills pinned to the
+pavement by stones, she stopped and looked down. "Opening of the
+Avenger Inquest. What is he really like? Full description." On yet
+another ran the ironic query: "Avenger Inquest. Do you know him?"
+
+And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs.
+Bunting turned sick--so sick and faint that she did what she had
+never done before in her life--she pushed her way into a
+public-house, and, putting two pennies down on the counter, asked
+for, and received, a glass of cold water.
+
+As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind
+dwelling persistently--not on the inquest at which she had been
+present, not even on The Avenger, but on his victims.
+
+Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the
+mortuary. She seemed also to see that third body, which, though
+cold, must yet be warmer than the other two, for at this time
+yesterday The Avenger's last victim had been alive, poor soul--
+alive and, according to a companion of hers whom the papers had
+already interviewed, particularly merry and bright.
+
+Hitherto Mrs. Bunting had been spared in any real sense a vision of
+The Avenger's victims. Now they haunted her, and she wondered
+wearily if this fresh horror was to be added to the terrible fear
+which encompassed her night and day.
+
+As she came within sight of home, her spirit suddenly lightened.
+The narrow, drab-coloured little house, flanked each side by others
+exactly like it in every single particular, save that their front
+yards were not so well kept, looked as if it could, aye, and would,
+keep any secret closely hidden.
+
+For a moment, at any rate, The Avenger's victims receded from her
+mind. She thought of them no more. All her thoughts were
+concentrated on Bunting--Bunting and Mr. Sleuth. She wondered what
+had happened during her absence--whether the lodger had rung his
+bell, and, if so, how he had got on with Bunting, and Bunting with
+him?
+
+She walked up the little flagged path wearily, and yet with a
+pleasant feeling of home-coming. And then she saw that Bunting must
+have been watching for her behind the now closely drawn curtains,
+for before she could either knock or ring he had opened the door.
+
+"I was getting quite anxious about you," he exclaimed. "Come in,
+Ellen, quick! You must be fair perished a day like now--and you
+out so little as you are. Well? I hope you found the doctor all
+right?" He looked at her with affectionate anxiety.
+
+And then there came a sudden, happy thought to Mrs. Bunting. "No,"
+she said slowly, "Doctor Evans wasn't in. I waited, and waited, and
+waited, but he never came in at all. 'Twas my own fault," she added
+quickly. Even at such a moment as this she told herself that though
+she had, in a sort of way, a kind of right to lie to her husband,
+she had no sight to slander the doctor who had been so kind to her
+years ago. "I ought to have sent him a card yesterday night," she
+said. "Of course, I was a fool to go all that way, just on chance
+of finding a doctor in. It stands to reason they've got to go out
+to people at all times of day."
+
+"I hope they gave you a cup of tea?" he said.
+
+And again she hesitated, debating a point with herself: if the
+doctor had a decent sort of servant, of course, she, Ellen Bunting,
+would have been offered a cup of tea, especially if she explained
+she'd known him a long time.
+
+She compromised. "I was offered some," she said, in a weak, tired
+voice. "But there, Bunting, I didn't feel as if I wanted it. I'd
+be very grateful for a cup now--if you'd just make it for me over
+the ring."
+
+"'Course I will," he said eagerly. "You just come in and sit down,
+my dear. Don't trouble to take your things off now--wait till
+you've had tea."
+
+And she obeyed him. "Where's Daisy?" she asked suddenly. "I thought
+the girl would be back by the time I got home."
+
+"She ain't coming home to-day"--there was an odd, sly, smiling look
+on Bunting's face.
+
+"Did she send a telegram?" asked Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"No. Young Chandler's just come in and told me. He's been over
+there and,--would you believe it, Ellen?--he's managed to make
+friends with Margaret. Wonderful what love will do, ain't it? He
+went over there just to help Daisy carry her bag back, you know,
+and then Margaret told him that her lady had sent her some money
+to go to the play, and she actually asked Joe to go with them this
+evening--she and Daisy--to the pantomime. Did you ever hear o'
+such a thing?"
+
+"Very nice for them, I'm sure," said Mrs. Bunting absently. But
+she was pleased--pleased to have her mind taken off herself. "Then
+when is that girl coming home?" she asked patiently.
+
+"Well, it appears that Chandler's got to-morrow morning off too--
+this evening and to-morrow morning. He'll be on duty all night,
+but he proposes to go over and bring Daisy back in time for early
+dinner. Will that suit you, Ellen?"
+
+"Yes. That'll be all right," she said. "I don't grudge the girl
+her bit of pleasure. One's only young once. By the way, did the
+lodger ring while I was out?"
+
+Bunting turned round from the gas-ring, which he was watching to
+see the kettle boil. "No," he said. "Come to think of it, it's
+rather a funny thing, but the truth is, Ellen, I never gave Mr.
+Sleuth a thought. You see, Chandler came in and was telling me all
+about Margaret, laughing-like, and then something else happened
+while you was out, Ellen."
+
+"Something else happened?" she said in a startled voice. Getting
+up from her chair she came towards her husband: "What happened?
+Who came?"
+
+"Just a message for me, asking if I could go to-night to wait at a
+young lady's birthday party. In Hanover Terrace it is. A waiter
+--one of them nasty Swiss fellows as works for nothing--fell out
+just at the last minute and so they had to send for me."
+
+His honest face shone with triumph. The man who had taken over his
+old friend's business in Baker Street had hitherto behaved very
+badly to Bunting, and that though Bunting had been on the books for
+ever so long, and had always given every satisfaction. But this new
+man had never employed him--no, not once.
+
+"I hope you didn't make yourself too cheap?" said his wife jealously.
+
+"No, that I didn't! I hum'd and haw'd a lot; and I could see the
+fellow was quite worried--in fact, at the end he offered me
+half-a-crown more. So I graciously consented!"
+
+Husband and wife laughed more merrily than they had done for a long
+time.
+
+"You won't mind being alone, here? I don't count the lodger--he's
+no good--" Bunting looked at her anxiously. He was only prompted
+to ask the question because lately Ellen had been so queer, so
+unlike herself. Otherwise it never would have occurred to him that
+she could be afraid of being alone in the house. She had often been
+so in the days when he got more jobs.
+
+She stared at him, a little suspiciously. "I be afraid?" she echoed.
+"Certainly not. Why should I be? I've never been afraid before.
+What d'you exactly mean by that, Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, nothing. I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone
+on this ground floor. You was so upset yesterday when that young
+fool Chandler came, dressed up, to the door."
+
+"I shouldn't have been frightened if he'd just been an ordinary
+stranger," she said shortly. "He said something silly to me--just
+in keeping with his character-like, and it upset me. Besides, I
+feel better now."
+
+As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise
+outside, the shouts of newspaper-sellers.
+
+"I'll just run out," said Bunting apologetically, "and see what
+happened at that inquest to-day. Besides, they may have a clue
+about the horrible affair last night. Chandler was full of it--
+when he wasn't talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is. He's
+on to-night, luckily not till twelve o'clock; plenty of time to
+escort the two of 'em back after the play. Besides, he said
+he'll put them into a cab and blow the expense, if the panto'
+goes on too long for him to take 'em home."
+
+"On to-night?" repeated Mrs. Bunting. "Whatever for?"
+
+"Well, you see, The Avenger's always done 'em in couples, so to
+speak. They've got an idea that he'll have a try again to-night.
+However, even so, Joe's only on from midnight till five o'clock.
+Then he'll go and turn in a bit before going off to fetch Daisy,
+Fine thing to be young, ain't it, Ellen?"
+
+"I can't believe that he'd go out on such a night as this!"
+
+"What do you mean?" said Bunting, staring at her. Ellen had spoken
+so oddly, as if to herself, and in so fierce and passionate a tone.
+
+"What do I mean?" she repeated--and a great fear clutched at her
+heart. What had she said? She had been thinking aloud.
+
+"Why, by saying he won't go out. Of course, he has to go out.
+Besides, he'll have been to the play as it is. 'Twould be a pretty
+thing if the police didn't go out, just because it was cold!"
+
+"I--I was thinking of The Avenger," said Mrs. Bunting. She looked
+at her husband fixedly. Somehow she had felt impelled to utter
+those true words.
+
+"He don't take no heed of heat nor cold," said Bunting sombrely.
+"I take it the man's dead to all human feeling--saving, of
+course, revenge."
+
+"So that's your idea about him, is it?" She looked across at her
+husband. Somehow this dangerous, this perilous conversation between
+them attracted her strangely. She felt as if she must go on with it.
+"D'you think he was the man that woman said she saw? That young
+man what passed her with a newspaper parcel?"
+
+"Let me see," he said slowly. "I thought that 'twas from the bedroom
+window a woman saw him?"
+
+"No, no. I mean the other woman, what was taking her husband's
+breakfast to him in the warehouse. She was far the most
+respectable-looking woman of the two," said Mrs. Bunting impatiently.
+
+And then, seeing her husband's look of utter, blank astonishment,
+she felt a thrill of unreasoning terror. She must have gone suddenly
+mad to have said what she did! Hurriedly she got up from her chair.
+"There, now," she said; "here I am gossiping all about nothing when
+I ought to be seeing about the lodger's supper. It was someone in
+the train talked to me about that person as thinks she saw The
+Avenger."
+
+Without waiting for an answer, she went into her bedroom, lit the
+gas, and shut the door. A moment later she heard Bunting go out to
+buy the paper they had both forgotten during their dangerous
+discussion.
+
+As she slowly, languidly took off her nice, warm coat and shawl,
+Mrs. Bunting found herself shivering. It was dreadfully cold, quite
+unnaturally cold even for the time of year.
+
+She looked longingly towards the fireplace. It was now concealed
+by the washhand-stand, but how pleasant it would be to drag that
+stand aside and light a bit of fire, especially as Bunting was going
+to be out to-night. He would have to put on his dress clothes, and
+she didn't like his dressing in the sitting-room. It didn't suit
+her ideas that he should do so. How if she did light the fire here,
+in their bedroom? It would be nice for her to have bit of fire to
+cheer her up after he had gone.
+
+Mrs. Bunting knew only too well that she would have very little
+sleep the coming night. She looked over, with shuddering distaste,
+at her nice, soft bed. There she would lie, on that couch of little
+ease, listening--listening. . . .
+
+She went down to the kitchen. Everything was ready for Mr. Sleuth's
+supper, for she had made all her preparations before going out so
+as not to have to hurry back before it suited her to do so.
+
+Leaning the tray for a moment on the top of the banisters, she
+listened. Even in that nice warm drawing-room, and with a good
+fire, how cold the lodger must feel sitting studying at the table!
+But unwonted sounds were coming through the door. Mr. Sleuth was
+moving restlessly about the room, not sitting reading, as was his
+wont at this time of the evening.
+
+She knocked, and then waited a moment.
+
+There came the sound of a sharp click, that of the key turning in
+the lock of the chiffonnier cupboard--or so Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+could have sworn.
+
+There was a pause--she knocked again.
+
+"Come in," said Mr. Sleuth loudly, and she opened the door and
+carried in the tray.
+
+"You are a little earlier than usual, are you not Mrs. Bunting?"
+he said, with a touch of irritation in his voice.
+
+"I don't think so, sir, but I've been out. Perhaps I lost count of
+the time. I thought you'd like your breakfast early, as you had
+dinner rather sooner than usual."
+
+"Breakfast? Did you say breakfast, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure! I meant supper." He looked at
+her fixedly. It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that there was a terrible
+questioning look in his dark, sunken eyes.
+
+"Aren't you well?" he said slowly. "You don't look well, Mrs.
+Bunting."
+
+"No, sir," she said. "I'm not well. I went over to see a doctor
+this afternoon, to Ealing, sir."
+
+"I hope he did you good, Mrs. Bunting"--the lodger's voice had
+become softer, kinder in quality.
+
+"It always does me good to see the doctor," said Mrs. Bunting
+evasively.
+
+And then a very odd smile lit up Mr. Sleuth's face. "Doctors are a
+maligned body of men," he said. "I'm glad to hear you speak well of
+them. They do their best, Mrs. Bunting. Being human they are liable
+to err, but I assure you they do their best."
+
+"That I'm sure they do, sir"--she spoke heartily, sincerely.
+Doctors had always treated her most kindly, and even generously.
+
+And then, having laid the cloth, and put the lodger's one hot dish
+upon it, she went towards the door. "Wouldn't you like me to bring
+up another scuttleful of coals, sir? it's bitterly cold--getting
+colder every minute. A fearful night to have to go out in--" she
+looked at him deprecatingly.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth did something which startled her very much.
+Pushing his chair back, he jumped up and drew himself to his full
+height.
+
+"What d'you mean?" he stammered. "Why did you say that, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him, fascinated, affrighted. Again there came an
+awful questioning look over his face.
+
+"I was thinking of Bunting, sir. He's got a job to-night. He's
+going to act as waiter at a young lady's birthday party. I was
+thinking it's a pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes,
+too"--she brought out her words jerkily.
+
+Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down. "Ah!"
+he said. "Dear me--I'm sorry to hear that! I hope your husband
+will not catch cold, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
+
+******
+
+Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy
+washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
+
+Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
+
+"Time for you to dress," she cried out cheerfully, "and I've got a
+little bit of fire for you to dress by."
+
+As he exclaimed at her extravagance, "Well, 'twill be pleasant for
+me, too; keep me company-like while you're out; and make the room
+nice and warm when you come in. You'll be fair perished, even
+walking that short way," she said.
+
+And then, while her husband was dressing, Mrs. Bunting went upstairs
+and cleared away Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+
+The lodger said no word while she was so engaged--no word at all.
+
+He was sitting away from the table, rather an unusual thing for him
+to do, and staring into the fire, his hands on his knees.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn. Somehow, a
+great rush of pity, as well as of horror, came over Mrs. Bunting's
+heart. He was such a--a--she searched for a word in her mind, but
+could only find the word "gentle"--he was such a nice, gentle
+gentleman, was Mr. Sleuth. Lately he had again taken to leaving his
+money about, as he had done the first day or two, and with some
+concern his landlady had seen that the store had diminished a good
+deal. A very simple calculation had made her realise that almost the
+whole of that missing money had come her way, or, at any rate, had
+passed through her hands.
+
+Mr. Sleuth never stinted himself as to food, or stinted them, his
+landlord and his landlady, as to what he had said he would pay.
+And Mrs. Bunting's conscience pricked her a little, for he hardly
+ever used that room upstairs--that room for which he had paid extra
+so generously. If Bunting got another job or two through that nasty
+man in Baker Street,--and now that the ice had been broken between
+them it was very probable that he would do so, for he was a very
+well-trained, experienced waiter--then she thought she would tell
+Mr. Sleuth that she no longer wanted him to pay as much as he was
+now doing.
+
+She looked anxiously, deprecatingly, at his long, bent back.
+
+"Good-night, sir," she said at last.
+
+Mr. Sleuth turned round. His face looked sad and worn.
+
+"I hope you'll sleep well, sir."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure I shall sleep well. But perhaps I shall take a
+little turn first. Such is my way, Mrs. Bunting; after I have been
+studying all day I require a little exercise."
+
+"Oh, I wouldn't go out to-night," she said deprecatingly. "'Tisn't
+fit for anyone to be out in the bitter cold."
+
+"And yet--and yet"--he looked at her attentively--"there will
+probably be many people out in the streets to-night."
+
+"A many more than usual, I fear, sir."
+
+"Indeed?" said Mr. Sleuth quickly. "Is it not a strange thing,
+Mrs. Bunting, that people who have all day in which to amuse
+themselves should carry their revels far into the night?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't thinking of revellers, sir; I was thinking"--she
+hesitated, then, with a gasping effort Mrs. Bunting brought out the
+words, "of the police."
+
+"The police?" He put up his right hand and stroked his chin two or
+three times with a nervous gesture. "But what is man--what is man's
+puny power or strength against that of God, or even of those over
+whose feet God has set a guard?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked at his landlady with a kind of triumph lighting up
+his face, and Mrs. Bunting felt a shuddering sense of relief. Then
+she had not offended her lodger? She had not made him angry by that,
+that--was it a hint she had meant to convey to him?
+
+"Very true, sir," she said respectfully. "But Providence means us
+to take care o' ourselves too." And then she closed the door behind
+her and went downstairs.
+
+But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go on, down to the kitchen. She
+came into her sitting-room, and, careless of what Bunting would think
+the next morning, put the tray with the remains of the lodger's meal on
+her table. Having done that, and having turned out the gas in the
+passage and the sitting-room, she went into her bedroom and closed the
+door.
+
+The fire was burning brightly and clearly. She told herself that
+she did not need any other light to undress by.
+
+What was it made the flames of the fire shoot up, shoot down, in
+that queer way? But watching it for awhile, she did at last doze
+off a bit.
+
+And then--and then Mrs. Bunting woke with a sudden thumping of her
+heart. Woke to see that the fire was almost out--woke to hear a
+quarter to twelve chime out--woke at last to the sound she had been
+listening for before she fell asleep--the sound of Mr. Sleuth,
+wearing his rubber-soled shoes, creeping downstairs, along the
+passage, and so out, very, very quietly by the front door.
+
+But once she was in bed Mrs. Bunting turned restless. She tossed
+this way and that, full of discomfort and unease. Perhaps it was
+the unaccustomed firelight dancing on the walls, making queer shadows
+all round her, which kept her so wide awake.
+
+She lay thinking and listening--listening and thinking. It even
+occurred to her to do the one thing that might have quieted her
+excited brain--to get a book, one of those detective stories of
+which Bunting had a slender store in the next room, and then,
+lighting the gas, to sit up and read.
+
+No, Mrs. Bunting had always been told it was very wrong to read in
+bed, and she was not in a mood just now to begin doing anything that
+she had been told was wrong. . . .
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+It was a very cold night--so cold, so windy, so snow-laden was the
+atmosphere, that everyone who could do so stayed indoors.
+
+Bunting, however, was now on his way home from what had proved a
+really pleasant job. A remarkable piece of luck had come his way
+this evening, all the more welcome because it was quite unexpected!
+The young lady at whose birthday party he had been present in
+capacity of waiter had come into a fortune that day, and she had had
+the gracious, the surprising thought of presenting each of the hired
+waiters with a sovereign!
+
+This gift, which had been accompanied by a few kind words, had gone
+to Bunting's heart. It had confirmed him in his Conservative
+principles; only gentlefolk ever behaved in that way; quiet,
+old-fashioned, respectable, gentlefolk, the sort of people of whom
+those nasty Radicals know nothing and care less!
+
+But the ex-butler was not as happy as he should have been.
+Slackening his footsteps, he began to think with puzzled concern of
+how queer his wife had seemed lately. Ellen had become so nervous,
+so "jumpy," that he didn't know what to make of her sometimes. She
+had never been really good-tempered--your capable, self-respecting
+woman seldom is--but she had never been like what she was now. And
+she didn't get better as the days went on; in fact she got worse.
+Of late she had been quite hysterical, and for no reason at all!
+Take that little practical joke of young Joe Chandler. Ellen knew
+quite well he often had to go about in some kind of disguise, and yet
+how she had gone on, quite foolish-like--not at all as one would
+have expected her to do.
+
+There was another queer thing about her which disturbed him in more
+senses than one. During the last three weeks or so Ellen had taken
+to talking in her sleep. "No, no, no!" she had cried out, only the
+night before. "It isn't true--I won't have it said--it's a lie!"
+And there had been a wail of horrible fear and revolt in her usually
+quiet, mincing voice.
+
+******
+
+Whew! it was cold; and he had stupidly forgotten his gloves.
+
+He put his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and began walking
+more quickly.
+
+As he tramped steadily along, the ex-butler suddenly caught sight
+of his lodger walking along the opposite side of the solitary street
+--one of those short streets leading off the broad road which
+encircles Regent's Park.
+
+Well! This was a funny time o' night to be taking a stroll for
+pleasure, like!
+
+Glancing across, Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth's tall, thin figure
+was rather bowed, and that his head was bent toward the ground. His
+left arm was thrust into his long Inverness cape, and so was quite
+hidden, but the other side of the cape bulged out, as if the lodger
+were carrying a bag or parcel in the hand which hung down straight.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was walking rather quickly, and as he walked he talked
+aloud, which, as Bunting knew, is not unusual with gentlemen who live
+much alone. It was clear that he had not yet become aware of the
+proximity of his landlord.
+
+Bunting told himself that Ellen was right. Their lodger was
+certainly a most eccentric, peculiar person. Strange, was it not,
+that that odd, luny-like gentleman should have made all the
+difference to his, Bunting's, and Mrs. Bunting's happiness and
+comfort in life?
+
+Again glancing across at Mr. Sleuth, he reminded himself, not for
+the first time, of this perfect lodger's one fault--his odd dislike
+to meat, and to what Bunting vaguely called to himself, sensible food.
+
+But there, you can't have everything! The more so that the lodger
+was not one of those crazy vegetarians who won't eat eggs and cheese.
+No, he was reasonable in this, as in everything else connected with
+his dealings with the Buntings.
+
+As we know, Bunting saw far less of the lodger than did his wife.
+Indeed, he had been upstairs only three or four times since Mr.
+Sleuth had been with them, and when his landlord had had occasion
+to wait on him the lodger had remained silent. Indeed, their
+gentleman had made it very clear that he did not like either the
+husband or wife to come up to his rooms without being definitely
+asked to do so.
+
+Now, surely, would be a good opportunity for a little genial
+conversation? Bunting felt pleased to see his lodger; it increased
+his general comfortable sense of satisfaction.
+
+So it was that the butler, still an active man for his years,
+crossed over the road, and, stepping briskly forward, began trying
+to overtake Mr. Sleuth. But the more he hurried along, the more the
+other hastened, and that without ever turning round to see whose
+steps he could hear echoing behind him on the now freezing pavement.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's own footsteps were quite inaudible--an odd circumstance,
+when you came to think of it--as Bunting did think of it later,
+lying awake by Mrs. Bunting's side in the pitch darkness. What it
+meant of course, was that the lodger had rubber soles on his shoes.
+Now Bunting had never had a pair of rubber-soled shoes sent down to
+him to clean. He had always supposed the lodger had only one pair of
+outdoor boots.
+
+The two men--the pursued and the pursuer--at last turned into the
+Marylebone Road; they were now within a few hundred yards of home.
+Plucking up courage, Bunting called out, his voice echoing freshly
+on the still air:
+
+"Mr. Sleuth, sir? Mr. Sleuth!"
+
+The lodger stopped and turned round.
+
+He had been walking so quickly, and he was in so poor a physical
+condition, that the sweat was pouring down his face.
+
+"Ah! So it's you, Mr. Bunting? I heard footsteps behind me, and
+I hurried on. I wish I'd known that it was you; there are so many
+queer characters about at night in London."
+
+"Not on a night like this, sir. Only honest folk who have business
+out of doors would be out such a night as this. It is cold, sir!"
+
+And then into Bunting's slow and honest mind there suddenly crept
+the query as to what on earth Mr. Sleuth's own business out could be
+on this bitter night.
+
+"Cold?" the lodger repeated; he was panting a little, and his words
+came out sharp and quick through his thin lips. "I can't say that
+I find it cold, Mr. Bunting. When the snow falls, the air always
+becomes milder."
+
+"Yes, sir; but to-night there's such a sharp east wind. Why, it
+freezes the very marrow in one's bones! Still, there's nothing like
+walking in cold weather to make one warm, as you seem to have found,
+sir."
+
+Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth kept his distance in a rather strange
+way; he walked at the edge of the pavement, leaving the rest of it,
+on the wall side, to his landlord.
+
+"I lost my way," he said abruptly. "I've been over Primrose Hill to
+see a friend of mine, a man with whom I studied when I was a lad,
+and then, coming back, I lost my way."
+
+Now they had come right up to the little gate which opened on the
+shabby, paved court in front of the house--that gate which now was
+never locked.
+
+Mr. Sleuth, pushing suddenly forward, began walking up the flagged
+path, when, with a "By your leave, sir," the ex-butler, stepping
+aside, slipped in front of his lodger, in order to open the front
+door for him.
+
+As he passed by Mr. Sleuth, the back of Bunting's bare left hand
+brushed lightly against the long Inverness cape the lodger was
+wearing, and, to Bunting's surprise, the stretch of cloth against
+which his hand lay for a moment was not only damp, damp maybe from
+stray flakes of snow which had settled upon it, but wet--wet and
+gluey.
+
+Bunting thrust his left hand into his pocket; it was with the other
+that he placed the key in the lock of the door.
+
+The two men passed into the hall together.
+
+The house seemed blackly dark in comparison with the lighted-up
+road outside, and as he groped forward, closely followed by the
+lodger, there came over Bunting a sudden, reeling sensation of
+mortal terror, an instinctive, assailing knowledge of frightful
+immediate danger.
+
+A stuffless voice--the voice of his first wife, the long-dead
+girl to whom his mind so seldom reverted nowadays--uttered into
+his ear the words, "Take care!"
+
+And then the lodger spoke. His voice was harsh and grating,
+though not loud.
+
+"I'm afraid, Mr. Bunting, that you must have felt something dirty,
+foul, on my coat? It's too long a story to tell you now, but I
+brushed up against a dead animal, a creature to whose misery some
+thoughtful soul had put an end, lying across a bench on Primrose
+Hill."
+
+"No, sir, no. I didn't notice nothing. I scarcely touched you,
+sir."
+
+It seemed as if a power outside himself compelled Bunting to utter
+these lying words. "And now, sir, I'll be saying good-night to you,"
+he said.
+
+Stepping back he pressed with all the strength that was in him
+against the wall, and let the other pass him. There was a pause,
+and then--"Good-night," returned Mr. Sleuth, in a hollow voice.
+Bunting waited until the lodger had gone upstairs, and then,
+lighting the gas, he sat down there, in the hall. Mr. Sleuth's
+landlord felt very queer--queer and sick.
+
+He did not draw his left hand out of his pocket till he heard Mr.
+Sleuth shut the bedroom door upstairs. Then he held up his left
+hand and looked at it curiously; it was flecked, streaked with
+pale reddish blood.
+
+Taking off his boots, he crept into the room where his wife lay
+asleep. Stealthily he walked across to the wash-hand-stand, and
+dipped a hand into the water-jug.
+
+"Whatever are you doing? What on earth are you doing?" came a
+voice from the bed, and Bunting started guiltily.
+
+"I'm just washing my hands."
+
+"Indeed, you're doing nothing of the sort! I never heard of such
+a thing--putting your hand into the water in which I was going to
+wash my face to-morrow morning!"
+
+"I'm very sorry, Ellen," he said meekly; "I meant to throw it away.
+You don't suppose I would have let you wash in dirty water, do you?"
+
+She said no more, but, as he began undressing himself, Mrs. Bunting
+lay staring at him in a way that made her husband feel even more
+uncomfortable than he was already.
+
+At last he got into bed. He wanted to break the oppressive silence
+by telling Ellen about the sovereign the young lady had given him,
+but that sovereign now seemed to Bunting of no more account than if
+it had been a farthing he had picked up in the road outside.
+
+Once more his wife spoke, and he gave so great a start that it shook
+the bed.
+
+"I suppose that you don't know that you've left the light burning in
+the hall, wasting our good money?" she observed tartly.
+
+He got up painfully and opened the door into the passage. It was as
+she had said; the gas was flaring away, wasting their good money--or,
+rather, Mr. Sleuth's good money. Since he had come to be their lodger
+they had not had to touch their rent money.
+
+Bunting turned out the light and groped his way back to the room, and
+so to bed. Without speaking again to each other, both husband and
+wife lay awake till dawn.
+
+The next morning Mr. Sleuth's landlord awoke with a start; he felt
+curiously heavy about the limbs, and tired about the eyes.
+
+Drawing his watch from under his pillow, he saw that it was seven
+o'clock. Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the
+blind a little to one side. It was snowing heavily, and, as is the
+way when it snows, even in London, everything was strangely,
+curiously still. After he had dressed he went out into the passage.
+As he had at once dreaded and hoped, their newspaper was already
+lying on the mat. It was probably the sound of its being pushed
+through the letter-box which had waked him from his unrestful
+sleep.
+
+He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then,
+shutting the door behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper
+wide open on the table, and bent over it.
+
+As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression
+of intense relief shone upon his stolid face. The item of news he
+had felt certain would be printed in big type on the middle sheet
+was not there.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Feeling amazingly light-hearted, almost light-headed, Bunting lit
+the gas-ring to make his wife her morning cup of tea.
+
+While he was doing it, he suddenly heard her call out:
+
+"Bunting!" she cried weakly. "Bunting!" Quickly he hurried in
+response to her call. "Yes," he said. "What is it, my dear? I
+won't be a minute with your tea." And he smiled broadly, rather
+foolishly.
+
+She sat up and looked at him, a dazed expression on her face.
+
+"What are you grinning at?" she asked suspiciously.
+
+"I've had a wonderful piece of luck," he explained. "But you was
+so cross last night that I simply didn't dare tell you about it."
+
+"Well, tell me now," she said in a low voice.
+
+"I had a sovereign given me by the young lady. You see, it was her
+birthday party, Ellen, and she'd come into a nice bit of money, and
+she gave each of us waiters a sovereign."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no comment. Instead, she lay back and closed her
+eyes.
+
+"What time d'you expect Daisy?" she asked languidly. "You didn't
+say what time Joe was going to fetch her, when we was talking about
+it yesterday."
+
+"Didn't I? Well, I expect they'll be in to dinner."
+
+"I wonder, how long that old aunt of hers expects us to keep her?"
+said Mrs. Bunting thoughtfully. All the cheer died out of Bunting's
+round face. He became sullen and angry. It would be a pretty thing
+if he couldn't have his own daughter for a bit--especially now that
+they were doing so well!
+
+"Daisy'll stay here just as long as she can," he said shortly.
+"It's too bad of you, Ellen, to talk like that! She helps you all
+she can; and she brisks us both up ever so much. Besides, 'twould
+be cruel--cruel to take the girl away just now, just as she and
+that young chap are making friends-like. One would suppose that
+even you would see the justice o' that!"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting made no answer.
+
+Bunting went off, back into the sitting-room. The water was boiling
+now, so he made the tea; and then, as he brought the little tray in,
+his heart softened. Ellen did look really ill--ill and wizened.
+He wondered if she had a pain about which she wasn't saying anything.
+She had never been one to grouse about herself.
+
+"The lodger and me came in together last night," he observed
+genially. "He's certainly a funny kind of gentleman. It wasn't
+the sort of night one would have chosen to go out for a walk, now
+was it? And yet he must 'a been out a long time if what he said
+was true."
+
+"I don't wonder a quiet gentleman like Mr. Sleuth hates the
+crowded streets," she said slowly. "They gets worse every day--
+that they do! But go along now; I want to get up."
+
+He went back into their sitting-room, and, having laid the fire
+and put a match to it, he sat down comfortably with his newspaper.
+
+Deep down in his heart Bunting looked back to this last night with
+a feeling of shame and self-rebuke. Whatever had made such horrible
+thoughts and suspicions as had possessed him suddenly come into his
+head? And just because of a trifling thing like that blood. No
+doubt Mr. Sleuth's nose had bled--that was what had happened;
+though, come to think of it, he had mentioned brushing up against
+a dead animal.
+
+Perhaps Ellen was right after all. It didn't do for one to be
+always thinking of dreadful subjects, of murders and such-like. It
+made one go dotty--that's what it did.
+
+And just as he was telling himself that, there came to the door a
+loud knock, the peculiar rat-tat-tat of a telegraph boy. But before
+he had time to get across the room, let alone to the front door,
+Ellen had rushed through the room, clad only in a petticoat and
+shawl.
+
+"I'll go," she cried breathlessly. "I'll go, Bunting; don't you
+trouble."
+
+He stared at her, surprised, and followed her into the hall.
+
+She put out a hand, and hiding herself behind the door, took the
+telegram from the invisible boy. "You needn't wait," she said.
+"If there's an answer we'll send it out ourselves." Then she tore
+the envelope open--"Oh!" she said with a gasp of relief. "It's
+only from Joe Chandler, to say he can't go over to fetch Daisy this
+morning. Then you'll have to go."
+
+She walked back into their sitting-room. "There!" she said.
+"There it is, Bunting. You just read it."
+
+"Am on duty this morning. Cannot fetch Miss Daisy as arranged.--
+Chandler."
+
+"I wonder why he's on duty?" said Bunting slowly, uncomfortably.
+"I thought Joe's hours was as regular as clockwork--that nothing
+could make any difference to them. However, there it is. I suppose
+it'll do all right if I start about eleven o'clock? It may have
+left off snowing by then. I don't feel like going out again just
+now. I'm pretty tired this morning."
+
+"You start about twelve," said his wife quickly.
+
+"That'll give plenty of time."
+
+The morning went on quietly, uneventfully. Bunting received a
+letter from Old Aunt saying Daisy must come back next Monday, a
+little under a week from now. Mr. Sleuth slept soundly, or, at
+any rate, he made no sign of being awake; and though Mrs. Bunting
+often, stopped to listen, while she was doing her room, there
+came no sounds at all from overhead.
+
+Scarcely aware that it was so, both Bunting and his wife felt more
+cheerful than they had done for a long time. They had quite a
+pleasant little chat when Mrs. Bunting came and sat down for a bit,
+before going down to prepare Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+"Daisy will be surprised to see you--not to say disappointed!" she
+observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at
+the thought. And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made
+him stay on a little longer. "There's no such great hurry as that,"
+she said good-temperedly. "It'll do quite well if you're there by
+half-past twelve. I'll get dinner ready myself. Daisy needn't help
+with that. I expect Margaret has worked her pretty hard."
+
+But at last there came the moment when Bunting had to start, and
+his wife went with him to the front door. It was still snowing,
+less heavily, but still snowing. There were very few people coming
+and going, and only just a few cabs and carts dragging cautiously
+along through the slush.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was still in the kitchen when there came a ring and a
+knock at the door--a now very familiar ring and knock. "Joe thinks
+Daisy's home again by now!" she said, smiling to herself.
+
+Before the door was well open, she heard Chandler's voice. "Don't
+be scared this time, Mrs. Bunting!" But though not exactly scared,
+she did give a gasp of surprise. For there stood Joe, made up to
+represent a public-house loafer; and he looked the part to perfection,
+with his hair combed down raggedly over his forehead, his
+seedy-looking, ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and greenish-black pot hat.
+
+"I haven't a minute," he said a little breathlessly. "But I thought
+I'd just run in to know if Miss Daisy was safe home again. You got
+my telegram all right? I couldn't send no other kind of message."
+
+"She's not back yet. Her father hasn't been gone long after her."
+Then, struck by a look in his eyes, "Joe, what's the matter?" she
+asked quickly.
+
+There came a thrill of suspense in her voice, her face grew drawn,
+while what little colour there was in it receded, leaving it very
+pale.
+
+"Well," he said. "Well, Mrs. Bunting, I've no business to say
+anything about it--but I will tell you!"
+
+He walked in and shut the door of the sitting-room carefully behind
+him. "There's been another of 'em!" he whispered. "But this time
+no one is to know anything about it--not for the present, I mean,"
+he corrected himself hastily. "The Yard thinks we've got a clue--
+and a good clue, too, this time."
+
+"But where--and how?" faltered Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Well, 'twas just a bit of luck being able to keep it dark for the
+present"--he still spoke in that stifled, hoarse whisper. "The
+poor soul was found dead on a bench on Primrose Hill. And just by
+chance 'twas one of our fellows saw the body first. He was on his
+way home, over Hampstead way. He knew where he'd be able to get an
+ambulance quick, and he made a very clever, secret job of it. I
+'spect he'll get promotion for that!"
+
+"What about the clue?" asked Mrs. Bunting, with dry lips. "You said
+there was a clue?"
+
+"Well, I don't rightly understand about the clue myself. All I
+knows is it's got something to do with a public-house, 'The Hammer
+and Tongs,' which isn't far off there. They feels sure The Avenger
+was in the bar just on closing-time."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat down. She felt better now. It was natural
+the police should suspect a public-house loafer. "Then that's why you
+wasn't able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?"
+
+He nodded. "Mum's the word, Mrs. Bunting! It'll all be in the last
+editions of the evening newspapers--it can't be kep' out. There'd be
+too much of a row if 'twas!"
+
+"Are you going off to that public-house now?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, I am. I've got a awk'ard job--to try and worm something out
+of the barmaid."
+
+"Something out of the barmaid?" repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously.
+"Why, whatever for?"
+
+He came and stood close to her. "They think 'twas a gentleman," he
+whispered.
+
+"A gentleman?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression. "Whatever
+makes them think such a silly thing as that?"
+
+"Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a
+leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of
+milk. And what d'you think he did? Paid for it with a sovereign!
+He wouldn't take no change--just made the girl a present of it!
+That's why the young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to
+give him away. She won't tell now what he was like. She doesn't
+know what he's wanted for, and we don't want her to know just yet.
+That's one reason why nothing's being said public about it. But
+there! I really must be going now. My time'll be up at three
+o'clock. I thought of coming in on the way back, and asking you for
+a cup o' tea, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Do," she said. "Do, Joe. You'll be welcome," but there was no
+welcome in her tired voice.
+
+She let him go alone to the door, and then she went down to her
+kitchen, and began cooking Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+The lodger would be sure to ring soon; and then any minute Bunting
+and Daisy might be home, and they'd want something, too. Margaret
+always had breakfast even when "the family" were away, unnaturally
+early.
+
+As she bustled about Mrs. Bunting tried to empty her mind of all
+thought. But it is very difficult to do that when one is in a state
+of torturing uncertainty. She had not dared to ask Chandler what
+they supposed that man who had gone into the public-house was really
+like. It was fortunate, indeed, that the lodger and that inquisitive
+young chap had never met face to face.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth's bell rang--a quiet little tinkle. But when
+she went up with his breakfast the lodger was not in his sitting-room.
+
+Supposing him to be still in his bedroom, Mrs. Bunting put the cloth
+on the table, and then she heard the sound of his footsteps coming
+down the stairs, and her quick ears detected the slight whirring
+sound which showed that the gas-stove was alight. Mr. Sleuth had
+already lit the stove; that meant that he would carry out some
+elaborate experiment this afternoon.
+
+"Still snowing?" he said doubtfully. "How very, very quiet and
+still London is when under snow, Mrs. Bunting. I have never known
+it quite as quiet as this morning. Not a sound, outside or in. A
+very pleasant change from the shouting which sometimes goes on in
+the Marylebone Road."
+
+"Yes," she said dully. "It's awful quiet to-day--too quiet to my
+thinking. 'Tain't natural-like."
+
+The outside gate swung to, making a noisy clatter in the still air.
+
+"Is that someone coming in here?" asked Mr. Sleuth, drawing a quick,
+hissing breath. "Perhaps you will oblige me by going to the window
+and telling me who it is, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+And his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"It's only Bunting, sir--Bunting and his daughter."
+
+"Oh! Is that all?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth hurried after her, and she shrank back a little. She
+had never been quite so near to the lodger before, save on that
+first day when she had been showing him her rooms.
+
+Side by side they stood, looking out of the window. And, as if
+aware that someone was standing there, Daisy turned her bright face
+up towards the window and smiled at her stepmother, and at the
+lodger, whose face she could only dimly discern.
+
+"A very sweet-looking young girl," said Mr. Sleuth thoughtfully.
+And then he quoted a little bit of poetry, and this took Mrs.
+Bunting very much aback.
+
+"Wordsworth," he murmured dreamily. "A poet too little read
+nowadays, Mrs. Bunting; but one with a beautiful feeling for nature,
+for youth, for innocence."
+
+"Indeed, sir?" Mrs. Bunting stepped back a little. "Your breakfast
+will be getting cold, sir, if you don't have it now."
+
+He went back to the table, obediently, and sat down as a child
+rebuked might have done.
+
+And then his landlady left him.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting cheerily. "Everything went off quite all right.
+And Daisy's a lucky girl--that she is! Her Aunt Margaret gave her
+five shillings."
+
+But Daisy did not look as pleased as her father thought she ought
+to do.
+
+"I hope nothing's happened to Mr. Chandler," she said a little
+disconsolately. "The very last words he said to me last night was
+that he'd be there at ten o'clock. I got quite fidgety as the time
+went on and he didn't come."
+
+"He's been here," said Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+
+"Been here?" cried her husband. "Then why on earth didn't he go and
+fetch Daisy, if he'd time to come here?"
+
+"He was on the way to his job," his wife answered. "You run along,
+child, downstairs. Now that you are here you can make yourself
+useful."
+
+And Daisy reluctantly obeyed. She wondered what it was her
+stepmother didn't want her to hear.
+
+"I've something to tell you, Bunting."
+
+"Yes?" He looked across uneasily. "Yes, Ellen?"
+
+"There's been another o' those murders. But the police don't want
+anyone to know about it--not yet. That's why Joe couldn't go over
+and fetch Daisy. They're all on duty again."
+
+Bunting put out his hand and clutched hold of the edge of the
+mantelpiece. He had gone very red, but his wife was far too much
+concerned with her own feelings and sensations to notice it.
+
+There was a long silence between them. Then he spoke, making a
+great effort to appear unconcerned.
+
+"And where did it happen?" he asked. "Close to the other one?"
+
+She hesitated, then: "I don't know. He didn't say. But hush!"
+she added quickly. "Here's Daisy! Don't let's talk of that horror
+in front of her-like. Besides, I promised Chandler I'd be mum."
+
+And he acquiesced.
+
+"You can be laying the cloth, child, while I go up and clear away
+the lodger's breakfast." Without waiting for an answer, she hurried
+upstairs.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had left the greater part of the nice lemon sole untouched.
+"I don't feel well to-day," he said fretfully. "And, Mrs. Bunting?
+I should be much obliged if your husband would lend me that paper I
+saw in his hand. I do not often care to look at the public prints,
+but I should like to do so now."
+
+She flew downstairs. "Bunting," she said a little breathlessly,
+"the lodger would like you just to lend him the Sun."
+
+Bunting handed it over to her. "I've read it through," he observed.
+"You can tell him that I don't want it back again."
+
+On her way up she glanced down at the pink sheet. Occupying a third
+of the space was an irregular drawing, and under it was written, in
+rather large characters:
+
+"We are glad to be able to present our readers with an authentic
+reproduction of the footprint of the half-worn rubber sole which
+was almost certainly worn by The Avenger when he committed his
+double murder ten days ago."
+
+She went into the sitting-room. To her relief it was empty.
+
+"Kindly put the paper down on the table," came Mr. Sleuth's muffled
+voice from the upper landing.
+
+She did so. "Yes, sir. And Bunting don't want the paper back
+again, sir. He says he's read it." And then she hurried out of
+the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+All afternoon it went on snowing; and the three of them sat there,
+listening and waiting--Bunting and his wife hardly knew for what;
+Daisy for the knock which would herald Joe Chandler.
+
+And about four there came the now familiar sound.
+
+Mrs. Bunting hurried out into the passage, and as she opened the
+front door she whispered, "We haven't said anything to Daisy yet.
+Young girls can't keep secrets."
+
+Chandler nodded comprehendingly. He now looked the low character
+he had assumed to the life, for he was blue with cold, disheartened,
+and tired out.
+
+Daisy gave a little cry of shocked surprise, of amusement, of
+welcome, when she saw how cleverly he was disguised.
+
+"I never!" she exclaimed. "What a difference it do make, to be
+sure! Why, you looks quite horrid, Mr. Chandler."
+
+And, somehow, that little speech of hers amused her father so much
+that he quite cheered up. Bunting had been very dull and quiet
+all that afternoon.
+
+"It won't take me ten minutes to make myself respectable again,"
+said the young man rather ruefully.
+
+His host and hostess, looking at him eagerly, furtively, both came
+to the conclusion that he had been unsuccessful--that he had failed,
+that is, in getting any information worth having. And though, in a
+sense, they all had a pleasant tea together, there was an air of
+constraint, even of discomfort, over the little party.
+
+Bunting felt it hard that he couldn't ask the questions that were
+trembling on his lips; he would have felt it hard any time during
+the last month to refrain from knowing anything Joe could tell him,
+but now it seemed almost intolerable to be in this queer kind of
+half suspense. There was one important fact he longed to know,
+and at last came his opportunity of doing so, for Joe Chandler rose
+to leave, and this time it was Bunting who followed him out into
+the hall.
+
+"Where did it happen?" he whispered. "Just tell me that, Joe?"
+
+"Primrose Hill," said the other briefly. "You'll know all about it
+in a minute or two, for it'll be all in the last editions of the
+evening papers. That's what's been arranged."
+
+"No arrest I suppose?"
+
+Chandler shook his head despondently. "No," he said, "I'm inclined
+to think the Yard was on a wrong tack altogether this time. But one
+can only do one's best. I don't know if Mrs. Bunting told you I'd
+got to question a barmaid about a man who was in her place just
+before closing-time. Well, she's said all she knew, and it's as
+clear as daylight to me that the eccentric old gent she talks about
+was only a harmless luny. He gave her a sovereign just because she
+told him she was a teetotaller!" He laughed ruefully.
+
+Even Bunting was diverted at the notion. "Well, that's a queer
+thing for a barmaid to be!" he exclaimed. "She's niece to the people
+what keeps the public," explained Chandler; and then he went out of
+the front door with a cheerful "So long!"
+
+When Bunting went back into the sitting-room Daisy had disappeared.
+She had gone downstairs with the tray. "Where's my girl?" he said
+irritably.
+
+"She's just taken the tray downstairs."
+
+He went out to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called out sharply,
+"Daisy! Daisy, child! Are you down there?"
+
+"Yes, father," came her eager, happy voice.
+
+"Better come up out of that cold kitchen."
+
+He turned and came back to his wife. "Ellen, is the lodger in? I
+haven't heard him moving about. Now mind what I says, please! I
+don't want Daisy to be mixed up with him."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't seem very well to-day," answered Mrs. Bunting
+quietly. "'Tain't likely I should let Daisy have anything to do
+with him. Why, she's never even seen him. 'Tain't likely I should
+allow her to begin waiting on him now."
+
+But though she was surprised and a little irritated by the tone in
+which Bunting had spoken, no glimmer of the truth illumined her mind.
+So accustomed had she become to bearing alone the burden of her awful
+secret, that it would have required far more than a cross word or
+two, far more than the fact that Bunting looked ill and tired, for
+her to have come to suspect that her secret was now shared by another,
+and that other her husband.
+
+Again and again the poor soul had agonised and trembled at the
+thought of her house being invaded by the police, but that was only
+because she had always credited the police with supernatural powers
+of detection. That they should come to know the awful fact she kept
+hidden in her breast would have seemed to her, on the whole, a
+natural thing, but that Bunting should even dimly suspect it appeared
+beyond the range of possibility.
+
+And yet even Daisy noticed a change in her father. He sat cowering
+over the fire--saying nothing, doing nothing.
+
+"Why, father, ain't you well?" the girl asked more than once.
+
+And, looking up, he would answer, "Yes, I'm well enough, my girl,
+but I feels cold. It's awful cold. I never did feel anything like
+the cold we've got just now."
+
+    *    *    *
+
+At eight the now familiar shouts and cries began again outside.
+
+"The Avenger again!" "Another horrible crime!" "Extra speshul
+edition!"--such were the shouts, the exultant yells, hurled through
+the clear, cold air. They fell, like bombs into the quiet room.
+
+Both Bunting and his wife remained silent, but Daisy's cheeks grew
+pink with excitement, and her eye sparkled.
+
+"Hark, father! Hark, Ellen! D'you hear that?" she exclaimed
+childishly, and even clapped her hands. "I do wish Mr. Chandler
+had been here. He would 'a been startled!"
+
+"Don't, Daisy!" and Bunting frowned.
+
+Then, getting up, he stretched himself. "It's fair getting on my
+mind," he said, "these horrible things happening. I'd like to get
+right away from London, just as far as I could--that I would!"
+
+"Up to John-o'-Groat's?" said Daisy, laughing. And then, "Why,
+father, ain't you going out to get a paper?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose I must."
+
+Slowly he went out of the room, and, lingering a moment in the hall,
+he put on his greatcoat and hat. Then he opened the front door,
+and walked down the flagged path. Opening the iron gate, he stepped
+out on the pavement, then crossed the road to where the newspaper-boys
+now stood.
+
+The boy nearest to him only had the Sun--a late edition of the paper
+he had already read. It annoyed Bunting to give a penny for a
+ha'penny rag of which he already knew the main contents. But there
+was nothing else to do.
+
+Standing under a lamp-post, he opened out the newspaper. It was
+bitingly cold; that, perhaps, was why his hand shook as he looked
+down at the big headlines. For Bunting had been very unfair to the
+enterprise of the editor of his favourite evening paper. This
+special edition was full of new matter--new matter concerning
+The Avenger.
+
+First, in huge type right across the page, was the brief statement
+that The Avenger had now committed his ninth crime, and that he had
+chosen quite a new locality, namely, the lonely stretch of rising
+ground known to Londoners as Primrose Hill.
+
+"The police," so Bunting read, "are very reserved as to the
+circumstances which led to the finding of the body of The Avenger's
+latest victim. But we have reason to believe that they possess
+several really important clues, and that one of them is concerned
+with the half-worn rubber sole of which we are the first to reproduce
+an outline to-day. (See over page.)"
+
+And Bunting, turning the sheet round about, saw the irregular outline
+he had already seen in the early edition of the Sun, that purporting
+to be a facsimile of the imprint left by The Avenger's rubber sole.
+
+He stared down at the rough outline which took up so much of the
+space which should have been devoted to reading matter with a queer,
+sinking feeling of terrified alarm. Again and again criminals had
+been tracked by the marks their boots or shoes had made at or near
+the scenes of their misdoings.
+
+Practically the only job Bunting did in his own house of a menial
+kind was the cleaning of the boots and shoes. He had already
+visualised early this very afternoon the little row with which he
+dealt each morning--first came his wife's strong, serviceable
+boots, then his own two pairs, a good deal patched and mended, and
+next to his own Mr. Sleuth's strong, hardly worn, and expensive
+buttoned boots. Of late a dear little coquettish high-heeled pair
+of outdoor shoes with thin, paperlike soles, bought by Daisy for
+her trip to London, had ended the row. The girl had worn these
+thin shoes persistently, in defiance of Ellen's reproof and advice,
+and he, Bunting, had only once had to clean her more sensible
+country pair, and that only because the others had become wet though
+the day he and she had accompanied young Chandler to Scotland Yard.
+
+Slowly he returned across the road. Somehow the thought of going
+in again, of hearing his wife's sarcastic comments, of parrying
+Daisy's eager questions, had become intolerable. So he walked
+slowly, trying to put off the evil moment when he would have to tell
+them what was in his paper.
+
+The lamp under which he had stood reading was not exactly opposite
+the house. It was rather to the right of it. And when, having
+crossed over the roadway, he walked along the pavement towards his
+own gate, he heard odd, shuffling sounds coming from the inner side
+of the low wall which shut off his little courtyard from the pavement.
+
+Now, under ordinary circumstances Bunting would have rushed forward
+to drive out whoever was there. He and his wife had often had
+trouble, before the cold weather began, with vagrants seeking shelter
+there. But to-night he stayed outside, listening intently, sick
+with suspense and fear.
+
+Was it possible that their place was being watched--already? He
+thought it only too likely. Bunting, like Mrs. Bunting, credited
+the police with almost supernatural powers, especially since he
+had paid that visit to Scotland Yard.
+
+But to Bunting's amazement, and, yes, relief, it was his lodger who
+suddenly loomed up in the dim light.
+
+Mr. Sleuth must have been stooping down, for his tall, lank form
+had been quite concealed till he stepped forward from behind the
+low wall on to the flagged path leading to the front door.
+
+The lodger was carrying a brown paper parcel, and, as he walked
+along, the new boots he was wearing creaked, and the tap-tap of
+hard nail-studded heels rang out on the flat-stones of the narrow
+path.
+
+Bunting, still standing outside the gate, suddenly knew what it was
+his lodger had been doing on the other side of the low wall. Mr.
+Sleuth had evidently been out to buy himself another pair of new
+boots, and then he had gone inside the gate and had put them on,
+placing his old footgear in the paper in which the new pair had
+been wrapped.
+
+The ex-butler waited--waited quite a long time, not only until Mr.
+Sleuth had let himself into the house, but till the lodger had had
+time to get well away, upstairs.
+
+Then he also walked up the flagged pathway, and put his latchkey in
+the door. He lingered as long over the job of hanging his hat and
+coat up in the hall as he dared, in fact till his wife called out
+to him. Then he went in, and throwing the paper down on the table,
+he said sullenly: "There it is! You can see it all for yourself--
+not that there's very much to see," and groped his way to the fire.
+
+His wife looked at him in sharp alarm. "Whatever have you done to
+yourself?" she exclaimed. "You're ill--that's what it is, Bunting.
+You got a chill last night!"
+
+"I told you I'd got a chill," he muttered. "'Twasn't last night,
+though; 'twas going out this morning, coming back in the bus.
+Margaret keeps that housekeeper's room o' hers like a hothouse--
+that's what she does. 'Twas going out from there into the biting
+wind, that's what did for me. It must be awful to stand about in
+such weather; 'tis a wonder to me how that young fellow, Joe Chandler,
+can stand the life--being out in all weathers like he is."
+
+Bunting spoke at random, his one anxiety being to get away from what
+was in the paper, which now lay, neglected, on the table.
+
+"Those that keep out o' doors all day never do come to no harm,"
+said his wife testily. "But if you felt so bad, whatever was you
+out so long for, Bunting? I thought you'd gone away somewhere!
+D'you mean you only went to get the paper?"
+
+"I just stopped for a second to look at it under the lamp," he
+muttered apologetically.
+
+"That was a silly thing to do!"
+
+"Perhaps it was," he admitted meekly.
+
+Daisy had taken up the paper. "Well, they don't say much," she
+said disappointedly. "Hardly anything at all! But perhaps Mr.
+Chandler 'll be in soon again. If so, he'll tell us more about it."
+
+"A young girl like you oughtn't to want to know anything about
+murders," said her stepmother severely. "Joe won't think any the
+better of you for your inquisitiveness about such things. If I
+was you, Daisy, I shouldn't say nothing about it if he does come in
+--which I fair tell you I hope he won't. I've seen enough of that
+young chap to-day."
+
+"He didn't come in for long--not to-day," said Daisy, her lip
+trembling.
+
+"I can tell you one thing that'll surprise you, my dear"--Mrs.
+Bunting looked significantly at her stepdaughter. She also wanted
+to get away from that dread news--which yet was no news.
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy, rather defiantly. "What is it, Ellen?"
+
+"Maybe you'll be surprised to hear that Joe did come in this morning.
+He knew all about that affair then, but he particular asked that
+you shouldn't be told anything about it."
+
+"Never!" cried Daisy, much mortified.
+
+"Yes," went on her stepmother ruthlessly. "You just ask your father
+over there if it isn't true."
+
+"'Tain't a healthy thing to speak overmuch about such happenings,"
+said Bunting heavily.
+
+"If I was Joe," went on Mrs. Bunting, quickly pursuing her advantage,
+"I shouldn't want to talk about such horrid things when I comes in
+to have a quiet chat with friends. But the minute he comes in that
+poor young chap is set upon--mostly, I admit, by your father," she
+looked at her husband severely. "But you does your share, too,
+Daisy! You asks him this, you asks him that--he's fair puzzled
+sometimes. It don't do to be so inquisitive."
+
+******
+
+And perhaps because of this little sermon on Mrs. Bunting's part
+when young Chandler did come in again that evening, very little was
+said of the new Avenger murder.
+
+Bunting made no reference to it at all, and though Daisy said a
+word, it was but a word. And Joe Chandler thought he had never
+spent a pleasanter evening in his life--for it was he and Daisy
+who talked all the time, their elders remaining for the most part
+silent.
+
+Daisy told of all that she had done with Aunt Margaret. She
+described the long, dull hours and the queer jobs her aunt set her
+to do--the washing up of all the fine drawing-room china in a big
+basin lined with flannel, and how terrified she (Daisy) had been
+lest there should come even one teeny little chip to any of it.
+Then she went on to relate some of the funny things Aunt Margaret
+had told her about "the family."
+
+There came a really comic tale, which hugely interested and delighted
+Chandler. This was of how Aunt Margaret's lady had been taken in by
+an impostor--an impostor who had come up, just as she was stepping
+out of her carriage, and pretended to have a fit on the doorstep.
+Aunt Margaret's lady, being a soft one, had insisted on the man
+coming into the hall, where he had been given all kinds of
+restoratives. When the man had at last gone off, it was found that
+he had "wolfed" young master's best walking-stick, one with a fine
+tortoise-shell top to it. Thus had Aunt Margaret proved to her lady
+that the man had been shamming, and her lady had been very angry--
+near had a fit herself!
+
+"There's a lot of that about," said Chandler, laughing.
+"Incorrigible rogues and vagabonds--that's what those sort of people
+are!"
+
+And then he, in his turn, told an elaborate tale of an exceptionally
+clever swindler whom he himself had brought to book. He was very
+proud of that job, it had formed a white stone in his career as a
+detective. And even Mrs. Bunting was quite interested to hear about
+it.
+
+Chandler was still sitting there when Mr. Sleuth's bell rang. For
+awhile no one stirred; then Bunting looked questioningly at his wife.
+
+"Did you hear that?" he said. "I think, Ellen, that was the lodger's
+bell."
+
+She got up, without alacrity, and went upstairs.
+
+"I rang," said Mr. Sleuth weakly, "to tell you I don't require any
+supper to-night, Mrs. Bunting. Only a glass of milk, with a lump
+of sugar in it. That is all I require--nothing more. I feel very
+very far from well"--and he had a hunted, plaintive expression on
+his face. "And then I thought your husband would like his paper
+back again, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+Mrs. Bunting, looking at him fixedly, with a sad intensity of gaze
+of which she was quite unconscious, answered, "Oh, no, sir!
+Bunting don't require that paper now. He read it all through."
+Something impelled her to add, ruthlessly, "He's got another paper
+by now, sir. You may have heard them come shouting outside. Would
+you like me to bring you up that other paper, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth shook his head. "No," he said querulously. "I much
+regret now having asked for the one paper I did read, for it
+disturbed me, Mrs. Bunting. There was nothing of any value in it--
+there never is in any public print. I gave up reading newspapers
+years ago, and I much regret that I broke though my rule to-day."
+
+As if to indicate to her that he did not wish for any more
+conversation, the lodger then did what he had never done before in
+his landlady's presence. He went over to the fireplace and
+deliberately turned his back on her.
+
+She went down and brought up the glass of milk and the lump of
+sugar he had asked for.
+
+Now he was in his usual place, sitting at the table, studying the
+Book.
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went back to the others they were chatting
+merrily. She did not notice that the merriment was confined to the
+two young people.
+
+"Well?" said Daisy pertly. "How about the lodger, Ellen? Is he
+all right?"
+
+"Yes," she said stiffly. "Of course he is!"
+
+"He must feel pretty dull sitting up there all by himself--awful
+lonely-like, I call it," said the girl.
+
+But her, stepmother remained silent.
+
+"Whatever does he do with himself all day?" persisted Daisy.
+
+"Just now he's reading the Bible," Mrs. Bunting answered, shortly
+and dryly.
+
+"Well, I never! That's a funny thing for a gentleman to do!"
+
+And Joe, alone of her three listeners, laughed--a long hearty peal
+of amusement.
+
+"There's nothing to laugh at," said Mrs. Bunting sharply. "I should
+feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected with the
+Bible."
+
+And poor Joe became suddenly quite serious. This was the first time
+that Mrs. Bunting had ever spoken really nastily to him, and he
+answered very humbly, "I beg pardon. I know I oughtn't to have
+laughed at anything to do with the Bible, but you see, Miss Daisy
+said it so funny-like, and, by all accounts, your lodger must be a
+queer card, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"He's no queerer than many people I could mention," she said quickly;
+and with these enigmatic words she got up, and left the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+Each hour of the days that followed held for Bunting its full meed
+of aching fear and suspense.
+
+The unhappy man was ever debating within himself what course he
+should pursue, and, according to his mood and to the state of his
+mind at any particular moment, he would waver between various
+widely-differing lines of action.
+
+He told himself again and again, and with fretful unease, that the
+most awful thing about it all was that he wasn't sure. If only he
+could have been sure, he might have made up his mind exactly what
+it was he ought to do.
+
+But when telling himself this he was deceiving himself, and he was
+vaguely conscious of the fact; for, from Bunting's point of view,
+almost any alternative would have been preferable to that which to
+some, nay, perhaps to most, householders would have seemed the only
+thing to do, namely, to go to the police. But Londoners of Bunting's
+class have an uneasy fear of the law. To his mind it would be ruin
+for him and for his Ellen to be mixed up publicly in such a terrible
+affair. No one concerned in the business would give them and their
+future a thought, but it would track them to their dying day, and,
+above all, it would make it quite impossible for them ever to get
+again into a good joint situation. It was that for which Bunting,
+in his secret soul, now longed with all his heart.
+
+No, some other way than going to the police must be found--and he
+racked his slow brain to find it.
+
+The worst of it was that every hour that went by made his future
+course more difficult and more delicate, and increased the awful
+weight on his conscience.
+
+If only he really knew! If only he could feel quite sure! And
+then he would tell himself that, after all, he had very little to
+go upon; only suspicion--suspicion, and a secret, horrible
+certainty that his suspicion was justified.
+
+And so at last Bunting began to long for a solution which he knew
+to be indefensible from every point of view; he began to hope, that
+is, in the depths of his heart, that the lodger would again go out
+one evening on his horrible business and be caught--red-handed.
+
+But far from going out on any business, horrible or other, Mr.
+Sleuth now never went out at all. He kept upstairs, and often spent
+quite a considerable part of his day in bed. He still felt, so he
+assured Mrs. Bunting, very far from well. He had never thrown off
+the chill he had caught on that bitter night he and his landlord
+had met on their several ways home.
+
+Joe Chandler, too, had become a terrible complication to Daisy's
+father. The detective spent every waking hour that he was not on
+duty with the Buntings; and Bunting, who at one time had liked him
+so well and so cordially, now became mortally afraid of him.
+
+But though the young man talked of little else than The Avenger,
+and though on one evening he described at immense length the
+eccentric-looking gent who had given the barmaid a sovereign,
+picturing Mr. Sleuth with such awful accuracy that both Bunting and
+Mrs. Bunting secretly and separately turned sick when they listened
+to him, he never showed the slightest interest in their lodger.
+
+At last there came a morning when Bunting and Chandler held a strange
+conversation about The Avenger. The young fellow had come in earlier
+than usual, and just as he arrived Mrs. Bunting and Daisy were
+starting out to do some shopping. The girl would fain have stopped
+behind, but her stepmother had given her a very peculiar, disagreeable
+look, daring her, so to speak, to be so forward, and Daisy had gone
+on with a flushed, angry look on her pretty face.
+
+And then, as young Chandler stepped through into the sitting-room,
+it suddenly struck Bunting that the young man looked unlike himself
+--indeed, to the ex-butler's apprehension there was something almost
+threatening in Chandler's attitude.
+
+"I want a word with you, Mr. Bunting," he began abruptly, falteringly.
+"And I'm glad to have the chance now that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Daisy
+are out."
+
+Bunting braced himself to hear the awful words--the accusation of
+having sheltered a murderer, the monster whom all the world was
+seeking, under his roof. And then he remembered a phrase, a
+horrible legal phrase--"Accessory after the fact." Yes, he had
+been that, there wasn't any doubt about it!
+
+"Yes?" he said. "What is it, Joe?" and then the unfortunate man
+sat down in his chair. "Yes?" he said again uncertainly; for young
+Chandler had now advanced to the table, he was looking at Bunting
+fixedly--the other thought threateningly. "Well, out with it,
+Joe! Don't keep me in suspense."
+
+And then a slight smile broke over the young man's face. "I don't
+think what I've got to say can take you by surprise, Mr. Bunting."
+
+And Bunting wagged his head in a way that might mean anything--yes
+or no, as the case might be.
+
+The two men looked at one another for what seemed a very, very long
+time to the elder of them. And then, making a great effort, Joe
+Chandler brought out the words, "Well, I suppose you know what it
+is I want to talk about. I'm sure Mrs. Bunting would, from a look
+or two she's lately cast on me. It's your daughter--it's Miss
+Daisy."
+
+And then Bunting gave a kind of cry, 'twixt a sob and a laugh.
+"My girl?" he cried. "Good Lord, Joe! Is that all you wants to
+talk about? Why, you fair frightened me--that you did!"
+
+And, indeed, the relief was so great that the room swam round as
+he stared across it at his daughter's lover, that lover who was
+also the embodiment of that now awful thing to him, the law. He
+smiled, rather foolishly, at his visitor; and Chandler felt a sharp
+wave of irritation, of impatience sweep over his good-natured soul.
+Daisy's father was an old stupid--that's what he was.
+
+And then Bunting grew serious. The room ceased to go round. "As
+far as I'm concerned," he said, with a good deal of solemnity, even
+a little dignity, "you have my blessing, Joe. You're a very likely
+young chap, and I had a true respect for your father."
+
+"Yes," said Chandler, "that's very kind of you, Mr. Bunting. But
+how about her--her herself?"
+
+Bunting stared at him. It pleased him to think that Daisy hadn't
+given herself away, as Ellen was always hinting the girl was doing.
+
+"I can't answer for Daisy," he said heavily. "You'll have to ask
+her yourself--that's not a job any other man can do for you, my lad."
+
+"I never gets a chance. I never sees her, not by our two selves,"
+said Chandler, with some heat. "You don't seem to understand, Mr.
+Bunting, that I never do see Miss Daisy alone," he repeated. "I
+hear now that she's going away Monday, and I've only once had the
+chance of a walk with her. Mrs. Bunting's very particular, not to
+say pernickety in her ideas, Mr. Bunting--"
+
+"That's a fault on the right side, that is--with a young girl,"
+said Bunting thoughtfully.
+
+And Chandler nodded. He quite agreed that as regarded other young
+chaps Mrs. Bunting could not be too particular.
+
+"She's been brought up like a lady, my Daisy has," went on Bunting,
+with some pride. "That Old Aunt of hers hardly lets her out of her
+sight."
+
+"I was coming to the old aunt," said Chandler heavily. "Mrs.
+Bunting she talks as if your daughter was going to stay with that
+old woman the whole of her natural life--now is that right? That's
+what I wants to ask you, Mr. Bunting,--is that right?"
+
+"I'll say a word to Ellen, don't you fear," said Bunting abstractedly.
+
+His mind had wandered off, away from Daisy and this nice young chap,
+to his now constant anxious preoccupation. "You come along
+to-morrow," he said, "and I'll see you gets your walk with Daisy.
+It's only right you and she should have a chance of seeing one
+another without old folk being by; else how's the girl to tell
+whether she likes you or not! For the matter of that, you hardly
+knows her, Joe--" He looked at the young man consideringly.
+
+Chandler shook his head impatiently. "I knows her quite as well as
+I wants to know her," he said. "I made up my mind the very first
+time I see'd her, Mr. Bunting."
+
+"No! Did you really?" said Bunting. "Well, come to think of it,
+I did so with her mother; aye, and years after, with Ellen, too.
+But I hope you'll never want no second, Chandler."
+
+"God forbid!" said the young man under his breath. And then he
+asked, rather longingly, "D'you think they'll be out long now, Mr.
+Bunting?"
+
+And Bunting woke up to a due sense of hospitality. "Sit down, sit
+down; do!" he said hastily. "I don't believe they'll be very long.
+They've only got a little bit of shopping to do."
+
+And then, in a changed, in a ringing, nervous tone, he asked, "And
+how about your job, Joe? Nothing new, I take it? I suppose you're
+all just waiting for the next time?"
+
+"Aye--that's about the figure of it." Chandler's voice had also
+changed; it was now sombre, menacing. "We're fair tired of it--
+beginning to wonder when it'll end, that we are!"
+
+"Do you ever try and make to yourself a picture of what the master's
+like?" asked Bunting. Somehow, he felt he must ask that.
+
+"Yes," said Joe slowly. "I've a sort of notion--a savage,
+fierce-looking devil, the chap must be. It's that description that
+was circulated put us wrong. I don't believe it was the man that
+knocked up against that woman in the fog--no, not one bit I don't.
+But I wavers, I can't quite make up my mind. Sometimes I think it's
+a sailor--the foreigner they talks about, that goes away for eight
+or nine days in between, to Holland maybe, or to France. Then,
+again, I says to myself that it's a butcher, a man from the Central
+Market. Whoever it is, it's someone used to killing, that's flat."
+
+"Then it don't seem to you possible--?" (Bunting got up and walked
+over to the window.) "You don't take any stock, I suppose, in that
+idea some of the papers put out, that the man is"--then he
+hesitated and brought out, with a gasp--"a gentleman?"
+
+Chandler looked at him, surprised. "No," he said deliberately.
+"I've made up my mind that's quite a wrong tack, though I knows that
+some of our fellows--big pots, too--are quite sure that the fellow
+what gave the girl the sovereign is the man we're looking for. You
+see, Mr. Bunting, if that's the fact--well, it stands to reason the
+fellow's an escaped lunatic; and if he's an escaped lunatic he's got
+a keeper, and they'd be raising a hue and cry after him; now,
+wouldn't they?"
+
+"You don't think," went on Bunting, lowering his voice, "that he
+could be just staying somewhere, lodging like?"
+
+"D'you mean that The Avenger may be a toff, staying in some
+West-end hotel, Mr. Bunting? Well, things almost as funny as that
+'ud be have come to pass." He smiled as if the notion was a funny
+one.
+
+"Yes, something o' that sort," muttered Bunting.
+
+"Well, if your idea's correct, Mr. Bunting--"
+
+"I never said 'twas my idea," said Bunting, all in a hurry.
+
+"Well, if that idea's correct then, 'twill make our task more
+difficult than ever. Why, 'twould be looking for a needle in a
+field of hay, Mr. Bunting! But there! I don't think it's
+anything quite so unlikely as that--not myself I don't." He
+hesitated. "There's some of us"--he lowered his voice--"that
+hopes he'll betake himself off--The Avenger, I mean--to another
+big city, to Manchester or to Edinburgh. There'd be plenty of
+work for him to do there," and Chandler chuckled at his own grim
+joke.
+
+And then, to both men's secret relief, for Bunting was now
+mortally afraid of this discussion concerning The Avenger and
+his doings, they heard Mrs. Bunting's key in the lock.
+
+Daisy blushed rosy-red with pleasure when she saw that young
+Chandler was still there. She had feared that when they got home
+he would be gone, the more so that Ellen, just as if she was doing
+it on purpose, had lingered aggravatingly long over each small
+purchase.
+
+"Here's Joe come to ask if he can take Daisy out for a walk,"
+blurted out Bunting.
+
+"My mother says as how she'd like you to come to tea, over at
+Richmond," said Chandler awkwardly, "I just come in to see whether
+we could fix it up, Miss Daisy." And Daisy looked imploringly at
+her stepmother.
+
+"D'you mean now--this minute?" asked Mrs. Bunting tartly.
+
+"No, o' course not"--Bunting broke in hastily. "How you do go on,
+Ellen!"
+
+"What day did your mother mention would be convenient to her?"
+asked Mrs. Bunting, looking at the young man satirically.
+
+Chandler hesitated. His mother had not mentioned any special day
+--in fact, his mother had shown a surprising lack of anxiety to
+see Daisy at all. But he had talked her round.
+
+"How about Saturday?" suggested Bunting. "That's Daisy's birthday.
+'Twould be a birthday treat for her to go to Richmond, and she's
+going back to Old Aunt on Monday."
+
+"I can't go Saturday," said Chandler disconsolately. "I'm on duty
+Saturday."
+
+"Well, then, let it be Sunday," said Bunting firmly. And his wife
+looked at him surprised; he seldom asserted himself so much in her
+presence.
+
+"What do you say, Miss Daisy?" said Chandler.
+
+"Sunday would be very nice," said Daisy demurely. And then, as the
+young man took up his hat, and as her stepmother did not stir, Daisy
+ventured to go out into the hall with him for a minute.
+
+Chandler shut the door behind them, and so was spared the hearing
+of Mrs. Bunting's whispered remark: "When I was a young woman folk
+didn't gallivant about on Sunday; those who was courting used to
+go to church together, decent-like--"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Daisy's eighteenth birthday dawned uneventfully. Her father gave
+her what he had always promised she should have on her eighteenth
+birthday--a watch. It was a pretty little silver watch, which
+Bunting had bought secondhand on the last day he had been happy--
+it seemed a long, long time ago now.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought a silver watch a very extravagant present but
+she was far too wretched, far too absorbed in her own thoughts, to
+trouble much about it. Besides, in such matters she had generally
+had the good sense not to interfere between her husband and his
+child.
+
+In the middle of the birthday morning Bunting went out to buy
+himself some more tobacco. He had never smoked so much as in the
+last four days, excepting, perhaps, the week that had followed on
+his leaving service. Smoking a pipe had then held all the exquisite
+pleasure which we are told attaches itself to the eating of forbidden
+fruit.
+
+His tobacco had now become his only relaxation; it acted on his
+nerves as an opiate, soothing his fears and helping him to think.
+But he had been overdoing it, and it was that which now made him
+feel so "jumpy," so he assured himself, when he found himself
+starting at any casual sound outside, or even when his wife spoke
+to him suddenly.
+
+Just now Ellen and Daisy were down in the kitchen, and Bunting
+didn't quite like the sensation of knowing that there was only
+one pair of stairs between Mr. Sleuth and himself. So he quietly
+slipped out of the house without telling Ellen that he was going
+out.
+
+In the last four days Bunting had avoided his usual haunts; above
+all, he had avoided even passing the time of day to his
+acquaintances and neighbours. He feared, with a great fear, that
+they would talk to him of a subject which, because it filled his
+mind to the exclusion of all else, might make him betray the
+knowledge--no, not knowledge, rather the--the suspicion--that
+dwelt within him.
+
+But to-day the unfortunate man had a curious, instinctive longing
+for human companionship--companionship, that is, other than that
+of his wife and of his daughter.
+
+This longing for a change of company finally led him into a small,
+populous thoroughfare hard by the Edgware Road. There were more
+people there than usual just now, for the housewives of the
+neighbourhood were doing their Saturday marketing for Sunday. The
+ex-butler turned into a small old-fashioned shop where he generally
+bought his tobacco.
+
+Bunting passed the time of day with the tobacconist, and the two
+fell into desultory talk, but to his customer's relief and surprise
+the man made no allusion to the subject of which all the
+neighbourhood must still be talking.
+
+And then, quite suddenly, while still standing by the counter, and
+before he had paid for the packet of tobacco he held in his hand,
+Bunting, through the open door, saw with horrified surprise that
+Ellen, his wife, was standing, alone, outside a greengrocer's shop
+just opposite.
+
+Muttering a word of apology, he rushed out of the shop and across
+the road.
+
+"Ellen!" he gasped hoarsely, "you've never gone and left my little
+girl alone in the house with the lodger?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting's face went yellow with fear. "I thought you was
+indoors," she cried. "You was indoors! Whatever made you come out
+for, without first making sure I'd stay in?"
+
+Bunting made no answer; but, as they stared at each other in
+exasperated silence, each now knew that the other knew.
+
+They turned and scurried down the crowded street. "Don't run," he
+said suddenly; "we shall get there just as quickly if we walk fast.
+People are noticing you, Ellen. Don't run."
+
+He spoke breathlessly, but it was breathlessness induced by fear
+and by excitement, not by the quick pace at which they were walking.
+
+At last they reached their own gate, and Bunting pushed past in
+front of his wife.
+
+After all, Daisy was his child; Ellen couldn't know how he was
+feeling.
+
+He seemed to take the path in one leap, then fumbled for a moment
+with his latchkey.
+
+Opening wide the door, "Daisy!" he called out, in a wailing voice,
+"Daisy, my dear! where are you?"
+
+"Here I am, father. What is it?"
+
+"She's all right." Bunting turned a grey face to his wife. "She's
+all right, Ellen."
+
+He waited a moment, leaning against the wall of the passage. "It
+did give me a turn," he said, and then, warningly, "Don't frighten
+the girl, Ellen."
+
+Daisy was standing before the fire in their sitting room, admiring
+herself in the glass.
+
+"Oh, father," she exclaimed, without turning round, "I've seen the
+lodger! He's quite a nice gentleman, though, to be sure, he does
+look a cure. He rang his bell, but I didn't like to go up; and so
+he came down to ask Ellen for something. We had quite a nice
+little chat--that we had. I told him it was my birthday, and he
+asked me and Ellen to go to Madame Tussaud's with him this
+afternoon." She laughed, a little self-consciously. "Of course,
+I could see he was 'centric, and then at first he spoke so funnily.
+'And who be you?' he says, threatening-like. And I says to him,
+'I'm Mr. Bunting's daughter, sir.' 'Then you're a very fortunate
+girl'--that's what he says, Ellen--'to 'ave such a nice
+stepmother as you've got. That's why,' he says, 'you look such
+a good, innocent girl.' And then he quoted a bit of the Prayer
+Book. 'Keep innocency,' he says, wagging his head at me. Lor'!
+It made me feel as if I was with Old Aunt again."
+
+"I won't have you going out with the lodger--that's flat."
+
+Bunting spoke in a muffled, angry tone. He was wiping his forehead
+with one hand, while with the other he mechanically squeezed the
+little packet of tobacco, for which, as he now remembered, he had
+forgotten to pay.
+
+Daisy pouted. "Oh, father, I think you might let me have a treat
+on my birthday! I told him that Saturday wasn't a very good day--
+at least, so I'd heard--for Madame Tussaud's. Then he said we
+could go early, while the fine folk are still having their dinners."
+She turned to her stepmother, then giggled happily. "He particularly
+said you was to come, too. The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you,
+Ellen; if I was father, I'd feel quite jealous!"
+
+Her last words were cut across by a tap-tap on the door.
+
+Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively. Was it
+possible that, in their agitation, they had left the front door
+open, and that someone, some merciless myrmidon of the law, had
+crept in behind them?
+
+Both felt a curious thrill of satisfaction when they saw that it
+was only Mr. Sleuth--Mr. Sleuth dressed for going out; the tall
+hat he had worn when he had first come to them was in his hand, but
+he was wearing a coat instead of his Inverness cape.
+
+"I heard you come in"--he addressed Mrs. Bunting in his high,
+whistling, hesitating voice--"and so I've come down to ask you if
+you and Miss Bunting will come to Madame Tussaud's now. I have
+never seen those famous waxworks, though I've heard of the place
+all my life."
+
+As Bunting forced himself to look fixedly at his lodger, a sudden
+doubt bringing with it a sense of immeasurable relief, came to
+Mr. Sleuth's landlord.
+
+Surely it was inconceivable that this gentle, mild-mannered
+gentleman could be the monster of cruelty and cunning that Bunting
+had now for the terrible space of four days believed him to be!
+
+He tried to catch his wife's eye, but Mrs. Bunting was looking away,
+staring into vacancy. She still, of course, wore the bonnet and
+cloak in which she had just been out to do her marketing. Daisy
+was already putting on her hat and coat.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Sleuth. Then Mrs. Bunting turned, and it seemed
+to his landlady that he was looking at her threateningly. "Well?"
+
+"Yes, sir. We'll come in a minute," she said dully.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+Madame Tussaud's had hitherto held pleasant memories for Mrs. Bunting.
+In the days when she and Bunting were courting they often spent there
+part of their afternoon-out.
+
+The butler had an acquaintance, a man named Hopkins, who was one of
+the waxworks staff, and this man had sometimes given him passes for
+"self and lady." But this was the first time Mrs. Bunting had been
+inside the place since she had come to live almost next door, as it
+were, to the big building.
+
+They walked in silence to the familiar entrance, and then, after
+the ill-assorted trio had gone up the great staircase and into the
+first gallery, Mr. Sleuth suddenly stopped short. The presence of
+those curious, still, waxen figures which suggest so strangely death
+in life, seemed to surprise and affright him.
+
+Daisy took quick advantage of the lodger's hesitation and unease.
+
+"Oh, Ellen," she cried, "do let us begin by going into the Chamber
+of Horrors! I've never been in there. Old Aunt made father promise
+he wouldn't take me the only time I've ever been here. But now that
+I'm eighteen I can do just as I like; besides, Old Aunt will never
+know."
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked down at her, and a smile passed for a moment over
+his worn, gaunt face.
+
+"Yes," he said, "let us go into the Chamber of Horrors; that's a
+good idea, Miss Bunting. I've always wanted to see the Chamber of
+Horrors."
+
+They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were
+then kept, and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where
+waxen effigies of dead criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband's
+old acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting
+the public to the Chamber of Horrors.
+
+"Well, you are a stranger," the man observed genially. "I do believe
+that this is the very first time I've seen you in here, Mrs. Bunting,
+since you was married!"
+
+"Yes," she said, "that is so. And this is my husband's daughter,
+Daisy; I expect you've heard of her, Mr. Hopkins. And this"--she
+hesitated a moment--"is our lodger, Mr. Sleuth."
+
+But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away. Daisy, leaving her
+stepmother's side, joined him.
+
+Two, as all the world knows, is company, three is none. Mrs.
+Bunting put down three sixpences.
+
+"Wait a minute," said Hopkins; "you can't go into the Chamber of
+Horrors just yet. But you won't have to wait more than four or
+five minutes, Mrs. Bunting. It's this way, you see; our boss is
+in there, showing a party round." He lowered his voice. "It's
+Sir John Burney--I suppose you know who Sir John Burney is?"
+
+"No," she answered indifferently, "I don't know that I ever heard
+of him."
+
+She felt slightly--oh, very sightly--uneasy about Daisy. She
+would have liked her stepdaughter to keep well within sight and
+sound, but Mr. Sleuth was now taking the girl down to the other
+end of the room.
+
+"Well, I hope you never will know him--not in any personal sense,
+Mrs. Bunting." The man chuckled. "He's the Commissioner of Police
+--the new one--that's what Sir John Burney is. One of the
+gentlemen he's showing round our place is the Paris Police boss--
+whose job is on all fours, so to speak, with Sir John's. The
+Frenchy has brought his daughter with him, and there are several
+other ladies. Ladies always likes horrors, Mrs. Bunting; that's
+our experience here. 'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors'--
+that's what they say the minute they gets into this here building!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him thoughtfully. It occurred to Mr. Hopkins
+that she was very wan and tired; she used to look better in the old
+days, when she was still in service, before Bunting married her.
+
+"Yes," she said; "that's just what my stepdaughter said just now.
+'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors'--that's exactly what she
+did say when we got upstairs."
+
+******
+
+A group of people, all talking and laughing together; were advancing,
+from within the wooden barrier, toward the turnstile.
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at them nervously. She wondered which of them
+was the gentleman with whom Mr. Hopkins had hoped she would never be
+brought into personal contact; she thought she could pick him out
+among the others. He was a tall, powerful, handsome gentleman, with
+a military appearance.
+
+Just now he was smiling down into the face of a young lady.
+"Monsieur Barberoux is quite right," he was saying in a loud,
+cheerful voice, "our English law is too kind to the criminal,
+especially to the murderer. If we conducted our trials in the
+French fashion, the place we have just left would be very much
+fuller than it is to-day. A man of whose guilt we are absolutely
+assured is oftener than not acquitted, and then the public taunt
+us with 'another undiscovered crime!'"
+
+"D'you mean, Sir John, that murderers sometimes escape scot-free?
+Take the man who has been committing all these awful murders this
+last month? I suppose there's no doubt he'll be hanged--if he's
+ever caught, that is!"
+
+Her girlish voice rang out, and Mrs. Bunting could hear every word
+that was said.
+
+The whole party gathered round, listening eagerly. "Well, no."
+He spoke very deliberately. "I doubt if that particular murderer
+ever will be hanged."
+
+"You mean that you'll never catch him?" the girl spoke with a touch
+of airy impertinence in her clear voice.
+
+"I think we shall end by catching him--because"--he waited a moment,
+then added in a lower voice--"now don't give me away to a newspaper
+fellow, Miss Rose--because now I think we do know who the murderer
+in question is--"
+
+Several of those standing near by uttered expressions of surprise and
+incredulity.
+
+"Then why don't you catch him?" cried the girl indignantly.
+
+"I didn't say we knew where he was; I only said we knew who he was,
+or, rather, perhaps I ought to say that I personally have a very
+strong suspicion of his identity."
+
+Sir John's French colleague looked up quickly. "De Leipsic and
+Liverpool man?" he said interrogatively.
+
+The other nodded. "Yes, I suppose you've had the case turned up?"
+
+Then, speaking very quickly, as if he wished to dismiss the subject
+from his own mind, and from that of his auditors, he went on:
+
+"Four murders of the kind were committed eight years ago--two in
+Leipsic, the others, just afterwards, in Liverpool,--and there were
+certain peculiarities connected with the crimes which made it clear
+they were committed by the same hand. The perpetrator was caught,
+fortunately for us, red-handed, just as he was leaving the house of
+his last victim, for in Liverpool the murder was committed in a
+house. I myself saw the unhappy man--I say unhappy, for there is
+no doubt at all that he was mad"--he hesitated, and added in a
+lower tone--"suffering from an acute form of religious mania.
+I myself saw him, as I say, at some length. But now comes the really
+interesting point. I have just been informed that a month ago this
+criminal lunatic, as we must of course regard him, made his escape
+from the asylum where he was confined. He arranged the whole
+thing with extraordinary cunning and intelligence, and we should
+probably have caught him long ago, were it not that he managed, when
+on his way out of the place, to annex a considerable sum of money
+in gold, with which the wages of the asylum staff were about to be
+paid. It is owing to that fact that his escape was, very wrongly,
+concealed--"
+
+He stopped abruptly, as if sorry he had said so much, and a moment
+later the party were walking in Indian file through the turnstile,
+Sir John Burney leading the way.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked straight before her. She felt--so she
+expressed it to her husband later--as if she had been turned to
+stone.
+
+Even had she wished to do so, she had neither the time nor the power
+to warn her lodger of his danger, for Daisy and her companion were
+now coming down the room, bearing straight for the Commissioner of
+Police. In another moment Mrs. Bunting's lodger and Sir John Burney
+were face to face.
+
+Mr. Sleuth swerved to one side; there came a terrible change over
+his pale, narrow face; it became discomposed, livid with rage and
+terror.
+
+But, to Mrs. Bunting's relief--yes, to her inexpressible relief
+--Sir John Burney and his friends swept on. They passed Mr. Sleuth
+and the girl by his side, unaware, or so it seemed to her, that
+there was anyone else in the room but themselves.
+
+"Hurry up, Mrs. Bunting," said the turnstile-keeper; "you and your
+friends will have the place all to yourselves for a bit." From an
+official he had become a man, and it was the man in Mr. Hopkins that
+gallantly addressed pretty Daisy Bunting: "It seems strange that a
+young lady like you should want to go in and see all those 'orrible
+frights," he said jestingly.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I trouble you to come over here for a moment?"
+
+The words were hissed rather than spoken by Mr. Sleuth's lips.
+
+His landlady took a doubtful step towards him.
+
+"A last word with you, Mrs. Bunting." The lodger's face was still
+distorted with fear and passion. "Do not think to escape the
+consequences of your hideous treachery. I trusted you, Mrs. Bunting,
+and you betrayed me! Put I am protected by a higher power, for
+I still have much to do." Then, his voice sinking to a whisper, he
+hissed out "Your end will be bitter as wormwood and sharp as a
+two-edged sword. Your feet shall go down to death, and your steps
+take hold on hell."
+
+Even while Mr. Sleuth was muttering these strange, dreadful words,
+he was looking round, glancing this way and that, seeking a way of
+escape.
+
+At last his eyes became fixed on a small placard placed above a
+curtain. "Emergency Exit" was written there. Mrs. Bunting thought
+he was going to make a dash for the place; but Mr. Sleuth did
+something very different. Leaving his landlady's side, he walked
+over to the turnstile, he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and
+then touched the man on the arm. "I feel ill," he said, speaking
+very rapidly; "very ill indeed! It is the atmosphere of this place.
+I want you to let me out by the quickest way. It would be a pity
+for me to faint here--especially with ladies about."
+
+His left hand shot out and placed what he had been fumbling for in
+his pocket on the other's bare palm. "I see there's an emergency
+exit over there. Would it be possible for me to get out that way?"
+
+"Well, yes, sir; I think so."
+
+The man hesitated; he felt a slight, a very sight, feeling of
+misgiving. He looked at Daisy, flushed and smiling, happy and
+unconcerned, and then at Mrs. Bunting. She was very pale; but
+surely her lodger's sudden seizure was enough to make her feel
+worried. Hopkins felt the half-sovereign pleasantly tickling his
+palm. The Paris Prefect of Police had given him only half-a-crown
+--mean, shabby foreigner!
+
+"Yes, sir; I can let you out that way," he said at last, "and p'raps
+when you're standing out in the air, on the iron balcony, you'll feel
+better. But then, you know, sir, you'll have to come round to the
+front if you wants to come in again, for those emergency doors only
+open outward."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Sleuth hurriedly. "I quite understand! If I
+feel better I'll come in by the front way, and pay another shilling
+--that's only fair."
+
+"You needn't do that if you'll just explain what happened here."
+
+The man went and pulled the curtain aside, and put his shoulder
+against the door. It burst open, and the light, for a moment,
+blinded Mr. Sleuth.
+
+He passed his hand over his eyes. "Thank you," he muttered, "thank
+you. I shall get all right out there."
+
+An iron stairway led down into a small stable yard, of which the
+door opened into a side street.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked round once more; he really did feel very ill--
+ill and dazed. How pleasant it would be to take a flying leap over
+the balcony railing and find rest, eternal rest, below.
+
+But no--he thrust the thought, the temptation, from him. Again a
+convulsive look of rage came over his face. He had remembered his
+landlady. How could the woman whom he had treated so generously have
+betrayed him to his arch-enemy?--to the official, that is, who had
+entered into a conspiracy years ago to have him confined--him, an
+absolutely sane man with a great avenging work to do in the world--
+in a lunatic asylum.
+
+He stepped out into the open air, and the curtain, falling-to behind
+him, blotted out the tall, thin figure from the little group of
+people who had watched him disappear.
+
+Even Daisy felt a little scared. "He did look bad, didn't he, now?"
+she turned appealingly to Mr. Hopkins.
+
+"Yes, that he did, poor gentleman--your lodger, too?" he looked
+sympathetically at Mrs. Bunting.
+
+She moistened her lips with her tongue. "Yes," she repeated dully,
+"my lodger."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+In vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughter
+to step through into the Chamber of Horrors. "I think we ought to
+go straight home," said Mr. Sleuth's landlady decidedly. And Daisy
+meekly assented. Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared by
+the lodger's sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling of
+hers was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on
+her stepmother's face.
+
+Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got
+home it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been
+taken.
+
+"I don't suppose he'll be long before he comes home," said Bunting
+heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. She
+looked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that
+there was something wrong--very wrong indeed.
+
+The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisy
+knew there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.
+
+About six o'clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas in
+Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance.
+Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay
+her Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly
+as he had left them, when he had come downstairs and suggested that
+ill-starred expedition to his landlord's daughter. She took a few
+steps forward, listening the while anxiously for the familiar sound
+of the click in the door which would tell her that the lodger had
+come back, and then she went over to the window and looked out.
+
+What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless,
+friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very little
+money on him!
+
+Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger's bedroom and opened the
+drawer of the looking-glass.
+
+Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns. If only he
+had taken his money out with him! She wondered painfully whether he
+had enough on his person to secure a good night's lodging, and then
+suddenly she remembered that which brought relief to her mind. The
+lodger had given something to that Hopkins fellow--either a sovereign
+or half a sovereign, she wasn't sure which.
+
+The memory of Mr. Sleuth's cruel words to her, of his threat, did
+not disturb her overmuch. It had been a mistake--all a mistake.
+Far from betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him--kept his awful
+secret as she could not have kept it had she known, or even dimly
+suspected, the horrible fact with which Sir John Burney's words had
+made her acquainted; namely, that Mr. Sleuth was victim of no
+temporary aberration, but that he was, and had been for years, a
+madman, a homicidal maniac.
+
+In her ears there still rang the Frenchman's half careless yet
+confident question, "De Leipsic and Liverpool man?"
+
+Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room,
+and taking a black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid the
+leaves of the Bible. Then she opened the Book, and looked at the
+page the pin had marked:--
+
+"My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . .
+There is none to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up my
+curtains."
+
+At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and
+as she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her
+stepmother.
+
+"I'll go down and start getting the lodger's supper ready for you,"
+said the girl good-naturedly. "He's certain to come in when he gets
+hungry. But he did look upset, didn't he, Ellen? Right down bad--
+that he did!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy
+to go down.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't never come back no more," she said sombrely, and
+then she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change which
+came over her husband's face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief,
+of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add,
+"That's to say, I don't suppose he will."
+
+And Bunting's face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look,
+the look it had worn the last few days, returned.
+
+"What makes you think he mayn't come back?" he muttered.
+
+"Too long to tell you now," she said. "Wait till the child's gone
+to bed."
+
+And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.
+
+And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where
+she now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her
+husband to follow her upstairs.
+
+Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on the
+door. And about this they had a few sharp whispered words.
+
+"You're never going to shut him out?" she expostulated angrily,
+beneath her breath.
+
+"I'm not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhaps
+walking in any minute."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't hurt Daisy, bless you! Much more likely to hurt
+me," and she gave a half sob.
+
+Bunting stared at her. "What do you mean?" he said roughly.
+"Come upstairs and tell me what you mean."
+
+And then, in what had been the lodger's sitting-room, Mrs. Bunting
+told her husband exactly what it was that had happened.
+
+He listened in heavy silence.
+
+"So you see," she said at last, "you see, Bunting, that 'twas me
+that was right after all. The lodger was never responsible for
+his actions. I never thought he was, for my part."
+
+And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly. "Depends on what you call
+responsible--" he began argumentatively.
+
+But she would have none of that. "I heard the gentleman say myself
+that he was a lunatic," she said fiercely. And then, dropping her
+voice, "A religious maniac--that's what he called him."
+
+"Well, he never seemed so to me," said Bunting stoutly. "He simply
+seemed to me 'centric--that's all he did. Not a bit madder than
+many I could tell you of." He was walking round the room restlessly,
+but he stopped short at last. "And what d'you think we ought to do
+now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently. "I don't think we ought
+to do nothing," she said. "Why should we?"
+
+And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashion
+that irritated her.
+
+"If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where he
+would get it! And his money, too? I hate to feel it's in there."
+
+"Don't you make any mistake--he'll come back for that," said Bunting,
+with decision.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head. She knew better. "Now," she said,
+"you go off up to bed. It's no use us sitting up any longer."
+
+And Bunting acquiesced.
+
+She ran down and got him a bedroom candle--there was no gas in the
+little back bedroom upstairs. And then she watched him go slowly up.
+
+Suddenly he turned and came down again. "Ellen," he said, in an
+urgent whisper, "if I was you I'd take the chain off the door, and
+I'd lock myself in--that's what I'm going to do. Then he can sneak
+in and take his dirty money away."
+
+Mrs. Bunting neither nodded nor shook her head. Slowly she went
+downstairs, and there she carried out half of Bunting's advice.
+She took, that is, the chain off the front door. But she did not
+go to bed, neither did she lock herself in. She sat up all night,
+waiting. At half-past seven she made herself a cup of tea, and
+then she went into her bedroom.
+
+Daisy opened her eyes.
+
+"Why, Ellen," she said, "I suppose I was that tired, and slept so
+sound, that I never heard you come to bed or get up--funny,
+wasn't it?"
+
+"Young people don't sleep as light as do old folks," Mrs. Bunting
+said sententiously.
+
+"Did the lodger come in after all? I suppose he's upstairs now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head. "It looks as if 'twould be a fine
+day for you down at Richmond," she observed in a kindly tone.
+
+And Daisy smiled, a very happy, confident little smile.
+
+******
+
+That evening Mrs. Bunting forced herself to tell young Chandler
+that their lodger had, so to speak, disappeared. She and Bunting
+had thought carefully over what they would say, and so well did
+they carry out their programme, or, what is more likely, so full
+was young Chandler of the long happy day he and Daisy had spent
+together, that he took their news very calmly.
+
+"Gone away, has he?" he observed casually. "Well, I hope he paid
+up all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes," said Mrs. Bunting hastily. "No trouble of that sort."
+
+And Bunting said shamefacedly, "Aye, aye, the lodger was quite an
+honest gentleman, Joe. But I feel worried, about him. He was such
+a poor, gentle chap--not the sort o' man one likes to think of as
+wandering about by himself."
+
+"You always said he was 'centric," said Joe thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes, he was that," said Bunting slowly. "Regular right-down queer.
+Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch," and, as he tapped his
+head significantly, both young people burst out laughing.
+
+"Would you like a description of him circulated?" asked Joe
+good-naturedly.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.
+
+"No, I don't think so. Not yet awhile at any rate. 'Twould upset
+him awfully, you see."
+
+And Joe acquiesced. "You'd be surprised at the number o' people
+who disappears and are never heard of again," he said cheerfully.
+And then he got up, very reluctantly.
+
+Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into
+the passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.
+
+When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting
+in his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round
+his neck.
+
+Then she bent down her head. "Father," she said, "I've a bit of
+news for you!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?"
+
+"Father, I'm engaged! Aren't you surprised?"
+
+"Well, what do you think?" said Bunting fondly. Then he turned
+round and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.
+
+"What'll Old Aunt say, I wonder?" he whispered.
+
+"Don't you worry about Old Aunt," exclaimed his wife suddenly.
+"I'll manage Old Aunt! I'll go down and see her. She and I have
+always got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy."
+
+"Yes," said Daisy a little wonderingly. "I know you have, Ellen."
+
+******
+
+Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many
+nights had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click
+of the lock which she at once hoped and feared would herald her
+lodger's return.
+
+As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the "Avenger"
+murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when
+a gardener, working in the Regent's Park, found a newspaper in which
+was wrapped, together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes,
+a long, peculiarly shaped knife. The fact, though of considerable
+interest to the police, was not chronicled in any newspaper, but
+about the same time a picturesque little paragraph went the round
+of the press concerning a small boxful of sovereigns which had been
+anonymously forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about "Old Aunt,"
+and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in a
+more philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her to
+do. She only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolks
+leave a house in charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure to
+follow--a remark which Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.
+
+
+Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an old
+lady, by whom they are feared as well as respected, and whom they
+make very comfortable.
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lodger
+
+Author: Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+Release Date: March 13, 2005 [EBook #2014]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LODGER ***
+
+
+
+
+This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.
+
+
+
+
+The Lodger
+
+by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+
+
+
+"Lover and friend hast thou put far from me,
+and mine acquaintance into darkness."
+    PSALM lxxxviii. 18
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+Robert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning,
+carefully-banked-up fire.
+
+The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house
+standing in a grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare,
+was exceptionally clean and well-cared-for. A casual stranger,
+more particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly
+opening the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr.
+and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of
+comfortable married life. Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep
+leather arm-chair, was clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance
+what he had been for many years of his life--a self-respecting
+man-servant.
+
+On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed
+chair, the marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they
+were there all the same--in her neat black stuff dress, and in
+her scrupulously clean, plain collar and cuffs. Mrs. Bunting, as
+a single woman, had been what is known as a useful maid.
+
+But peculiarly true of average English life is the time-worn
+English proverb as to appearances being deceitful. Mr. and Mrs.
+Bunting were sitting in a very nice room and in their time--how
+long ago it now seemed!--both husband and wife had been proud of
+their carefully chosen belongings. Everything in the room was
+strong and substantial, and each article of furniture had been
+bought at a well-conducted auction held in a private house.
+
+Thus the red damask curtains which now shut out the fog-laden,
+drizzling atmosphere of the Marylebone Road, had cost a mere song,
+and yet they might have been warranted to last another thirty years.
+A great bargain also had been the excellent Axminster carpet which
+covered the floor; as, again, the arm-chair in which Bunting now sat
+forward, staring into the dull, small fire. In fact, that arm-chair
+had been an extravagance of Mrs. Bunting. She had wanted her husband
+to be comfortable after the day's work was done, and she had paid
+thirty-seven shillings for the chair. Only yesterday Bunting had
+tried to find a purchaser for it, but the man who had come to look at
+it, guessing their cruel necessities, had only offered them twelve
+shillings and sixpence for it; so for the present they were keeping
+their arm-chair.
+
+But man and woman want something more than mere material comfort,
+much as that is valued by the Buntings of this world. So, on the
+walls of the sitting-room, hung neatly framed if now rather faded
+photographs--photographs of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's various former
+employers, and of the pretty country houses in which they had
+separately lived during the long years they had spent in a not
+unhappy servitude.
+
+But appearances were not only deceitful, they were more than
+usually deceitful with regard to these unfortunate people. In
+spite of their good furniture--that substantial outward sign of
+respectability which is the last thing which wise folk who fall
+into trouble try to dispose of--they were almost at the end of
+their tether. Already they had learnt to go hungry, and they were
+beginning to learn to go cold. Tobacco, the last thing the sober
+man foregoes among his comforts, had been given up some time ago
+by Bunting. And even Mrs. Bunting--prim, prudent, careful woman
+as she was in her way--had realised what this must mean to him.
+So well, indeed, had she understood that some days back she had
+crept out and bought him a packet of Virginia.
+
+Bunting had been touched--touched as he had not been for years by
+any woman's thought and love for him. Painful tears had forced
+themselves into his eyes, and husband and wife had both felt in
+their odd, unemotional way, moved to the heart.
+
+Fortunately he never guessed--how could he have guessed, with his
+slow, normal, rather dull mind?--that his poor Ellen had since
+more than once bitterly regretted that fourpence-ha'penny, for they
+were now very near the soundless depths which divide those who dwell
+on the safe tableland of security--those, that is, who are sure of
+making a respectable, if not a happy, living--and the submerged
+multitude who, through some lack in themselves, or owing to the
+conditions under which our strange civilisation has become organised,
+struggle rudderless till they die in workhouse, hospital, or prison.
+
+Had the Buntings been in a class lower than their own, had they
+belonged to the great company of human beings technically known to
+so many of us as the poor, there would have been friendly neighbours
+ready to help them, and the same would have been the case had they
+belonged to the class of smug, well-meaning, if unimaginative, folk
+whom they had spent so much of their lives in serving.
+
+There was only one person in the world who might possibly be brought
+to help them. That was an aunt of Bunting's first wife. With this
+woman, the widow of a man who had been well-to-do, lived Daisy,
+Bunting's only child by his first wife, and during the last long two
+days he had been trying to make up his mind to write to the old lady,
+and that though he suspected that she would almost certainly retort
+with a cruel, sharp rebuff.
+
+As to their few acquaintances, former fellow-servants, and so on,
+they had gradually fallen out of touch with them. There was but
+one friend who often came to see them in their deep trouble. This
+was a young fellow named Chandler, under whose grandfather Bunting
+had been footman years and years ago. Joe Chandler had never gone
+into service; he was attached to the police; in fact not to put too
+fine a point upon it, young Chandler was a detective.
+
+When they had first taken the house which had brought them, so they
+both thought, such bad luck, Bunting had encouraged the young chap
+to come often, for his tales were well worth listening to--quite
+exciting at times. But now poor Bunting didn't want to hear that
+sort of stories--stories of people being cleverly "nabbed," or
+stupidly allowed to escape the fate they always, from Chandler's
+point of view, richly deserved.
+
+But Joe still came very faithfully once or twice a week, so timing
+his calls that neither host nor hostess need press food upon him
+--nay, more, he had done that which showed him to have a good and
+feeling heart. He had offered his father's old acquaintance a loan,
+and Bunting, at last, had taken 30s. Very little of that money
+now remained: Bunting still could jingle a few coppers in his pocket;
+and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.; that and the rent they would have to
+pay in five weeks, was all they had left. Everything of the light,
+portable sort that would fetch money had been sold. Mrs. Bunting
+had a fierce horror of the pawnshop. She had never put her feet in
+such a place, and she declared she never would--she would rather
+starve first.
+
+But she had said nothing when there had occurred the gradual
+disappearance of various little possessions she knew that Bunting
+valued, notably of the old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been
+given to him after the death of his first master, a master he had
+nursed faithfully and kindly through a long and terrible illness.
+There had also vanished a twisted gold tie-pin, and a large mourning
+ring, both gifts of former employers.
+
+When people are living near that deep pit which divides the secure
+from the insecure--when they see themselves creeping closer and
+closer to its dread edge--they are apt, however loquacious by
+nature, to fall into long silences. Bunting had always been a
+talker, but now he talked no more. Neither did Mrs. Bunting, but
+then she had always been a silent woman, and that was perhaps one
+reason why Bunting had felt drawn to her from the very first moment
+he had seen her.
+
+It had fallen out in this way. A lady had just engaged him as
+butler, and he had been shown, by the man whose place he was to
+take, into the dining-room. There, to use his own expression, he
+had discovered Ellen Green, carefully pouring out the glass of port
+wine which her then mistress always drank at 11.30 every morning.
+And as he, the new butler, had seen her engaged in this task, as he
+had watched her carefully stopper the decanter and put it back into
+the old wine-cooler, he had said to himself, "That is the woman for
+me!"
+
+But now her stillness, her--her dumbness, had got on the
+unfortunate man's nerves. He no longer felt like going into the
+various little shops, close by, patronised by him in more prosperous
+days, and Mrs. Bunting also went afield to make the slender purchases
+which still had to be made every day or two, if they were to be
+saved from actually starving to death.
+
+Suddenly, across the stillness of the dark November evening there
+came the muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting
+outside--boys crying the late afternoon editions of the evening
+papers.
+
+Bunting turned uneasily in his chair. The giving up of a daily
+paper had been, after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation. And
+the paper was an older habit than the tobacco, for servants are
+great readers of newspapers.
+
+As the shouts came through the closed windows and the thick damask
+curtains, Bunting felt a sudden sense of mind hunger fall upon him.
+
+It was a shame--a damned shame--that he shouldn't know what was
+happening in the world outside! Only criminals are kept from hearing
+news of what is going on beyond their prison walls. And those
+shouts, those hoarse, sharp cries must portend that something really
+exciting had happened, something warranted to make a man forget for
+the moment his own intimate, gnawing troubles.
+
+He got up, and going towards the nearest window strained his ears to
+listen. There fell on them, emerging now and again from the confused
+babel of hoarse shouts, the one clear word "Murder!"
+
+Slowly Bunting's brain pieced the loud, indistinct cries into some
+sort of connected order. Yes, that was it--"Horrible Murder!
+Murder at St. Pancras!" Bunting remembered vaguely another murder
+which had been committed near St. Pancras--that of an old lady by
+her servant-maid. It had happened a great many years ago, but was
+still vividly remembered, as of special and natural interest, among
+the class to which he had belonged.
+
+The newsboys--for there were more than one of them, a rather unusual
+thing in the Marylebone Road--were coming nearer and nearer; now
+they had adopted another cry, but he could not quite catch what they
+were crying. They were still shouting hoarsely, excitedly, but he
+could only hear a word or two now and then. Suddenly "The Avenger!
+The Avenger at his work again!" broke on his ear.
+
+During the last fortnight four very curious and brutal murders had
+been committed in London and within a comparatively small area.
+
+The first had aroused no special interest--even the second had only
+been awarded, in the paper Bunting was still then taking in, quite a
+small paragraph.
+
+Then had come the third--and with that a wave of keen excitement,
+for pinned to the dress of the victim--a drunken woman--had been
+found a three-cornered piece of paper, on which was written, in red
+ink, and in printed characters, the words,
+
+"THE AVENGER"
+
+It was then realised, not only by those whose business it is to
+investigate such terrible happenings, but also by the vast world
+of men and women who take an intelligent interest in such sinister
+mysteries, that the same miscreant had committed all three crimes;
+and before that extraordinary fact had had time to soak well into
+the public mind there took place yet another murder, and again the
+murderer had been to special pains to make it clear that some
+obscure and terrible lust for vengeance possessed him.
+
+Now everyone was talking of The Avenger and his crimes! Even the
+man who left their ha'porth of milk at the door each morning had
+spoken to Bunting about them that very day.
+
+******
+
+Bunting came back to the fire and looked down at his wife with mild
+excitement. Then, seeing her pale, apathetic face, her look of
+weary, mournful absorption, a wave of irritation swept through him.
+He felt he could have shaken her!
+
+Ellen had hardly taken the trouble to listen when he, Bunting, had
+come back to bed that morning, and told her what the milkman had
+said. In fact, she had been quite nasty about it, intimating that
+she didn't like hearing about such horrid things.
+
+It was a curious fact that though Mrs. Bunting enjoyed tales of
+pathos and sentiment, and would listen with frigid amusement to
+the details of a breach of promise action, she shrank from stories
+of immorality or of physical violence. In the old, happy days,
+when they could afford to buy a paper, aye, and more than one paper
+daily, Bunting had often had to choke down his interest in some
+exciting "case" or "mystery" which was affording him pleasant mental
+relaxation, because any allusion to it sharply angered Ellen.
+
+But now he was at once too dull and too miserable to care how she
+felt.
+
+Walking away from the window he took a slow, uncertain step towards
+the door; when there he turned half round, and there came over his
+close-shaven, round face the rather sly, pleading look with which
+a child about to do something naughty glances at its parent.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting remained quite still; her thin, narrow shoulders
+just showed above the back of the chair on which she was sitting,
+bolt upright, staring before her as if into vacancy.
+
+Bunting turned round, opened the door, and quickly he went out into
+the dark hall--they had given up lighting the gas there some time
+ago--and opened the front door.
+
+Walking down the small flagged path outside, he flung open the iron
+gate which gave on to the damp pavement. But there he hesitated.
+The coppers in his pocket seemed to have shrunk in number, and he
+remembered ruefully how far Ellen could make even four pennies go.
+
+Then a boy ran up to him with a sheaf of evening papers, and Bunting,
+being sorely tempted--fell. "Give me a Sun," he said roughly, "Sun
+or Echo!"
+
+But the boy, scarcely stopping to take breath, shook his head. "Only
+penny papers left," he gasped. "What'll yer 'ave, sir?"
+
+With an eagerness which was mingled with shame, Bunting drew a penny
+out of his pocket and took a paper--it was the Evening Standard--
+from the boy's hand.
+
+Then, very slowly, he shut the gate and walked back through the raw,
+cold air, up the flagged path, shivering yet full of eager, joyful
+anticipation.
+
+Thanks to that penny he had just spent so recklessly he would pass
+a happy hour, taken, for once, out of his anxious, despondent,
+miserable self. It irritated him shrewdly to know that these moments
+of respite from carking care would not be shared with his poor wife,
+with careworn, troubled Ellen.
+
+A hot wave of unease, almost of remorse, swept over Bunting. Ellen
+would never have spent that penny on herself--he knew that well
+enough--and if it hadn't been so cold, so foggy, so--so drizzly,
+he would have gone out again through the gate and stood under the
+street lamp to take his pleasure. He dreaded with a nervous dread
+the glance of Ellen's cold, reproving light-blue eye. That glance
+would tell him that he had had no business to waste a penny on a
+paper, and that well he knew it!
+
+Suddenly the door in front of him opened, and he beard a familiar
+voice saying crossly, yet anxiously, "What on earth are you doing
+out there, Bunting? Come in--do! You'll catch your death of cold!
+I don't want to have you ill on my hands as well as everything else!"
+Mrs. Bunting rarely uttered so many words at once nowadays.
+
+He walked in through the front door of his cheerless house. "I
+went out to get a paper," he said sullenly.
+
+After all, he was master. He had as much right to spend the money
+as she had; for the matter of that the money on which they were now
+both living had been lent, nay, pressed on him--not on Ellen--by
+that decent young chap, Joe Chandler. And he, Bunting, had done
+all he could; he had pawned everything he could pawn, while Ellen,
+so he resentfully noticed, still wore her wedding ring.
+
+He stepped past her heavily, and though she said nothing, he knew
+she grudged him his coming joy. Then, full of rage with her and
+contempt for himself, and giving himself the luxury of a mild, a
+very mild, oath--Ellen had very early made it clear she would
+have no swearing in her presence--he lit the hall gas full-flare.
+
+"How can we hope to get lodgers if they can't even see the card?"
+he shouted angrily.
+
+And there was truth in what he said, for now that he had lit the
+gas, the oblong card, though not the word "Apartments" printed on
+it, could be plainly seen out-lined against the old-fashioned
+fanlight above the front door.
+
+Bunting went into the sitting-room, silently followed by his wife,
+and then, sitting down in his nice arm-chair, he poked the little
+banked-up fire. It was the first time Bunting had poked the fire
+for many a long day, and this exertion of marital authority made
+him feel better. A man has to assert himself sometimes, and he,
+Bunting, had not asserted himself enough lately.
+
+A little colour came into Mrs. Bunting's pale face. She was not
+used to be flouted in this way. For Bunting, when not thoroughly
+upset, was the mildest of men.
+
+She began moving about the room, flicking off an imperceptible
+touch of dust here, straightening a piece of furniture there.
+
+But her hands trembled--they trembled with excitement, with
+self-pity, with anger. A penny? It was dreadful--dreadful to
+have to worry about a penny! But they had come to the point when
+one has to worry about pennies. Strange that her husband didn't
+realise that.
+
+Bunting looked round once or twice; he would have liked to ask Ellen
+to leave off fidgeting, but he was fond of peace, and perhaps, by
+now, a little bit ashamed of himself, so he refrained from remark,
+and she soon gave over what irritated him of her own accord.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting did not come and sit down as her husband would have
+liked her to do. The sight of him, absorbed in his paper as he was,
+irritated her, and made her long to get away from him. Opening the
+door which separated the sitting-room from the bedroom behind, and
+--shutting out the aggravating vision of Bunting sitting comfortably
+by the now brightly burning fire, with the Evening Standard spread
+out before him--she sat down in the cold darkness, and pressed her
+hands against her temples.
+
+Never, never had she felt so hopeless, so--so broken as now. Where
+was the good of having been an upright, conscientious, self-respecting
+woman all her life long, if it only led to this utter, degrading
+poverty and wretchedness? She and Bunting were just past the age
+which gentlefolk think proper in a married couple seeking to enter
+service together, unless, that is, the wife happens to be a professed
+cook. A cook and a butler can always get a nice situation. But Mrs.
+Bunting was no cook. She could do all right the simple things any
+lodger she might get would require, but that was all.
+
+Lodgers? How foolish she had been to think of taking lodgers! For
+it had been her doing. Bunting had been like butter in her hands.
+
+Yet they had begun well, with a lodging-house in a seaside place.
+There they had prospered, not as they had hoped to do, but still
+pretty well; and then had come an epidemic of scarlet fever, and
+that had meant ruin for them, and for dozens, nay, hundreds, of
+other luckless people. Then had followed a business experiment
+which had proved even more disastrous, and which had left them in
+debt--in debt to an extent they could never hope to repay, to a
+good-natured former employer.
+
+After that, instead of going back to service, as they might have
+done, perhaps, either together or separately, they had made up
+their minds to make one last effort, and they had taken over, with
+the trifle of money that remained to them, the lease of this house
+in the Marylebone Road.
+
+In former days, when they had each been leading the sheltered,
+impersonal, and, above all, financially easy existence which is
+the compensation life offers to those men and women who deliberately
+take upon themselves the yoke of domestic service, they had both
+lived in houses overlooking Regent's Park. It had seemed a wise
+plan to settle in the same neighbourhood, the more so that Bunting,
+who had a good appearance, had retained the kind of connection
+which enables a man to get a job now and again as waiter at private
+parties.
+
+But life moves quickly, jaggedly, for people like the Buntings.
+Two of his former masters had moved to another part of London, and
+a caterer in Baker Street whom he had known went bankrupt.
+
+And now? Well, just now Bunting could not have taken a job had
+one been offered him, for he had pawned his dress clothes. He had
+not asked his wife's permission to do this, as so good a husband
+ought to have done. He had just gone out and done it. And she had
+not had the heart to say anything; nay, it was with part of the
+money that he had handed her silently the evening he did it that
+she had bought that last packet of tobacco.
+
+And then, as Mrs. Bunting sat there thinking these painful thoughts,
+there suddenly came to the front door the sound of a loud, tremulous,
+uncertain double knock.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Mr. Bunting jumped nervously to her feet. She stood for a moment
+listening in the darkness, a darkness made the blacker by the line
+of light under the door behind which sat Bunting reading his paper.
+
+And then it came again, that loud, tremulous, uncertain double
+knock; not a knock, so the listener told herself, that boded any
+good. Would-be lodgers gave sharp, quick, bold, confident raps.
+No; this must be some kind of beggar. The queerest people came at
+all hours, and asked--whining or threatening--for money.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had had some sinister experiences with men and women
+--especially women--drawn from that nameless, mysterious class
+made up of the human flotsam and jetsam which drifts about every
+great city. But since she had taken to leaving the gas in the
+passage unlit at night she had been very little troubled with that
+kind of visitors, those human bats which are attracted by any kind
+of light but leave alone those who live in darkness.
+
+She opened the door of the sitting-room. It was Bunting's place
+to go to the front door, but she knew far better than he did how
+to deal with difficult or obtrusive callers. Still, somehow, she
+would have liked him to go to-night. But Bunting sat on, absorbed
+in his newspaper; all he did at the sound of the bedroom door
+opening was to look up and say, "Didn't you hear a knock?"
+
+Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
+
+Slowly she opened the front door.
+
+On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stood
+the long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an
+old-fashioned top hat. He waited for a few seconds blinking at her,
+perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage. Mrs.
+Bunting's trained perception told her at once that this man, odd as
+he looked, was a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class with
+whom her former employment had brought her in contact.
+
+"Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?" he asked, and there was
+something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
+
+"Yes, sir," she said uncertainly--it was a long, long time since
+anyone had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they
+could think of taking into their respectable house.
+
+Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger
+walked past her, and so into the hall.
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held a
+narrow bag in his left hand. It was quite a new bag, made of strong
+brown leather.
+
+"I am looking for some quiet rooms," he said; then he repeated the
+words, "quiet rooms," in a dreamy, absent way, and as he uttered
+them he looked nervously round him.
+
+Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had been carefully
+furnished, and was very clean.
+
+There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the stranger's weary
+feet fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red drugget, which
+matched in colour the flock-paper on the walls.
+
+A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a superior
+lodging-house keeper.
+
+"You'd find my rooms quite quiet, sir," she said gently. "And just
+now I have four to let. The house is empty, save for my husband
+and me, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice. It seemed too
+good to be true, this sudden coming of a possible lodger, and of a
+lodger who spoke in the pleasant, courteous way and voice which
+recalled to the poor woman her happy, far-off days of youth and
+of security.
+
+"That sounds very suitable," he said. "Four rooms? Well, perhaps
+I ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should like to see
+all four before I make my choice."
+
+How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit the
+gas! But for that circumstance this gentleman would have passed
+them by.
+
+She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitation
+that the front door was still open; and it was the stranger whom
+she already in her mind described as "the lodger," who turned and
+rather quickly walked down the passage and shut it.
+
+"Oh, thank you, sir!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry you should have
+had the trouble."
+
+For a moment their eyes met. "It's not safe to leave a front door
+open in London," he said, rather sharply. "I hope you do not often
+do that. It would be so easy for anyone to slip in."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had still spoken
+courteously, but he was evidently very much put out.
+
+"I assure you, sir, I never leave my front door open," she answered
+hastily. "You needn't be at all afraid of that!"
+
+And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came the
+sound of Bunting coughing--it was just a little, hard cough, but
+Mrs. Bunting's future lodger started violently.
+
+"Who's that?" he said, putting out a hand and clutching her arm.
+"Whatever was that?"
+
+"Only my husband, sir. He went out to buy a paper a few minutes
+ago, and the cold just caught him, I suppose."
+
+"Your husband--?" he looked at her intently, suspiciously. "What
+--what, may I ask, is your husband's occupation?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting drew herself up. The question as to Bunting's
+occupation was no one's business but theirs. Still, it wouldn't do
+for her to show offence. "He goes out waiting," she said stiffly.
+"He was a gentleman's servant, sir. He could, of course, valet you
+should you require him to do so."
+
+And then she turned and led the way up the steep, narrow staircase.
+
+At the top of the first flight of stairs was what Mrs. Bunting, to
+herself, called the drawing-room floor. It consisted of a
+sitting-room in front, and a bedroom behind. She opened the door
+of the sitting-room and quickly lit the chandelier.
+
+This front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps a little
+over-encumbered with furniture. Covering the floor was a green
+carpet simulating moss; four chairs were placed round the table
+which occupied the exact middle of the apartment, and in the
+corner, opposite the door giving on to the landing, was a roomy,
+old-fashioned chiffonnier.
+
+On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight engravings, portraits
+of early Victorian belles, clad in lace and tarletan ball dresses,
+clipped from an old Book of Beauty. Mrs. Bunting was very fond of
+these pictures; she thought they gave the drawing-room a note of
+elegance and refinement.
+
+As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad, glad indeed, that
+she had summoned up sufficient energy, two days ago, to give the
+room a thorough turn-out.
+
+It had remained for a long time in the state in which it had been
+left by its last dishonest, dirty occupants when they had been
+scared into going away by Bunting's rough threats of the police.
+But now it was in apple-pie order, with one paramount exception,
+of which Mrs. Bunting was painfully aware. There were no white
+curtains to the windows, but that omission could soon be remedied
+if this gentleman really took the lodgings.
+
+But what was this--? The stranger was looking round him rather
+dubiously. "This is rather--rather too grand for me," he said at
+last "I should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er--"
+
+"--Bunting," she said softly. "Bunting, sir."
+
+And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again came down and
+settled on her sad, burdened heart. Perhaps she had been mistaken,
+after all--or rather, she had not been mistaken in one sense, but
+perhaps this gentleman was a poor gentleman--too poor, that is, to
+afford the rent of more than one room, say eight or ten shillings
+a week; eight or ten shillings a week would be very little use to
+her and Bunting, though better than nothing at all.
+
+"Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?"
+
+"No," he said, "no. I think I should like to see what you have
+farther up the house, Mrs.--," and then, as if making a prodigious
+mental effort, he brought out her name, "Bunting," with a kind of
+gasp.
+
+The two top rooms were, of course, immediately above the
+drawing-room floor. But they looked poor and mean, owing to the fact
+that they were bare of any kind of ornament. Very little trouble had
+been taken over their arrangement; in fact, they had been left in much
+the same condition as that in which the Buntings had found them.
+
+For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a nice, genteel
+sitting-room out of an apartment of which the principal features
+are a sink and a big gas stove. The gas stove, of an obsolete
+pattern, was fed by a tiresome, shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+It had been the property of the people from whom the Buntings had
+taken over the lease of the house, who, knowing it to be of no
+monetary value, had thrown it in among the humble fittings they
+had left behind.
+
+What furniture there was in the room was substantial and clean, as
+everything belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be, but it was a
+bare, uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady now felt sorry
+that she had done nothing to make it appear more attractive.
+
+To her surprise, however, her companion's dark, sensitive,
+hatchet-shaped face became irradiated with satisfaction. "Capital!
+Capital!" he exclaimed, for the first time putting down the bag he
+held at his feet, and rubbing his long, thin hands together with a
+quick, nervous movement.
+
+"This is just what I have been looking for." He walked with long,
+eager strides towards the gas stove. "First-rate--quite first-rate!
+Exactly what I wanted to find! You must understand, Mrs.--er--
+Bunting, that I am a man of science. I make, that is, all sorts of
+experiments, and I often require the--ah, well, the presence of
+great heat."
+
+He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a little, towards the
+stove. "This, too, will be useful--exceedingly useful, to me," and
+he touched the edge of the stone sink with a lingering, caressing
+touch.
+
+He threw his head back and passed his hand over his high, bare
+forehead; then, moving towards a chair, he sat down--wearily.
+"I'm tired," he muttered in a low voice, "tired--tired! I've been
+walking about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find nothing to sit
+down upon. They do not put benches for tired men in the London
+streets. They do so on the Continent. In some ways they are far
+more humane on the Continent than they are in England, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Indeed, sir," she said civilly; and then, after a nervous glance,
+she asked the question of which the answer would mean so much to her,
+"Then you mean to take my rooms, sir?"
+
+"This room, certainly," he said, looking round. "This room is
+exactly what I have been looking for, and longing for, the last
+few days;" and then hastily he added, "I mean this kind of place
+is what I have always wanted to possess, Mrs. Bunting. You would
+be surprised if you knew how difficult it is to get anything of
+the sort. But now my weary search has ended, and that is a relief
+--a very, very great relief to me!"
+
+He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy, abstracted air. And
+then, "Where's my bag?" he asked suddenly, and there came a note of
+sharp, angry fear in his voice. He glared at the quiet woman
+standing before him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting felt a tremor of
+fright shoot through her. It seemed a pity that Bunting was so far
+away, right down the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has always been a
+perquisite, as it were the special luxury, of the well-born and of
+the well-educated. Scholars, as she well knew, are never quite like
+other people, and her new lodger was undoubtedly a scholar. "Surely
+I had a bag when I came in?" he said in a scared, troubled voice.
+
+"Here it is, sir," she said soothingly, and, stooping, picked it
+up and handed it to him. And as she did so she noticed that the
+bag was not at all heavy; it was evidently by no means full.
+
+He took it eagerly from her. "I beg your pardon," he muttered.
+"But there is something in that bag which is very precious to me
+--something I procured with infinite difficulty, and which I could
+never get again without running into great danger, Mrs. Bunting.
+That must be the excuse for my late agitation."
+
+"About terms, sir?" she said a little timidly, returning to the
+subject which meant so much, so very much to her.
+
+"About terms?" he echoed. And then there came a pause. "My name
+is Sleuth," he said suddenly,--"S-l-e-u-t-h. Think of a hound,
+Mrs. Bunting, and you'll never forget my name. I could provide you
+with a reference--" (he gave her what she described to herself as
+a funny, sideways look), "but I should prefer you to dispense with
+that, if you don't mind. I am quite willing to pay you--well, shall
+we say a month in advance?"
+
+A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting's cheeks. She felt sick with
+relief--nay, with a joy which was almost pain. She had not known
+till that moment how hungry she was--how eager for--a good meal.
+"That would be all right, sir," she murmured.
+
+"And what are you going to charge me?" There had come a kindly,
+almost a friendly note into his voice. "With attendance, mind! I
+shall expect you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask if
+you can cook, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir," she said. "I am a plain cook. What would you say
+to twenty-five shillings a week, sir?" She looked at him
+deprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on falteringly,
+"You see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would have the best
+of attendance and careful cooking--and my husband, sir--he would
+be pleased to valet you."
+
+"I shouldn't want anything of that sort done for me," said Mr.
+Sleuth hastily. "I prefer looking after my own clothes. I am used
+to waiting on myself. But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike to
+sharing lodgings--"
+
+She interrupted eagerly, "I could let you have the use of the two
+floors for the same price--that is, until we get another lodger.
+I shouldn't like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir. It's
+such a poor little room. You could do as you say, sir--do your work
+and your experiments up here, and then have your meals in the
+drawing-room."
+
+"Yes," he said hesitatingly, "that sounds a good plan. And if I
+offered you two pounds, or two guineas? Might I then rely on your
+not taking another lodger?"
+
+"Yes," she said quietly. "I'd be very glad only to have you to
+wait on, sir."
+
+"I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting?
+I don't like to be disturbed while I'm working."
+
+He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, "I suppose
+you have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir, there's a key--a very nice little key. The people
+who lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door."
+She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a round
+disk had been fitted above the old keyhole.
+
+He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if
+absorbed in thought, "Forty-two shillings a week? Yes, that will
+suit me perfectly. And I'll begin now by paying my first month's
+rent in advance. Now, four times forty-two shillings is"--he
+jerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for the first
+time he smiled, a queer, wry smile--"why, just eight pounds eight
+shillings, Mrs. Bunting!"
+
+He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his long
+cape-like coat and took out a handful of sovereigns. Then he began
+putting these down in a row on the bare wooden table which stood in
+the centre of the room. "Here's five--six--seven--eight--nine
+--ten pounds. You'd better keep the odd change, Mrs. Bunting,
+for I shall want you to do some shopping for me to-morrow morning.
+I met with a misfortune to-day." But the new lodger did not speak
+as if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on his spirits.
+
+"Indeed, sir. I'm sorry to hear that." Mrs. Bunting's heart was
+going thump--thump--thump. She felt extraordinarily moved, dizzy
+with relief and joy.
+
+"Yes, a very great misfortune! I lost my luggage, the few things
+I managed to bring away with me." His voice dropped suddenly. "I
+shouldn't have said that," he muttered. "I was a fool to say that!"
+Then, more loudly, "Someone said to me, 'You can't go into a
+lodging-house without any luggage. They wouldn't take you in.' But
+you have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I'm grateful for--for the
+kind way you have met me--" He looked at her feelingly, appealingly,
+and Mrs. Bunting was touched. She was beginning to feel very kindly
+towards her new lodger.
+
+"I hope I know a gentleman when I see one," she said, with a break
+in her staid voice.
+
+"I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs. Bunting."
+Again he looked at her appealingly.
+
+"I expect you'd like to wash your hands now, sir. And would you tell
+me what you'd like for supper? We haven't much in the house."
+
+"Oh, anything'll do," he said hastily. "I don't want you to go out
+for me. It's a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting. If you have a
+little bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite satisfied."
+
+"I have a nice sausage," she said hesitatingly.
+
+It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morning
+for Bunting's supper; as to herself, she had been going to content
+herself with a little bread and cheese. But now--wonderful, almost,
+intoxicating thought--she could send Bunting out to get anything
+they both liked. The ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfort
+and good cheer.
+
+"A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never touch flesh
+meat," he said; "it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage,
+Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Is it indeed, sir?" She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly,
+"And will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?"
+
+A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth's
+pale face.
+
+"Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting.
+I had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer--"
+
+"So I am, sir, lifelong. And so's Bunting been since we married."
+She might have said, had she been a woman given to make such
+confidences, that she had made Bunting abstain very early in their
+acquaintance. That he had given in about that had been the thing
+that first made her believe, that he was sincere in all the nonsense
+that he talked to her, in those far-away days of his courting. Glad
+she was now that he had taken the pledge as a younger man; but for
+that nothing would have kept him from the drink during the bad times
+they had gone through.
+
+And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth the nice bedroom
+which opened out of the drawing-room. It was a replica of Mrs.
+Bunting's own room just underneath, excepting that everything up
+here had cost just a little more, and was therefore rather better
+in quality.
+
+The new lodger looked round him with such a strange expression of
+content and peace stealing over his worn face. "A haven of rest,"
+he muttered; and then, "'He bringeth them to their desired haven.'
+Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled. It was the first time anyone
+had quoted the Bible to her for many a long day. But it seemed to
+set the seal, as it were, on Mr. Sleuth's respectability.
+
+What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal with only one
+lodger, and that a gentleman, instead of with a married couple!
+Very peculiar married couples had drifted in and out of Mr. and
+Mrs. Bunting's lodgings, not only here, in London, but at the
+seaside.
+
+How unlucky they had been, to be sure! Since they had come to
+London not a single pair of lodgers had been even moderately
+respectable and kindly. The last lot had belonged to that horrible
+underworld of men and women who, having, as the phrase goes, seen
+better days, now only keep their heads above water with the help of
+petty fraud.
+
+"I'll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir, and some clean
+towels," she said, going to the door.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round. "Mrs. Bunting"--and as
+he spoke he stammered a little--"I--I don't want you to interpret
+the word attendance too liberally. You need not run yourself off
+your feet for me. I'm accustomed to look after myself."
+
+And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself dismissed--even a
+little snubbed. "All right, sir," she said. "I'll only just let
+you know when I've your supper ready."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+But what was a little snub compared with the intense relief and joy
+of going down and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortune
+which had fallen their way?
+
+Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down the steep stairs.
+In the hall, however, she pulled herself together, and tried to still
+her agitation. She had always disliked and despised any show of
+emotion; she called such betrayal of feeling "making a fuss."
+
+Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood for a moment
+looking at her husband's bent back, and she realised, with a pang
+of pain, how the last few weeks had aged him.
+
+Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife, stood up. He
+put the paper he had been holding down on to the table: "Well," he
+said, "well, who was it, then?"
+
+He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who ought to have
+answered the door and done all that parleying of which he had heard
+murmurs.
+
+And then in a moment his wife's hand shot out, and the ten sovereigns
+fell in a little clinking heap on the table.
+
+"Look there!" she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in her
+voice. "Look there, Bunting!"
+
+And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.
+
+He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusion
+that his wife had just had in a furniture dealer, and that this
+ten pounds represented all their nice furniture upstairs. If that
+were so, then it was the beginning of the end. That furniture in
+the first-floor front had cost--Ellen had reminded him of the fact
+bitterly only yesterday--seventeen pounds nine shillings, and
+every single item had been a bargain. It was too bad that she had
+only got ten pounds for it.
+
+Yet he hadn't the heart to reproach her.
+
+He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting that
+troubled, rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thought
+had happened.
+
+"We've a new lodger!" she cried. "And--and, Bunting? He's quite
+the gentleman! He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, at
+two guineas a week."
+
+"No, never!"
+
+Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there,
+fascinated by the little heap of gold. "But there's ten sovereigns
+here," he said suddenly.
+
+"Yes, the gentleman said I'd have to buy some things for him
+to-morrow. And, oh, Bunting, he's so well spoken, I really felt
+that--I really felt that--" and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a step
+or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron over
+her face burst into gasping sobs.
+
+Bunting patted her back timidly. "Ellen?" he said, much moved by her
+agitation, "Ellen? Don't take on so, my dear--"
+
+"I won't," she sobbed, "I--I won't! I'm a fool--I know I am!
+But, oh, I didn't think we was ever going to have any luck again!"
+
+And then she told him--or rather tried to tell him--what the
+lodger was like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing
+she did impress on her husband's mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was
+eccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric--that is, in a
+harmless way--and that he must be humoured.
+
+"He says he doesn't want to be waited on much," she said at last
+wiping her eyes, "but I can see he will want a good bit of looking
+after, all the same, poor gentleman."
+
+And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound
+of a loud ring. It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled
+again and again.
+
+Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. "I think I'd better go up, eh,
+Ellen?" he said. He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger.
+For the matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something
+again.
+
+"Yes," she answered, "you go up! Don't keep him waiting! I wonder
+what it is he wants? I said I'd let him know when his supper was
+ready."
+
+A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an odd smile on
+his face. "Whatever d'you think he wanted?" he whispered
+mysteriously. And as she said nothing, he went on, "He's asked me
+for the loan of a Bible!"
+
+"Well, I don't see anything so out of the way in that," she said
+hastily, "'specially if he don't feel well. I'll take it up to him."
+
+And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows,
+Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her
+as a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she had
+lived for several years.
+
+"He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper," said
+Bunting; and, then, "Ellen? He's a queer-looking cove--not like
+any gentleman I ever had to do with."
+
+"He is a gentleman," said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.
+
+"Oh, yes, that's all right." But still he looked at her doubtfully.
+"I asked him if he'd like me to just put away his clothes. But,
+Ellen, he said he hadn't got any clothes!"
+
+"No more he hasn't;" she spoke quickly, defensively. "He had the
+misfortune to lose his luggage. He's one dishonest folk 'ud take
+advantage of."
+
+"Yes, one can see that with half an eye," Bunting agreed.
+
+And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Bunting
+put down on a little bit of paper the things she wanted her husband
+to go out and buy for her. She handed him the list, together with
+a sovereign. "Be as quick as you can," she said, "for I feel a bit
+hungry. I'll be going down now to see about Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+He only wants a glass of milk and two eggs. I'm glad I've never
+fallen to bad eggs!"
+
+"Sleuth," echoed Bunting, staring at her. "What a queer name!
+How d'you spell it--S-l-u-t-h?"
+
+"No," she shot out, "S-l-e--u--t--h."
+
+"Oh," he said doubtfully.
+
+"He said, 'Think of a hound and you'll never forget my name,'"
+and Mrs. Bunting smiled.
+
+When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: "We'll now be able
+to pay young Chandler back some o' that thirty shillings. I am
+glad." She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.
+
+And then each went about his and her business--Bunting out into
+the drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.
+
+The lodger's tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and
+daintily arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.
+
+Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly
+remembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible. Putting the tray down
+in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book;
+but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it
+was worth while to make two journeys. But, no, she thought she
+could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and
+taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.
+
+But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped
+the tray. She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy
+thud to the ground.
+
+The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the
+early Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud,
+with their faces to the wall!
+
+For a moment she was really too surprised to speak. Putting the
+tray down on the table, she stooped and picked up the Book. It
+troubled her that the Book should have fallen to the ground; but
+really she hadn't been able to help it--it was mercy that the
+tray hadn't fallen, too.
+
+Mr. Sleuth got up. "I--I have taken the liberty to arrange the
+room as I should wish it to be," he said awkwardly. "You see,
+Mrs.--er--Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these women's eyes
+followed me about. It was a most unpleasant sensation, and gave
+me quite an eerie feeling."
+
+The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of the
+table. She made no answer to her lodger's remark, for the good
+reason that she did not know what to say.
+
+Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After what seemed a
+long pause, he spoke again.
+
+"I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting," he spoke with some agitation.
+"As a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls about
+me for a long time." And then, at last his landlady answered him,
+in a composed, soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear.
+"I quite understand, sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall take
+the pictures all down. We have plenty of space in our own rooms
+for them."
+
+"Thank you--thank you very much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.
+
+"And I have brought you up my Bible, sir. I understood you wanted
+the loan of it?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing
+himself, he said, "Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book.
+There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of
+body too--"
+
+"Very true, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what really
+looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut
+the door.
+
+She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for
+Bunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as she
+did so there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident of
+her long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, had
+maided a dear old lady.
+
+The old lady had a favourite nephew--a bright, jolly young gentleman,
+who was learning to paint animals in Paris. And one morning Mr.
+Algernon--that was his rather peculiar Christian name--had had the
+impudence to turn to the wall six beautiful engravings of paintings
+done by the famous Mr. Landseer!
+
+Mrs. Bunting remembered all the circumstances as if they had only
+occurred yesterday, and yet she had not thought of them for years.
+
+It was quite early; she had come down--for in those days maids
+weren't thought so much of as they are now, and she slept with the
+upper housemaid, and it was the upper housemaid's duty to be down
+very early--and, there, in the dining-room, she had found Mr.
+Algernon engaged in turning each engraving to the wall! Now, his
+aunt thought all the world of those pictures, and Ellen had felt
+quite concerned, for it doesn't do for a young gentleman to put
+himself wrong with a kind aunt.
+
+"Oh, sir," she had exclaimed in dismay, "whatever are you doing?"
+And even now she could almost hear his merry voice, as he had
+answered, "I am doing my duty, fair Helen"--he had always called
+her "fair Helen" when no one was listening. "How can I draw ordinary
+animals when I see these half-human monsters staring at me all the
+time I am having my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner?" That was
+what Mr. Algernon had said in his own saucy way, and that was what
+he repeated in a more serious, respectful manner to his aunt, when
+that dear old lady had come downstairs. In fact he had declared,
+quite soberly, that the beautiful animals painted by Mr. Landseer
+put his eye out!
+
+But his aunt had been very much annoyed--in fact, she had made him
+turn the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there he
+just had to put up with what he called "those half-human monsters."
+Mrs. Bunting, sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth's
+odd behaviour over, was glad to recall that funny incident of her
+long-gone youth. It seemed to prove that her new lodger was not so
+strange as he appeared to be. Still, when Bunting came in, she did
+not tell him the queer thing which had happened. She told herself
+that she would be quite able to manage the taking down of the
+pictures in the drawing-room herself.
+
+But before getting ready their own supper, Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+went upstairs to clear away, and when on the staircase she heard the
+sound of--was it talking, in the drawing-room? Startled, she
+waited a moment on the landing outside the drawing-room door, then
+she realised that it was only the lodger reading aloud to himself.
+There was something very awful in the words which rose and fell on
+her listening ears:
+
+"A strange woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth in wait as for
+a prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men."
+
+She remained where she was, her hand on the handle of the door,
+and again there broke on her shrinking ears that curious, high,
+sing-song voice, "Her house is the way to hell, going down to
+the chambers of death."
+
+It made the listener feel quite queer. But at last she summoned up
+courage, knocked, and walked in.
+
+"I'd better clear away, sir, had I not?" she said. And Mr. Sleuth
+nodded.
+
+Then he got up and closed the Book. "I think I'll go to bed now,"
+he said. "I am very, very tired. I've had a long and a very
+weary day, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+After he had disappeared into the back room, Mrs. Bunting climbed
+up on a chair and unhooked the pictures which had so offended Mr.
+Sleuth. Each left an unsightly mark on the wall--but that, after
+all, could not be helped.
+
+Treading softly, so that Bunting should not hear her, she carried
+them down, two by two, and stood them behind her bed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Mrs. Bunting woke up the next morning feeling happier than she had
+felt for a very, very long time.
+
+For just one moment she could not think why she felt so different
+--and then she suddenly remembered.
+
+How comfortable it was to know that upstairs, just over her head,
+lay, in the well-found bed she had bought with such satisfaction at
+an auction held in a Baker Street house, a lodger who was paying two
+guineas a week! Something seemed to tell her that Mr. Sleuth would
+be "a permanency." In any case, it wouldn't be her fault if he
+wasn't. As to his--his queerness, well, there's always something
+funny in everybody. But after she had got up, and as the morning
+wore itself away, Mrs. Bunting grew a little anxious, for there
+came no sound at all from the new lodger's rooms. At twelve,
+however, the drawing-room bell rang. Mrs. Bunting hurried upstairs.
+She was painfully anxious to please and satisfy Mr. Sleuth. His
+coming had only been in the nick of time to save them from terrible
+disaster.
+
+She found her lodger up, and fully dressed. He was sitting at the
+round table which occupied the middle of the sitting-room, and his
+landlady's large Bible lay open before him.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting came in, he looked up, and she was troubled to see
+how tired and worn he seemed.
+
+"You did not happen," he asked, "to have a Concordance, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She shook her head; she had no idea what a Concordance could be,
+but she was quite sure that she had nothing of the sort about.
+
+And then her new lodger proceeded to tell her what it was he
+desired her to buy for him. She had supposed the bag he had
+brought with him to contain certain little necessaries of
+civilised life--such articles, for instance, as a comb and brush,
+a set of razors, a toothbrush, to say nothing of a couple of
+nightshirts--but no, that was evidently not so, for Mr. Sleuth
+required all these things to be bought now.
+
+After having cooked him a nice breakfast Mrs. Bunting hurried
+out to purchase the things of which he was in urgent need.
+
+How pleasant it was to feel that there was money in her purse
+again--not only someone else's money, but money she was now in
+the very act of earning so agreeably.
+
+Mrs. Bunting first made her way to a little barber's shop close by.
+It was there she purchased the brush and comb and the razors. It
+was a funny, rather smelly little place, and she hurried as much as
+she could, the more so that the foreigner who served her insisted
+on telling her some of the strange, peculiar details of this
+Avenger murder which had taken place forty-eight hours before, and
+in which Bunting took such a morbid interest.
+
+The conversation upset Mrs. Bunting. She didn't want to think of
+anything painful or disagreeable on such a day as this.
+
+Then she came back and showed the lodger her various purchases. Mr.
+Sleuth was pleased with everything, and thanked her most courteously.
+But when she suggested doing his bedroom he frowned, and looked
+quite put out.
+
+"Please wait till this evening," he said hastily. "It is my custom
+to stay at home all day. I only care to walk about the streets when
+the lights are lit. You must bear with me, Mrs. Bunting, if I seem
+a little, just a little, unlike the lodgers you have been accustomed
+to. And I must ask you to understand that I must not be disturbed
+when thinking out my problems--" He broke off short, sighed, then
+added solemnly, "for mine are the great problems of life and death."
+
+And Mrs. Bunting willingly fell in with his wishes. In spite of her
+prim manner and love of order, Mr. Sleuth's landlady was a true woman
+--she had, that is, an infinite patience with masculine vagaries
+and oddities.
+
+
+When she was downstairs again, Mr. Sleuth's landlady met with a
+surprise; but it was quite a pleasant surprise. While she had
+been upstairs, talking to the lodger, Bunting's young friend, Joe
+Chandler, the detective, had come in, and as she walked into the
+sitting-room she saw that her husband was pushing half a sovereign
+across the table towards Joe.
+
+Joe Chandler's fair, good-natured face was full of satisfaction:
+not at seeing his money again, mark you, but at the news Bunting
+had evidently been telling him--that news of the sudden wonderful
+change in their fortunes, the coming of an ideal lodger.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't want me to do his bedroom till he's gone out!"
+she exclaimed. And then she sat down for a bit of a rest.
+
+It was a comfort to know that the lodger was eating his good
+breakfast, and there was no need to think of him for the present.
+In a few minutes she would be going down to make her own and
+Bunting's dinner, and she told Joe Chandler that he might as well
+stop and have a bite with them.
+
+Her heart warmed to the young man, for Mrs. Bunting was in a mood
+which seldom surprised her--a mood to be pleased with anything
+and everything. Nay, more. When Bunting began to ask Joe Chandler
+about the last of those awful Avenger murders, she even listened
+with a certain languid interest to all he had to say.
+
+In the morning paper which Bunting had begun taking again that
+very day three columns were devoted to the extraordinary mystery
+which was now beginning to be the one topic of talk all over London,
+West and East, North and South. Bunting had read out little bits
+about it while they ate their breakfast, and in spite of herself
+Mrs. Bunting had felt thrilled and excited.
+
+"They do say," observed Bunting cautiously, "They do say, Joe, that
+the police have a clue they won't say nothing about?" He looked
+expectantly at his visitor. To Bunting the fact that Chandler was
+attached to the detective section of the Metropolitan Police
+invested the young man with a kind of sinister glory--especially
+just now, when these awful and mysterious crimes were amazing and
+terrifying the town.
+
+"Them who says that says wrong," answered Chandler slowly, and a
+look of unease, of resentment came over his fair, stolid face.
+"'Twould make a good bit of difference to me if the Yard had a clue."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting interposed. "Why that, Joe?" she said,
+smiling indulgently; the young man's keenness about his work pleased
+her. And in his slow, sure way Joe Chandler was very keen, and took
+his job very seriously. He put his whole heart and mind into it.
+
+"Well, 'tis this way," he explained. "From to-day I'm on this
+business myself. You see, Mrs. Bunting, the Yard's nettled--that's
+what it is, and we're all on our mettle--that we are. I was right
+down sorry for the poor chap who was on point duty in the street
+where the last one happened--"
+
+"No!" said Bunting incredulously. "You don't mean there was a
+policeman there, within a few yards?"
+
+That fact hadn't been recorded in his newspaper.
+
+Chandler nodded. "That's exactly what I do mean, Mr. Bunting! The
+man is near off his head, so I'm told. He did hear a yell, so he
+says, but he took no notice--there are a good few yells in that
+part o' London, as you can guess. People always quarrelling and
+rowing at one another in such low parts."
+
+"Have you seen the bits of grey paper on which the monster writes
+his name?" inquired Bunting eagerly.
+
+Public imagination had been much stirred by the account of those
+three-cornered pieces of grey paper, pinned to the victims' skirts,
+on which was roughly written in red ink and in printed characters
+the words "The Avenger."
+
+His round, fat face was full of questioning eagerness. He put his
+elbows on the table, and stared across expectantly at the young man.
+
+"Yes, I have," said Joe briefly.
+
+"A funny kind of visiting card, eh!" Bunting laughed; the notion
+struck him as downright comic.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting coloured. "It isn't a thing to make a joke about,"
+she said reprovingly.
+
+And Chandler backed her up. "No, indeed," he said feelingly. "I'll
+never forget what I've been made to see over this job. And as for
+that grey bit of paper, Mr. Bunting--or, rather, those grey bits of
+paper"--he corrected himself hastily--"you know they've three of
+them now at the Yard--well, they gives me the horrors!"
+
+And then he jumped up. "That reminds me that I oughtn't to be
+wasting my time in pleasant company--"
+
+"Won't you stay and have a bit of dinner?" said Mrs. Bunting
+solicitously.
+
+But the detective shook his head. "No," he said, "I had a bite
+before I came out. Our job's a queer kind of job, as you know. A
+lot's left to our discretion, so to speak, but it don't leave us
+much time for lazing about, I can tell you."
+
+When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate
+carelessness he inquired, "Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London
+again soon?"
+
+Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened. He was very, very
+fond of his only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom. "No,"
+he said, "I'm afraid not Joe. Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady,
+keeps Daisy pretty tightly tied to her apron-string. She was quite
+put about that week the child was up with us last June."
+
+"Indeed? Well, so long!"
+
+After his wife had let their friend out, Bunting said cheerfully,
+"Joe seems to like our Daisy, eh, Ellen?"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head scornfully. She did not exactly
+dislike the girl, though she did not hold with the way Bunting's
+daughter was being managed by that old aunt of hers--an idle,
+good-for-nothing way, very different from the fashion in which
+she herself had been trained at the Foundling, for Mrs. Bunting
+as a little child had known no other home, no other family than
+those provided by good Captain Coram.
+
+"Joe Chandler's too sensible a young chap to be thinking of girls
+yet awhile," she said tartly.
+
+"No doubt you're right," Bunting agreed. "Times be changed. In my
+young days chaps always had time for that. 'Twas just a notion that
+came into my head, hearing him asking, anxious-like, after her."
+
+******
+
+About five o'clock, after the street lamps were well alight, Mr.
+Sleuth went out, and that same evening there came two parcels
+addressed to his landlady. These parcels contained clothes. But
+it was quite clear to Mrs. Bunting's eyes that they were not new
+clothes. In fact, they had evidently been bought in some good
+second-hand clothes-shop. A funny thing for a real gentleman like
+Mr. Sleuth to do! It proved that he had given up all hope of
+getting back his lost luggage.
+
+When the lodger had gone out he had not taken his bag with him, of
+that Mrs. Bunting was positive. And yet, though she searched high
+and low for it, she could not find the place where Mr. Sleuth kept
+it. And at last, had it not been that she was a very clear-headed
+woman, with a good memory, she would have been disposed to think
+that the bag had never existed, save in her imagination.
+
+But no, she could not tell herself that! She remembered exactly
+how it had looked when Mr. Sleuth had first stood, a strange,
+queer-looking figure of a man, on her doorstep.
+
+She further remembered how he had put the bag down on the floor of
+the top front room, and then, forgetting what he had done, how he
+had asked her eagerly, in a tone of angry fear, where the bag was
+--only to find it safely lodged at his feet!
+
+As time went on Mrs. Bunting thought a great deal about that bag,
+for, strange and amazing fact, she never saw Mr. Sleuth's bag again.
+But, of course, she soon formed a theory as to its whereabouts.
+The brown leather bag which had formed Mr. Sleuth's only luggage
+the afternoon of his arrival was almost certainly locked up in the
+lower part of the drawing-room chiffonnier. Mr. Sleuth evidently
+always carried the key of the little corner cupboard about his
+person; Mrs. Bunting had also had a good hunt for that key, but,
+as was the case with the bag, the key disappeared, and she never
+saw either the one or the other again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next few
+days. Already life was settling down into a groove. Waiting on
+Mr. Sleuth was just what Mrs. Bunting could manage to do easily,
+and without tiring herself.
+
+It had at once become clear that the lodger preferred to be waited
+on only by one person, and that person his landlady. He gave her
+very little trouble. Indeed, it did her good having to wait on the
+lodger; it even did her good that he was not like other gentlemen;
+for the fact occupied her mind, and in a way it amused her. The
+more so that whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of those
+tiresome, disagreeable ways with which landladies are only too
+familiar, and which seem peculiar only to those human beings who
+also happen to be lodgers. To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth did
+not ask to be called unduly early. Bunting and his Ellen had fallen
+into the way of lying rather late in the morning, and it was a great
+comfort not to have to turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea at
+seven, or even half-past seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything
+before eleven.
+
+But odd he certainly was.
+
+The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought in
+a book of which the queer name was Cruden's Concordance. That and
+the Bible--Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was a
+relation between the two books--seemed to be the lodger's only
+reading. He spent hours each day, generally after he had eaten
+the breakfast which also served for luncheon, poring over the Old
+Testament and over that strange kind of index to the Book.
+
+As for the delicate and yet the all-important question of money,
+Mr. Sleuth was everything--everything that the most exacting
+landlady could have wished. Never had there been a more confiding
+or trusting gentleman. On the very first day he had been with them
+he had allowed his money--the considerable sum of one hundred and
+eighty-four sovereigns--to lie about wrapped up in little pieces
+of rather dirty newspaper on his dressing-table. That had quite
+upset Mrs. Bunting. She had allowed herself respectfully to point
+out to him that what he was doing was foolish, indeed wrong. But
+as only answer he had laughed, and she had been startled when the
+loud, unusual and discordant sound had issued from his thin lips.
+
+"I know those I can trust," he had answered, stuttering rather, as
+was his way when moved. "And--and I assure you, Mrs. Bunting, that
+I hardly have to speak to a human being--especially to a woman"
+(and he had drawn in his breath with a hissing sound) "before I
+know exactly what manner of person is before me."
+
+It hadn't taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodger
+had a queer kind of fear and dislike of women. When she was doing
+the staircase and landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth reading
+aloud to himself passages in the Bible that were very uncomplimentary
+to her sex. But Mrs. Bunting had no very great opinion of her sister
+woman, so that didn't put her out. Besides, where one's lodger is
+concerned, a dislike of women is better than--well, than the other
+thing.
+
+In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about the
+lodger's funny ways? Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric. If he
+hadn't been, as Bunting funnily styled it, "just a leetle touched
+upstairs," he wouldn't be here, living this strange, solitary life
+in lodgings. He would be living in quite a different sort of way
+with some of his relatives, or with a friend of his own class.
+
+There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back--as even the
+least imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of our
+own past lives which becomes for any reason poignantly memorable
+--wondered how soon it was that she had discovered that her
+lodger was given to creeping out of the house at a time when
+almost all living things prefer to sleep.
+
+She brought herself to believe--but I am inclined to doubt whether
+she was right in so believing--that the first time she became aware
+of this strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth's happened to be
+during the night which preceded the day on which she had observed a
+very curious circumstance. This very curious circumstance was the
+complete disappearance of one of Mr. Sleuth's three suits of clothes.
+
+It always passes my comprehension how people can remember, over any
+length of time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that is
+natural enough, but the day, the hour, the minute when these
+happenings took place! Much as she thought about it afterwards,
+even Mrs. Bunting never quite made up her mind whether it was during
+the fifth or the sixth night of Mr. Sleuth's stay under her roof
+that she became aware that he had gone out at two in the morning and
+had only come in at five.
+
+But that there did come such a night is certain--as certain as is
+the fact that her discovery coincided with various occurrences
+which were destined to remain retrospectively memorable.
+
+******
+
+It was intensely dark, intensely quiet--the darkest quietest hour
+of the night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep,
+dreamless sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. She
+knew at once what those sounds were. They were those made by Mr.
+Sleuth, first coming down the stairs, and walking on tiptoe--she
+was sure it was on tiptoe--past her door, and finally softly
+shutting the front door behind him.
+
+Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go to
+sleep again. There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Bunting
+should waken up too, till she heard Mr. Sleuth, three hours later,
+creep back into the house and so up to bed.
+
+Then, and not till then, she slept again. But in the morning she
+felt very tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad when
+Bunting good-naturedly suggested that he should go out and do their
+little bit of marketing.
+
+The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter of
+catering it was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth,
+and that though he always tried to appear pleased. This perfect
+lodger had one serious fault from the point of view of those who
+keep lodgings. Strange to say, he was a vegetarian. He would not
+eat meat in any form. He sometimes, however, condescended to a
+chicken, and when he did so condescend he generously intimated that
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were welcome to a share in it.
+
+Now to-day--this day of which the happenings were to linger in Mrs.
+Bunting's mind so very long, and to remain so very vivid, it had
+been arranged that Mr. Sleuth was to have some fish for his lunch,
+while what he left was to be "done up" to serve for his simple supper.
+
+Knowing that Bunting would be out for at least an hour, for he was
+a gregarious soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops he
+frequented, Mrs. Bunting rose and dressed in a leisurely manner;
+then she went and "did" her front sitting-room.
+
+She felt languid and dull, as one is apt to feel after a broken
+night, and it was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was not
+likely to ring before twelve.
+
+But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through the
+quiet house. She knew it for the front door bell.
+
+Mrs. Bunting frowned. No doubt the ring betokened one of those
+tiresome people who come round for old bottles and such-like
+fal-lals.
+
+She went slowly, reluctantly to the door. And then her face cleared,
+for it was that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waiting
+outside.
+
+He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quickly
+through the moist, foggy air.
+
+"Why, Joe?" said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly. "Come in--do! Bunting's
+out, but he won't be very long now. You've been quite a stranger
+these last few days."
+
+"Well, you know why, Mrs. Bunting--"
+
+She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he could mean. Then,
+suddenly she remembered. Why, of course, Joe was on a big job just
+now--the job of trying to catch The Avenger! Her husband had
+alluded to the fact again and again when reading out to her little
+bits from the halfpenny evening paper he was taking again.
+
+She led the way to the sitting-room. It was a good thing Bunting
+had insisted on lighting the fire before he went out, for now the
+room was nice and warm--and it was just horrible outside. She had
+felt a chill go right through her as she had stood, even for that
+second, at the front door.
+
+And she hadn't been alone to feel it, for, "I say, it is jolly to
+be in here, out of that awful cold!" exclaimed Chandler, sitting
+down heavily in Bunting's easy chair.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting bethought herself that the young man was tired,
+as well as cold. He was pale, almost pallid under his usual healthy,
+tanned complexion--the complexion of the man who lives much out of
+doors.
+
+"Wouldn't you like me just to make you a cup of tea?" she said
+solicitously.
+
+"Well, to tell truth, I should be right down thankful for one, Mrs.
+Bunting!" Then he looked round, and again he said her name, "Mrs.
+Bunting--?"
+
+He spoke in so odd, so thick a tone that she turned quickly. "Yes,
+what is it, Joe?" she asked. And then, in sudden terror, "You've
+never come to tell me that anything's happened to Bunting? He's
+not had an accident?"
+
+"Goodness, no! Whatever made you think that? But--but, Mrs.
+Bunting, there's been another of them!"
+
+His voice dropped almost to a whisper. He was staring at her with
+unhappy, it seemed to her terror-filled, eyes.
+
+"Another of them?" She looked at him, bewildered--at a loss.
+And then what he meant flashed across her--"another of them"
+meant another of these strange, mysterious, awful murders.
+
+But her relief for the moment was so great--for she really had
+thought for a second that he had come to give her ill news of
+Bunting--that the feeling that she did experience on hearing
+this piece of news was actually pleasurable, though she would
+have been much shocked had that fact been brought to her notice.
+
+Almost in spite of herself, Mrs. Bunting had become keenly interested
+in the amazing series of crimes which was occupying the imagination
+of the whole of London's nether-world. Even her refined mind had
+busied itself for the last two or three days with the strange problem
+so frequently presented to it by Bunting--for Bunting, now that they
+were no longer worried, took an open, unashamed, intense interest in
+"The Avenger" and his doings.
+
+She took the kettle off the gas-ring. "It's a pity Bunting isn't
+here," she said, drawing in her breath. "He'd a-liked so much to
+hear you tell all about it, Joe."
+
+As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
+
+But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him. "Why,
+you do look bad!" she exclaimed.
+
+And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad--very bad indeed.
+
+"I can't help it," he said, with a kind of gasp. "It was your
+saying that about my telling you all about it that made me turn
+queer. You see, this time I was one of the first there, and it
+fairly turned me sick--that it did. Oh, it was too awful, Mrs.
+Bunting! Don't talk of it."
+
+He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
+
+She looked at him with sympathetic interest. "Why, Joe," she said,
+"I never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see,
+that anything could upset you like that."
+
+"This isn't like anything there's ever been before," he said. "And
+then--then--oh, Mrs. Bunting, 'twas I that discovered the piece of
+paper this time."
+
+"Then it is true," she cried eagerly. "It is The Avenger's bit of
+paper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in that
+practical joker."
+
+"I did," said Chandler reluctantly. "You see, there are some queer
+fellows even--even--" (he lowered his voice, and looked round him
+as if the walls had ears)--"even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, and
+these murders have fair got on our nerves."
+
+"No, never!" she said. "D'you think that a Bobby might do a thing
+like that?"
+
+He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn't worth answering.
+Then, "It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while
+the poor soul was still warm,"--he shuddered--"that brought me out
+West this morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince
+Albert Terrace, and I had to go and tell him all about it. They
+never offered me a bit or a sup--I think they might have done that,
+don't you, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Yes," she said absently. "Yes, I do think so."
+
+"But, there, I don't know that I ought to say that," went on Chandler.
+"He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like to
+me while I was telling him."
+
+"Have a bit of something now?" she said suddenly.
+
+"Oh, no, I couldn't eat anything," he said hastily. "I don't feel
+as if I could ever eat anything any more."
+
+"That'll only make you ill." Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly,
+for she was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a bite
+out of the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
+
+"I expect you're right," he said. "And I've a goodish heavy day
+in front of me. Been up since four, too--"
+
+"Four?" she said. "Was it then they found--" she hesitated a
+moment, and then said, "it?"
+
+He nodded. "It was just a chance I was near by. If I'd been half
+a minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have
+knocked up against that--that monster. But two or three people
+do think they saw him slinking away."
+
+"What was he like?" she asked curiously.
+
+"Well, that's hard to answer. You see, there was such an awful
+fog. But there's one thing they all agree about. He was carrying
+a bag--"
+
+"A bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice. "Whatever sort of
+bag might it have been, Joe?"
+
+There had come across her--just right in her middle, like--such a
+strange sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.
+
+She was at a loss to account for it.
+
+"Just a hand-bag," said Joe Chandler vaguely. "A woman I spoke to
+--cross-examining her, like--who was positive she had seen him,
+said, 'Just a tall, thin shadow--that's what he was, a tall, thin
+shadow of a man--with a bag.'"
+
+"With a bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently. "How very strange
+and peculiar--"
+
+"Why, no, not strange at all. He has to carry the thing he does
+the deed with in something, Mrs. Bunting. We've always wondered how
+he hid it. They generally throws the knife or fire-arms away, you
+know."
+
+"Do they, indeed?" Mrs. Bunting still spoke in that absent, wondering
+way. She was thinking that she really must try and see what the
+lodger had done with his bag. It was possible--in fact, when one
+came to think of it, it was very probable--that he had just lost
+it, being so forgetful a gentleman, on one of the days he had gone
+out, as she knew he was fond of doing, into the Regent's Park.
+
+"There'll be a description circulated in an hour or two," went on
+Chandler. "Perhaps that'll help catch him. There isn't a London
+man or woman, I don't suppose, who wouldn't give a good bit to lay
+that chap by the heels. Well, I suppose I must be going now."
+
+"Won't you wait a bit longer for Bunting?" she said hesitatingly.
+
+"No, I can't do that. But I'll come in, maybe, either this evening
+or to-morrow, and tell you any more that's happened. Thanks kindly
+for the tea. It's made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Well, you've had enough to unman you, Joe."
+
+"Aye, that I have," he said heavily.
+
+A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife had
+quite a little tiff--the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuth
+became their lodger.
+
+It fell out this way. When he heard who had been there, Bunting
+was angry that Mrs. Bunting hadn't got more details of the horrible
+occurrence which had taken place that morning, out of Chandler.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Ellen, that you can't even tell me where it
+happened?" he said indignantly. "I suppose you put Chandler off
+--that's what you did! Why, whatever did he come here for,
+excepting to tell us all about it?"
+
+"He came to have something to eat and drink," snapped out Mrs.
+Bunting. "That's what the poor lad came for, if you wants to know.
+He could hardly speak of it at all--he felt so bad. In fact, he
+didn't say a word about it until he'd come right into the room and
+sat down. He told me quite enough!"
+
+"Didn't he tell you if the piece of paper on which the murderer had
+written his name was square or three-cornered?" demanded Bunting.
+
+"No; he did not. And that isn't the sort of thing I should have
+cared to ask him."
+
+"The more fool you!" And then he stopped abruptly. The newsboys
+were coming down the Marylebone Road, shouting out the awful
+discovery which had been made that morning--that of The Avenger's
+fifth murder. Bunting went out to buy a paper, and his wife took
+the things he had brought in down to the kitchen.
+
+The noise the newspaper-sellers made outside had evidently wakened
+Mr. Sleuth, for his landlady hadn't been in the kitchen ten minutes
+before his bell rang.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell rang again.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's breakfast was quite ready, but for the first time since
+he had been her lodger Mrs. Bunting did not answer the summons at
+once. But when there came the second imperative tinkle--for
+electric bells had not been fitted into that old-fashioned house--
+she made up her mind to go upstairs.
+
+As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting,
+sitting comfortably in their parlour, heard his wife stepping heavily
+under the load of the well-laden tray.
+
+"Wait a minute!" he called out. "I'll help you, Ellen," and he came
+out and took the tray from her.
+
+She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-room
+floor landing.
+
+There she stopped him. "Here," she whispered quickly, "you give me
+that, Bunting. The lodger won't like your going in to him." And
+then, as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, she
+added in a rather acid tone, "You might open the door for me, at
+any rate! How can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray on
+my hands?"
+
+She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised--rather
+put out. Ellen wasn't exactly what you'd call a lively, jolly woman,
+but when things were going well--as now--she was generally equable
+enough. He supposed she was still resentful of the way he had
+spoken to her about young Chandler and the new Avenger murder.
+
+However, he was always for peace, so he opened the drawing-room door,
+and as soon as he had started going downstairs Mrs. Bunting walked
+into the room.
+
+And then at once there came over her the queerest feeling of relief,
+of lightness of heart.
+
+As usual, the lodger was sitting at his old place, reading the Bible.
+
+Somehow--she could not have told you why, she would not willingly
+have told herself--she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth looking
+different. But no, he appeared to be exactly the same--in fact,
+as he glanced up at her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted up
+his thin, pallid face.
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting," he said genially, "I overslept myself this
+morning, but I feel all the better for the rest."
+
+"I'm glad of that, sir," she answered, in a low voice. "One of the
+ladies I once lived with used to say, 'Rest is an old-fashioned
+remedy, but it's the best remedy of all.'"
+
+Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden's Concordance off
+the table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady
+laying the cloth.
+
+Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in the
+morning. "I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you
+outside the door just now?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Bunting helped me up with the tray."
+
+"I'm afraid I give you a good deal of trouble," he said hesitatingly.
+
+But she answered quickly, "Oh, no, sir! Not at all, sir! I was
+only saying yesterday that we've never had a lodger that gave us as
+little trouble as you do, sir."
+
+"I'm glad of that. I am aware that my habits are somewhat peculiar."
+
+He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of
+denial to this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and
+truthful woman. It never occurred to her to question his statement.
+Mr. Sleuth's habits were somewhat peculiar. Take that going out at
+night, or rather in the early morning, for instance? So she remained
+silent.
+
+After she had laid the lodger's breakfast on the table she prepared
+to leave the room. "I suppose I'm not to do your room till you goes
+out, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply. "No, no!" he said. "I never
+want my room done when I am engaged in studying the Scriptures, Mrs.
+Bunting. But I am not going out to-day. I shall be carrying out a
+somewhat elaborate experiment--upstairs. If I go out at all" he
+waited a moment, and again he looked at her fixedly "--I shall wait
+till night-time to do so." And then, coming back to the matter in
+hand, he added hastily, "Perhaps you could do my room when I go
+upstairs, about five o'clock--if that time is convenient to you,
+that is?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir! That'll do nicely!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she did so she took herself
+wordlessly, ruthlessly to task, but she did not face--even in her
+inmost heart--the strange tenors and tremors which had so shaken
+her. She only repeated to herself again and again, "I've got upset
+--that's what I've done," and then she spoke aloud, "I must get
+myself a dose at the chemist's next time I'm out. That's what I
+must do."
+
+And just as she murmured the word "do," there came a loud double
+knock on the front door.
+
+It was only the postman's knock, but the postman was an unfamiliar
+visitor in that house, and Mrs. Bunting started violently. She was
+nervous, that's what was the matter with her,--so she told herself
+angrily. No doubt this was a letter for Mr. Sleuth; the lodger must
+have relations and acquaintances somewhere in the world. All
+gentlefolk have. But when she picked the small envelope off the
+hall floor, she saw it was a letter from Daisy, her husband's daughter.
+
+"Bunting!" she called out sharply. "Here's a letter for you."
+
+She opened the door of their sitting-room and looked in. Yes, there
+was her husband, sitting back comfortably in his easy chair, reading
+a paper. And as she saw his broad, rather rounded back, Mrs. Bunting
+felt a sudden thrill of sharp irritation. There he was, doing
+nothing--in fact, doing worse than nothing--wasting his time
+reading all about those horrid crimes.
+
+She sighed--a long, unconscious sigh. Bunting was getting into
+idle ways, bad ways for a man of his years. But how could she
+prevent it? He had been such an active, conscientious sort of man
+when they had first made acquaintance. . .
+
+She also could remember, even more clearly than Bunting did himself,
+that first meeting of theirs in the dining-room of No. 90 Cumberland
+Terrace. As she had stood there, pouring out her mistress's glass of
+port wine, she had not been too much absorbed in her task to have a
+good out-of-her-eye look at the spruce, nice, respectable-looking
+fellow who was standing over by the window. How superior he had
+appeared even then to the man she already hoped he would succeed as
+butler!
+
+To-day, perhaps because she was not feeling quite herself, the past
+rose before her very vividly, and a lump came into her throat.
+
+Putting the letter addressed to her husband on the table, she closed
+the door softly, and went down into the kitchen; there were various
+little things to put away and clean up, as well as their dinner to
+cook. And all the time she was down there she fixed her mind
+obstinately, determinedly on Bunting and on the problem of Bunting.
+She wondered what she'd better do to get him into good ways again.
+
+Thanks to Mr. Sleuth, their outlook was now moderately bright. A
+week ago everything had seemed utterly hopeless. It seemed as if
+nothing could save them from disaster. But everything was now
+changed!
+
+Perhaps it would be well for her to go and see the new proprietor
+of that registry office, in Baker Street, which had lately changed
+hands. It would be a good thing for Bunting to get even an
+occasional job--for the matter of that he could now take up a
+fairly regular thing in the way of waiting. Mrs. Bunting knew that
+it isn't easy to get a man out of idle ways once he has acquired
+those ways.
+
+When, at last, she went upstairs again she felt a little ashamed of
+what she had been thinking, for Bunting had laid the cloth, and laid
+it very nicely, too, and brought up the two chairs to the table.
+
+"Ellen?" he cried eagerly, "here's news! Daisy's coming to-morrow!
+There's scarlet fever in their house. Old Aunt thinks she'd better
+come away for a few days. So, you see, she'll be here for her
+birthday. Eighteen, that's what she be on the nineteenth! It do
+make me feel old--that it do!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting put down the tray. "I can't have the girl here just
+now," she said shortly. "I've just as much to do as I can manage.
+The lodger gives me more trouble than you seem to think for."
+
+"Rubbish!" he said sharply. "I'll help you with the lodger. It's
+your own fault you haven't had help with him before. Of course,
+Daisy must come here. Whatever other place could the girl go to?"
+
+Bunting felt pugnacious--so cheerful as to be almost light-hearted.
+But as he looked across at his wife his feeling of satisfaction
+vanished. Ellen's face was pinched and drawn to-day; she looked ill
+--ill and horribly tired. It was very aggravating of her to go and
+behave like this--just when they were beginning to get on nicely
+again.
+
+"For the matter of that," he said suddenly, "Daisy'll be able to help
+you with the work, Ellen, and she'll brisk us both up a bit."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer. She sat down heavily at the table.
+And then she said languidly, "You might as well show me the girl's
+letter."
+
+He handed it across to her, and she read it slowly to herself.
+
+"DEAR FATHER (it ran)--I hope this finds you as well at it leaves
+me. Mrs. Puddle's youngest has got scarlet fever, and Aunt thinks
+I had better come away at once, just to stay with you for a few
+days. Please tell Ellen I won't give her no trouble. I'll start
+at ten if I don't hear nothing.--Your loving daughter,
+
+
+"Yes, I suppose Daisy will have to come here," Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+"It'll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her life."
+
+And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to content
+himself.
+
+******
+
+Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by. When dusk fell Mr.
+Sleuth's landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor. She
+remembered that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
+
+He was a tidy man, was the lodger; he did not throw his things
+about as so many gentlemen do, leaving them all over the place.
+No, he kept everything scrupulously tidy. His clothes, and the
+various articles Mrs. Bunting had bought for him during the first
+two days he had been there, were carefully arranged in the chest
+of drawers. He had lately purchased a pair of boots. Those he
+had arrived in were peculiar-looking footgear, buff leather shoes
+with rubber soles, and he had told his landlady on that very first
+day that he never wished them to go down to be cleaned.
+
+A funny idea--a funny habit that, of going out for a walk after
+midnight in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk were
+glad to be at home, snug in bed. But then Mr. Sleuth himself
+admitted that he was a funny sort of gentleman.
+
+After she had done his bedroom the landlady went into the
+sitting-room and gave it a good dusting. This room was not kept
+quite as nice as she would have liked it to be. Mrs. Bunting
+longed to give the drawing-room something of a good turn out; but
+Mr. Sleuth disliked her to be moving about in it when he himself
+was in his bedroom; and when up he sat there almost all the time.
+Delighted as he had seemed to be with the top room, he only used
+it when making his mysterious experiments, and never during the
+day-time.
+
+And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier with
+longing eyes--she even gave that pretty little piece of furniture
+a slight shake. If only the doors would fly open, as the locked
+doors of old cupboards sometimes do, even after they have been
+securely fastened, how pleased she would be, how much more
+comfortable somehow she would feel!
+
+But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret.
+
+******
+
+About eight o'clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, just
+for a few minutes' chat. He had recovered from his agitation of the
+morning, but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Bunting
+listened in silence, intensely interested in spite of herself, while
+he and Bunting talked.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I'm as right as a trivet now! I've had a good rest
+--laid down all this afternoon. You see, the Yard thinks there's
+going to be something on to-night. He's always done them in pairs."
+
+"So he has," exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. "So he has! Now, I
+never thought o' that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster'll be
+on the job again to-night?"
+
+Chandler nodded. "Yes. And I think there's a very good chance of
+his being caught too--"
+
+"I suppose there'll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?"
+
+"I should think there will be! How many of our men d'you think
+there'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
+
+Bunting shook his head. "I don't know," he said helplessly.
+
+"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice.
+
+"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
+
+"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting."
+
+"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
+
+And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!" incredulously.
+
+"Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!"
+Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. "Just
+listen to this:
+
+"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to
+the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any
+surprise at the information that a popular attack has been organised
+on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is even
+talk of an indignation mass meeting.'
+
+"What d'you think of that? That's not a pleasant thing for a
+gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
+
+"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't catch him, now
+doesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
+
+"I don't think it's queer at all," said young Chandler crossly.
+"Now you just listen again! Here's a bit of the truth for once--
+in a newspaper." And slowly he read out:
+
+"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind
+man's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes
+bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through
+the slums of a great city.'"
+
+"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting. "Your hands aren't tied,
+and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
+
+"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr. Bunting. We haven't
+got the same facilities--no, not a quarter of them--that the
+French 'tecs have."
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: "What was that
+word, Joe--'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit you read out."
+
+"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
+
+"Then do they think there's more than one of them?" she said, and
+a look of relief came over her thin face.
+
+"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said Chandler.
+"They say it can't be the work of one man."
+
+"What do you think, Joe?"
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think. I'm fair puzzled."
+
+He got up. "Don't you come to the door. I'll shut it all right.
+So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps." As he had done the other
+evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door. "Any
+news of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
+
+"Yes; she's coming to-morrow," said her father. "They've got scarlet
+fever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks she'd better clear out."
+
+
+The husband and wife went to bed early that night, but Mrs. Bunting
+found she could not sleep. She lay wide awake, hearing the hours,
+the half-hours, the quarters chime out from the belfry of the old
+church close by.
+
+And then, just as she was dozing off--it must have been about one
+o'clock--she heard the sound she had half unconsciously been
+expecting to hear, that of the lodger's stealthy footsteps coming
+down the stairs just outside her room.
+
+He crept along the passage and let himself out very, very quietly.
+
+But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did not hear him
+come in again, for she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
+
+Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next morning; odder
+still, it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of bed, and going
+out into the passage, picked up the newspaper which had just been
+pushed through the letter-box.
+
+But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go back at once into
+her bedroom. Instead she lit the gas in the passage, and leaning
+up against the wall to steady herself, for she was trembling with
+cold and fatigue, she opened the paper.
+
+Yes, there was the heading she sought:
+
+"The AVENGER Murders"
+
+But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that followed:
+
+"Up to the time of going to press there is little new to report
+concerning the extraordinary series of crimes which are amazing,
+and, indeed, staggering not only London, but the whole civilised
+world, and which would seem to be the work of some woman-hating
+teetotal fanatic. Since yesterday morning, when the last of these
+dastardly murders was committed, no reliable clue to the perpetrator,
+or perpetrators, has been obtained, though several arrests were made
+in the course of the day. In every case, however, those arrested
+were able to prove a satisfactory alibi."
+
+And then, a little lower down:
+
+"The excitement grows and grows. It is not too much to say that
+even a stranger to London would know that something very unusual
+was in the air. As for the place where the murder was committed
+last night--"
+
+"Last night!" thought Mrs. Bunting, startled; and then she realised
+that "last night," in this connection, meant the night before last.
+
+She began the sentence again:
+
+"As for the place where the murder was committed last night, all
+approaches to it were still blocked up to a late hour by hundreds
+of onlookers, though, of course, nothing now remains in the way of
+traces of the tragedy."
+
+Slowly and carefully Mrs. Bunting folded the paper up again in its
+original creases, and then she stooped and put it back down on the
+mat where she had found it. She then turned out the gas, and going
+back into bed she lay down by her still sleeping husband.
+
+"Anything the matter?" Bunting murmured, and stirred uneasily.
+"Anything the matter, Ellen?"
+
+She answered in a whisper, a whisper thrilling with a strange
+gladness, "No, nothing, Bunting--nothing the matter! Go to sleep
+again, my dear."
+
+They got up an hour later, both in a happy, cheerful mood. Bunting
+rejoiced at the thought of his daughter's coming, and even Daisy's
+stepmother told herself that it would be pleasant having the girl
+about the house to help her a bit.
+
+About ten o'clock Bunting went out to do some shopping. He brought
+back with him a nice little bit of pork for Daisy's dinner, and
+three mince-pies. He even remembered to get some apples for the
+sauce.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+Just as twelve was striking a four-wheeler drew up to the gate.
+
+It brought Daisy--pink-cheeked, excited, laughing-eyed Daisy--a
+sight to gladden any father's heart.
+
+"Old Aunt said I was to have a cab if the weather was bad," she
+cried out joyously.
+
+There was a bit of a wrangle over the fare. King's Cross, as all
+the world knows, is nothing like two miles from the Marylebone Road,
+but the man clamoured for one and sixpence, and hinted darkly that
+he had done the young lady a favour in bringing her at all.
+
+While he and Bunting were having words, Daisy, leaving them to it,
+walked up the flagged path to the door where her stepmother was
+awaiting her.
+
+As they were exchanging a rather frigid kiss, indeed, 'twas a mere
+peck on Mrs. Bunting's part, there fell, with startling suddenness,
+loud cries on the still, cold air. Long-drawn and wailing, they
+sounded strangely sad as they rose and fell across the distant roar
+of traffic in the Edgware Road.
+
+"What's that?" exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. "Why, whatever's
+that?"
+
+The cabman lowered his voice. "Them's 'a-crying out that 'orrible
+affair at King's Cross. He's done for two of 'em this time! That's
+what I meant when I said I might 'a got a better fare. I wouldn't
+say nothink before little missy there, but folk 'ave been coming
+from all over London the last five or six hours; plenty of toffs,
+too--but there, there's nothing to see now!"
+
+"What? Another woman murdered last night?"
+
+Bunting felt tremendously thrilled. What had the five thousand
+constables been about to let such a dreadful thing happen?
+
+The cabman stared at him, surprised. "Two of 'em, I tell yer--
+within a few yards of one another. He 'ave--got a nerve--But,
+of course, they was drunk. He are got a down on the drink!"
+
+"Have they caught him?" asked Bunting perfunctorily.
+
+"Lord, no! They'll never catch 'im! It must 'ave happened hours
+and hours ago--they was both stone cold. One each end of a little
+passage what ain't used no more. That's why they didn't find 'em
+before."
+
+The hoarse cries were coming nearer and nearer--two news vendors
+trying to outshout each other.
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross!" they yelled exultingly.
+"The Avenger again!"
+
+And Bunting, with his daughter's large straw hold-all in his hand,
+ran forward into the roadway and recklessly gave a boy a penny for
+a halfpenny paper.
+
+He felt very much moved and excited. Somehow his acquaintance with
+young Joe Chandler made these murders seem a personal affair. He
+hoped that Chandler would come in soon and tell them all about it,
+as he had done yesterday morning when he, Bunting, had unluckily
+been out.
+
+As he walked back into the little hall, he heard Daisy's voice--
+high, voluble, excited--giving her stepmother a long account of
+the scarlet fever case, and how at first Old Aunt's neighbours had
+thought it was not scarlet fever at all, but just nettlerash.
+
+But as Bunting pushed open the door of the sitting-room, there
+came a note of sharp alarm in his daughter's voice, and he heard
+her cry, "Why, Ellen, whatever is the matter? You do look bad!"
+and his wife's muffled answer, "Open the window--do."
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross--a clue at last!" yelled
+the newspaper-boys triumphantly.
+
+And then, helplessly, Mrs. Bunting began to laugh. She laughed,
+and laughed, and laughed, rocking herself to and fro as if in an
+ecstasy of mirth.
+
+"Why, father, whatever's the matter with her?"
+
+Daisy looked quite scared.
+
+"She's in 'sterics--that's what it is," he said shortly.
+"I'll just get the water-jug. Wait a minute!"
+
+Bunting felt very put out. Ellen was ridiculous--that's what she
+was, to be so easily upset.
+
+The lodger's bell suddenly pealed through the quiet house. Either
+that sound, or maybe the threat of the water-jug, had a magical
+effect on Mrs. Bunting. She rose to her feet, still shaking all
+over, but mentally composed.
+
+"I'll go up," she said a little chokingly. "As for you, child,
+just run down into the kitchen. You'll find a piece of pork
+roasting in the oven. You might start paring the apples for the
+sauce."
+
+As Mrs. Bunting went upstairs her legs felt as if they were made
+of cotton wool. She put out a trembling hand, and clutched at the
+banister for support. But soon, making a great effort over herself,
+she began to feel more steady; and after waiting for a few moments
+on the landing, she knocked at the door of the drawing-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's voice answered her from the bedroom. "I'm not well,"
+he called out querulously; "I think I've caught a chill. I should
+be obliged if you would kindly bring me up a cup of tea, and put it
+outside my door, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Very well, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting turned and went downstairs. She still felt queer and
+giddy, so instead of going into the kitchen, she made the lodger his
+cup of tea over her sitting-room gas-ring.
+
+During their midday dinner the husband and wife had a little
+discussion as to where Daisy should sleep. It had been settled
+that a bed should be made up for her in the top back room, but
+Mrs. Bunting saw reason to change this plan. "I think 'twould be
+better if Daisy were to sleep with me, Bunting, and you was to
+sleep upstairs."
+
+Bunting felt and looked rather surprised, but he acquiesced. Ellen
+was probably right; the girl would be rather lonely up there, and,
+after all, they didn't know much about the lodger, though he seemed
+a respectable gentleman enough.
+
+Daisy was a good-natured girl; she liked London, and wanted to make
+herself useful to her stepmother. "I'll wash up; don't you bother to
+come downstairs," she said cheerfully.
+
+Bunting began to walk up and down the room. His wife gave him a
+furtive glance; she wondered what he was thinking about.
+
+"Didn't you get a paper?" she said at last.
+
+"Yes, of course I did," he answered hastily. "But I've put it away.
+I thought you'd rather not look at it, as you're that nervous."
+
+Again she glanced at him quickly, furtively, but he seemed just as
+usual--he evidently meant just what he said and no more.
+
+"I thought they was shouting something in the street--I mean just
+before I was took bad."
+
+It was now Bunting's turn to stare at his wife quickly and rather
+furtively. He had felt sure that her sudden attack of queerness,
+of hysterics--call it what you might--had been due to the shouting
+outside. She was not the only woman in London who had got the
+Avenger murders on her nerves. His morning paper said quite a lot
+of women were afraid to go out alone. Was it possible that the
+curious way she had been taken just now had had nothing to do with
+the shouts and excitement outside?
+
+"Don't you know what it was they were calling out?" he asked slowly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked across at him. She would have given a very
+great deal to be able to lie, to pretend that she did not know what
+those dreadful cries had portended. But when it came to the point
+she found she could not do so.
+
+"Yes," she said dully. "I heard a word here and there. There's
+been another murder, hasn't there?"
+
+"Two other murders," he said soberly.
+
+"Two? That's worse news!" She turned so pale--a sallow
+greenish-white--that Bunting thought she was again going queer.
+
+"Ellen?" he said warningly, "Ellen, now do have a care! I can't
+think what's come over you about these murders. Turn your mind
+away from them, do! We needn't talk about them--not so much,
+that is--"
+
+"But I wants to talk about them," cried Mrs. Bunting hysterically.
+
+The husband and wife were standing, one each side of the table,
+the man with his back to the fire, the woman with her back to the
+door.
+
+Bunting, staring across at his wife, felt sadly perplexed and
+disturbed. She really did seem ill; even her slight, spare figure
+looked shrunk. For the first time, so he told himself ruefully,
+Ellen was beginning to look her full age. Her slender hands--she
+had kept the pretty, soft white hands of the woman who has never
+done rough work--grasped the edge of the table with a convulsive
+movement.
+
+Bunting didn't at all like the look of her. "Oh, dear," he said
+to himself, "I do hope Ellen isn't going to be ill! That would be
+a to-do just now."
+
+"Tell me about it," she commanded, in a low voice. "Can't you see
+I'm waiting to hear? Be quick now, Bunting!"
+
+"There isn't very much to tell," he said reluctantly. "There's
+precious little in this paper, anyway. But the cabman what brought
+Daisy told me--"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"What I said just now. There's two of 'em this time, and they'd
+both been drinking heavily, poor creatures."
+
+"Was it where the others was done?" she asked looking at her husband
+fearfully.
+
+"No," he said awkwardly. "No, it wasn't, Ellen. It was a good bit
+farther West--in fact, not so very far from here. Near King's Cross
+--that's how the cabman knew about it, you see. They seems to have
+been done in a passage which isn't used no more." And then, as he
+thought his wife's eyes were beginning to look rather funny, he added
+hastily. "There, that's enough for the present! We shall soon be
+hearing a lot more about it from Joe Chandler. He's pretty sure to
+come in some time to-day."
+
+"Then the five thousand constables weren't no use?" said Mrs.
+Bunting slowly.
+
+She had relaxed her grip of the table, and was standing more
+upright.
+
+"No use at all," said Bunting briefly. "He is artful and no mistake
+about it. But wait a minute--" he turned and took up the paper
+which he had laid aside, on a chair. "Yes they says here that they
+has a clue."
+
+"A clue, Bunting?" Mrs. Bunting spoke in a soft, weak, die-away
+voice, and again, stooping somewhat, she grasped the edge of the
+table.
+
+But her husband was not noticing her now. He was holding the paper
+close up to his eyes, and he read from it, in a tone of considerable
+satisfaction:
+
+"'It is gratifying to be able to state that the police at last
+believe they are in possession of a clue which will lead to the
+arrest of the--'" and then Bunting dropped the paper and rushed
+round the table.
+
+His wife, with a curious sighing moan, had slipped down on to the
+floor, taking with her the tablecloth as she went. She lay there
+in what appeared to be a dead faint. And Bunting, scared out of
+his wits, opened the door and screamed out, "Daisy! Daisy! Come
+up, child. Ellen's took bad again."
+
+And Daisy, hurrying in, showed an amount of sense and resource
+which even at this anxious moment roused her fond father's
+admiration.
+
+"Get a wet sponge, Dad--quick!" she cried, "a sponge,--and, if
+you've got such a thing, a drop o' brandy. I'll see after her!"
+And then, after he had got the little medicine flask, "I can't think
+what's wrong with Ellen," said Daisy wonderingly. "She seemed quite
+all right when I first came in. She was listening, interested-like,
+to what I was telling her, and then, suddenly--well, you saw how
+she was took, father? 'Tain't like Ellen this, is it now?"
+
+"No," he whispered. "No, 'tain't. But you see, child, we've been
+going through a pretty bad time--worse nor I should ever have let
+you know of, my dear. Ellen's just feeling it now--that's what it
+is. She didn't say nothing, for Ellen's a good plucked one, but
+it's told on her--it's told on her!"
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting, sitting up, slowly opened her eyes, and
+instinctively put her hand up to her head to see if her hair was
+all right.
+
+She hadn't really been quite "off." It would have been better for
+her if she had. She had simply had an awful feeling that she
+couldn't stand up--more, that she must fall down. Bunting's words
+touched a most unwonted chord in the poor woman's heart, and the
+eyes which she opened were full of tears. She had not thought her
+husband knew how she had suffered during those weeks of starving
+and waiting.
+
+But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment. To her
+such betrayal betokened "foolishness," and so all she said was,
+"There's no need to make a fuss! I only turned over a little queer.
+I never was right off, Daisy."
+
+Pettishly she pushed away the glass in which Bunting had hurriedly
+poured a little brandy. "I wouldn't touch such stuff--no, not if
+I was dying!" she exclaimed.
+
+Putting out a languid hand, she pulled herself up, with the help of
+the table, on to her feet. "Go down again to the kitchen, child";
+but there was a sob, a kind of tremor in her voice.
+
+"You haven't been eating properly, Ellen--that's what's the matter
+with you," said Bunting suddenly. "Now I come to think of it, you
+haven't eat half enough these last two days. I always did say--in
+old days many a time I telled you--that a woman couldn't live on
+air. But there, you never believed me!"
+
+Daisy stood looking from one to the other, a shadow over her bright,
+pretty face. "I'd no idea you'd had such a bad time, father," she
+said feelingly. "Why didn't you let me know about it? I might have
+got something out of Old Aunt."
+
+"We didn't want anything of that sort," said her stepmother hastily.
+"But of course--well, I expect I'm still feeling the worry now. I
+don't seem able to forget it. Those days of waiting, of--of--"
+she restrained herself; another moment and the word "starving" would
+have left her lips.
+
+"But everything's all right now," said Bunting eagerly, "all right,
+thanks to Mr. Sleuth, that is."
+
+"Yes," repeated his wife, in a low, strange tone of voice. "Yes,
+we're all right now, and as you say, Bunting, it's all along of
+Mr. Sleuth."
+
+She walked across to a chair and sat down on it. "I'm just a little
+tottery still," she muttered.
+
+And Daisy, looking at her, turned to her father and said in a
+whisper, but not so low but that Mrs. Bunting heard her, "Don't you
+think Ellen ought to see a doctor, father? He might give her
+something that would pull her round."
+
+"I won't see no doctor!" said Mrs. Bunting with sudden emphasis. "I
+saw enough of doctors in my last place. Thirty-eight doctors in ten
+months did my poor missis have. Just determined on having 'em she
+was! Did they save her? No! She died just the same! Maybe a bit
+sooner."
+
+"She was a freak, was your last mistress, Ellen," began Bunting
+aggressively.
+
+Ellen had insisted on staying on in that place till her poor mistress
+died. They might have been married some months before they were
+married but for that fact. Bunting had always resented it.
+
+His wife smile wanly. "We won't have no words about that," she said,
+and again she spoke in a softer, kindlier tone than usual. "Daisy?
+If you won't go down to the kitchen again, then I must"--she turned
+to her stepdaughter, and the girl flew out of the room.
+
+"I think the child grows prettier every minute," said Bunting fondly.
+
+"Folks are too apt to forget that beauty is but skin deep," said his
+wife. She was beginning to feel better. "But still, I do agree,
+Bunting, that Daisy's well enough. And she seems more willing, too."
+
+"I say, we mustn't forget the lodger's dinner," Bunting spoke
+uneasily. "It's a bit of fish to-day, isn't it? Hadn't I better
+just tell Daisy to see to it, and then I can take it up to him, as
+you're not feeling quite the thing, Ellen?"
+
+"I'm quite well enough to take up Mr. Sleuth's luncheon," she said
+quickly. It irritated her to hear her husband speak of the lodger's
+dinner. They had dinner in the middle of the day, but Mr. Sleuth
+had luncheon. However odd he might be, Mrs. Bunting never forgot
+her lodger was a gentleman.
+
+"After all, he likes me to wait on him, doesn't he? I can manage
+all right. Don't you worry," she added after a long pause.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+Perhaps because his luncheon was served to him a good deal later
+than usual, Mr. Sleuth ate his nice piece of steamed sole upstairs
+with far heartier an appetite than his landlady had eaten her nice
+slice of roast pork downstairs.
+
+"I hope you're feeling a little better, sir," Mrs. Bunting had forced
+herself to say when she first took in his tray.
+
+And he had answered plaintively, querulously, "No, I can't say I
+feel well to-day, Mrs. Bunting. I am tired--very tired. And as I
+lay in bed I seemed to hear so many sounds--so much crying and
+shouting. I trust the Marylebone Road is not going to become a noisy
+thoroughfare, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I don't think that. We're generally reckoned very
+quiet indeed, sir."
+
+She waited a moment--try as she would, she could not allude to what
+those unwonted shouts and noises had betokened. "I expect you've
+got a chill, sir," she said suddenly. "If I was you, I shouldn't
+go out this afternoon; I'd just stay quietly indoors. There's a lot
+of rough people about--" Perhaps there was an undercurrent of
+warning, of painful pleading, in her toneless voice which penetrated
+in some way to the brain of the lodger, for Mr. Sleuth looked up, and
+an uneasy, watchful look came into his luminous grey eyes.
+
+"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bunting. But I think I'll take your
+advice. That is, I will stay quietly at home, I am never at a loss
+to know what to do with myself so long as I can study the Book of
+Books."
+
+"Then you're not afraid about your eyes, sir?" said Mrs. Bunting
+curiously. Somehow she was beginning to feel better. It comforted
+her to be up here, talking to Mr. Sleuth, instead of thinking about
+him downstairs. It seemed to banish the terror which filled her
+soul--aye, and her body, too--at other times. When she was with
+him Mr. Sleuth was so gentle, so reasonable, so--so grateful.
+
+Poor kindly, solitary Mr. Sleuth! This kind of gentleman surely
+wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a human being. Eccentric--so much
+must be admitted. But Mrs. Bunting had seen a good deal of eccentric
+folk, eccentric women rather than eccentric men, in her long career
+as useful maid.
+
+Being at ordinary times an exceptionally sensible, well-balanced
+woman, she had never, in old days, allowed her mind to dwell on
+certain things she had learnt as to the aberrations of which human
+nature is capable--even well-born, well-nurtured, gentle human
+nature--as exemplified in some of the households where she had
+served. It would, indeed, be unfortunate if she now became morbid
+or--or hysterical.
+
+So it was in a sharp, cheerful voice, almost the voice in which she
+had talked during the first few days of Mr. Sleuth's stay in her
+house, that she exclaimed, "Well, sir, I'll be up again to clear
+away in about half an hour. And if you'll forgive me for saying so,
+I hope you will stay in and have a rest to-day. Nasty, muggy weather
+--that's what it is! If there's any little thing you want, me or
+Bunting can go out and get it."
+
+******
+
+It must have been about four o'clock when there came a ring at the
+front door.
+
+The three were sitting chatting together, for Daisy had washed up
+--she really was saving her stepmother a good bit of trouble--and
+the girl was now amusing her elders by a funny account of Old Aunt's
+pernickety ways.
+
+"Whoever can that be?" said Bunting, looking up. "It's too early
+for Joe Chandler, surely."
+
+"I'll go," said his wife, hurriedly jumping up from her chair.
+"I'll go! We don't want no strangers in here."
+
+And as she stepped down the short bit of passage she said to herself,
+"A clue? What clue?"
+
+But when she opened the front door a glad sigh of relief broke from
+her. "Why, Joe? We never thought 'twas you! But you're very
+welcome, I'm sure. Come in."
+
+And Chandler came in, a rather sheepish look on his good-looking,
+fair young face.
+
+"I thought maybe that Mr. Bunting would like to know--" he began,
+in a loud, cheerful voice, and Mrs. Bunting hurriedly checked him.
+She didn't want the lodger upstairs to hear what young Chandler
+might be going to say.
+
+"Don't talk so loud," she said a little sharply. "The lodger is
+not very well to-day. He's had a cold," she added hastily, "and
+during the last two or three days he hasn't been able to go out."
+
+She wondered at her temerity, her--her hypocrisy, and that moment,
+those few words, marked an epoch in Ellen Bunting's life. It was
+the first time she had told a bold and deliberate lie. She was
+one of those women--there are many, many such--to whom there is
+a whole world of difference between the suppression of the truth
+and the utterance of an untruth.
+
+But Chandler paid no heed to her remarks. "Has Miss Daisy arrived?"
+he asked, in a lower voice.
+
+She nodded. And then he went through into the room where the father
+and daughter were sitting.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting, starting up. "Well, Joe? Now you can tell
+us all about that mysterious clue. I suppose it'd be too good news
+to expect you to tell us they've caught him?"
+
+"No fear of such good news as that yet awhile. If they'd caught
+him," said Joe ruefully, "well, I don't suppose I should be here,
+Mr. Bunting. But the Yard are circulating a description at last.
+And--well, they've found his weapon!"
+
+"No?" cried Bunting excitedly. "You don't say so! Whatever sort
+of a thing is it? And are they sure 'tis his?"
+
+"Well, 'tain't sure, but it seems to be likely."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.
+But she was still standing with her back against the door, looking
+at the group in front of her. None of them were thinking of her
+--she thanked God for that! She could hear everything that was
+said without joining in the talk and excitement.
+
+"Listen to this!" cried Joe Chandler exultantly. "'Tain't given
+out yet--not for the public, that is--but we was all given it by
+eight o'clock this morning. Quick work that, eh?" He read out:
+
+
+  "WANTED
+
+  A man, of age approximately 28, slight in figure, height
+  approximately 5 ft. 8 in. Complexion dark. No beard or
+  whiskers. Wearing a black diagonal coat, hard felt hat, high
+  white collar, and tie. Carried a newspaper parcel. Very
+  respectable appearance."
+
+
+Mrs. Bunting walked forward. She gave a long, fluttering sigh of
+unutterable relief.
+
+"There's the chap!" said Joe Chandler triumphantly. "And now, Miss
+Daisy"--he turned to her jokingly, but there was a funny little
+tremor in his frank, cheerful-sounding voice--"if you knows of any
+nice, likely young fellow that answers to that description--well,
+you've only got to walk in and earn your reward of five hundred
+pounds."
+
+"Five hundred pounds!" cried Daisy and her father simultaneously.
+
+"Yes. That's what the Lord Mayor offered yesterday. Some private
+bloke--nothing official about it. But we of the Yard is barred
+from taking that reward, worse luck. And it's too bad, for we has
+all the trouble, after all."
+
+"Just hand that bit of paper over, will you?" said Bunting. "I'd
+like to con it over to myself."
+
+Chandler threw over the bit of flimsy.
+
+A moment later Bunting looked up and handed it back. "Well, it's
+clear enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes. And there's hundreds--nay, thousands--of young fellows
+that might be a description of," said Chandler sarcastically. "As
+a pal of mine said this morning, 'There isn't a chap will like to
+carry a newspaper parcel after this.' And it won't do to have a
+respectable appearance--eh?"
+
+Daisy's voice rang out in merry, pealing laughter. She greatly
+appreciated Mr. Chandler's witticism.
+
+"Why on earth didn't the people who saw him try and catch him?"
+asked Bunting suddenly.
+
+And Mrs. Bunting broke in, in a lower voice, "Yes, Joe--that seems
+odd, don't it?"
+
+Joe Chandler coughed. "Well, it's this way," he said. "No one
+person did see all that. The man who's described here is just made
+up from the description of two different folk who think they saw
+him. You see, the murders must have taken place--well, now, let
+me see--perhaps at two o'clock this last time. Two o'clock--
+that's the idea. Well, at such a time as that not many people are
+about, especially on a foggy night. Yes, one woman declares she
+saw a young chap walking away from the spot where 'twas done; and
+another one--but that was a good bit later--says The Avenger
+passed by her. It's mostly her they're following in this 'ere
+description. And then the boss who has charge of that sort of
+thing looked up what other people had said--I mean when the other
+crimes was committed. That's how he made up this 'Wanted.'"
+
+"Then The Avenger may be quite a different sort of man?" said
+Bunting slowly, disappointedly.
+
+"Well, of course he may be. But, no; I think that description
+fits him all right," said Chandler; but he also spoke in a
+hesitating voice.
+
+"You was saying, Joe, that they found a weapon?" observed Bunting
+insinuatingly.
+
+He was glad that Ellen allowed the discussion to go on--in fact,
+that she even seemed to take an intelligent interest in it. She
+had come up close to them, and now looked quite her old self again.
+
+"Yes. They believe they've found the weapon what he does his awful
+deeds with," said Chandler. "At any rate, within a hundred yards
+of that little dark passage where they found the bodies--one at
+each end, that was--there was discovered this morning a very
+peculiar kind o' knife--'keen as a razor, pointed as a dagger'--
+that's the exact words the boss used when he was describing it to
+a lot of us. He seemed to think a lot more of that clue than of
+the other--I mean than of the description people gave of the chap
+who walked quickly by with a newspaper parcel. But now there's a
+pretty job in front of us. Every shop where they sell or might a'
+sold, such a thing as that knife, including every eating-house in
+the East End, has got to be called at!"
+
+"Whatever for?" asked Daisy.
+
+"Why, with an idea of finding out if anyone saw such a knife fooling
+about there any time, and, if so, in whose possession it was at the
+time. But, Mr. Bunting"--Chandler's voice changed; it became
+businesslike, official--"they're not going to say anything about
+that--not in newspapers--till to-morrow, so don't you go and
+tell anybody. You see, we don't want to frighten the fellow off.
+If he knew they'd got his knife--well, he might just make himself
+scarce, and they don't want that! If it's discovered that any knife
+of that kind was sold, say a month ago, to some customer whose ways
+are known, then--then--"
+
+"What'll happen then?" said Mrs. Bunting, coming nearer.
+
+"Well, then, nothing'll be put about it in the papers at all," said
+Chandler deliberately. "The only objec' of letting the public know
+about it would be if nothink was found--I mean if the search of
+the shops, and so on, was no good. Then, of course, we must try
+and find out someone--some private person-like, who's watched that
+knife in the criminal's possession. It's there the reward--the
+five hundred pounds will come in."
+
+"Oh, I'd give anything to see that knife!" exclaimed Daisy, clasping
+her hands together.
+
+"You cruel, bloodthirsty, girl!" cried her stepmother passionately.
+
+They all looked round at her, surprised.
+
+"Come, come, Ellen!" said Bunting reprovingly.
+
+"Well, it is a horrible idea!" said his wife sullenly. "To go and
+sell a fellow-being for five hundred pounds."
+
+But Daisy was offended. "Of course I'd like to see it!" she cried
+defiantly. "I never said nothing about the reward. That was Mr.
+Chandler said that! I only said I'd like to see the knife."
+
+Chandler looked at her soothingly. "Well, the day may come when
+you will see it," he said slowly.
+
+A great idea had come into his mind.
+
+"No! What makes you think that?"
+
+"If they catches him, and if you comes along with me to see our
+Black Museum at the Yard, you'll certainly see the knife, Miss Daisy.
+They keeps all them kind of things there. So if, as I say, this
+weapon should lead to the conviction of The Avenger--well, then,
+that knife 'ull be there, and you'll see it!"
+
+"The Black Museum? Why, whatever do they have a museum in your
+place for?" asked Daisy wonderingly. "I thought there was only the
+British Museum--"
+
+And then even Mrs. Bunting, as well as Bunting and Chandler,
+laughed aloud.
+
+"You are a goosey girl!" said her father fondly. "Why, there's a
+lot of museums in London; the town's thick with 'em. Ask Ellen
+there. She and me used to go to them kind of places when we was
+courting--if the weather was bad."
+
+"But our museum's the one that would interest Miss Daisy," broke in
+Chandler eagerly. "It's a regular Chamber of 'Orrors!"
+
+"Why, Joe, you never told us about that place before," said Bunting
+excitedly. "D'you really mean that there's a museum where they
+keeps all sorts of things connected with crimes? Things like knives
+murders have been committed with?"
+
+"Knives?" cried Joe, pleased at having become the centre of
+attention, for Daisy had also fixed her blue eyes on him, and even
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him expectantly. "Much more than knives, Mr.
+Bunting! Why, they've got there, in little bottles, the real poison
+what people have been done away with."
+
+"And can you go there whenever you like?" asked Daisy wonderingly.
+She had not realised before what extraordinary and agreeable
+privileges are attached to the position of a detective member of
+the London Police Force.
+
+"Well, I suppose I could--" Joe smiled. "Anyway I can certainly
+get leave to take a friend there." He looked meaningly at Daisy,
+and Daisy looked eagerly at him.
+
+But would Ellen ever let her go out by herself with Mr. Chandler?
+Ellen was so prim, so--so irritatingly proper. But what was this
+father was saying? "D'you really mean that, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, of course I do!"
+
+"Well, then, look here! If it isn't asking too much of a favour, I
+should like to go along there with you very much one day. I don't
+want to wait till The Avenger's caught"--Bunting smiled broadly.
+"I'd be quite content as it is with what there is in that museum
+o' yours. Ellen, there,"--he looked across at his wife--"don't
+agree with me about such things. Yet I don't think I'm a
+bloodthirsty man! But I'm just terribly interested in all that sort
+of thing--always have been. I used to positively envy the butler
+in that Balham Mystery!"
+
+Again a look passed between Daisy and the young man--it was a look
+which contained and carried a great many things backwards and
+forwards, such as--"Now, isn't it funny that your father should
+want to go to such a place? But still, I can't help it if he does
+want to go, so we must put up with his company, though it would
+have been much nicer for us to go just by our two selves." And
+then Daisy's look answered quite as plainly, though perhaps Joe
+didn't read her glance quite as clearly as she had read his: "Yes,
+it is tiresome. But father means well; and 'twill be very pleasant
+going there, even if he does come too."
+
+"Well, what d'you say to the day after to-morrow, Mr. Bunting? I'd
+call for you here about--shall we say half-past two?--and just
+take you and Miss Daisy down to the Yard. 'Twouldn't take very
+long; we could go all the way by bus, right down to Westminster
+Bridge." He looked round at his hostess: "Wouldn't you join us,
+Mrs. Bunting? 'Tis truly a wonderful interesting place."
+
+But his hostess shook her head decidedly. "'Twould turn me sick,"
+she exclaimed, "to see the bottle of poison what had done away with
+the life of some poor creature!
+
+"And as for knives--!" a look of real horror, of startled fear,
+crept over her pale face.
+
+"There, there!" said Bunting hastily. "Live and let live--that's
+what I always say. Ellen ain't on in this turn. She can just
+stay at home and mind the cat--I beg his pardon, I mean the lodger!"
+
+"I won't have Mr. Sleuth laughed at," said Mrs. Bunting darkly.
+"But there! I'm sure it's very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving
+Bunting and Daisy such a rare treat"--she spoke sarcastically, but
+none of the three who heard her understood that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+The moment she passed though the great arched door which admits the
+stranger to that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart
+of that great organism which fights the forces of civilised crime,
+Daisy Bunting felt that she had indeed become free of the Kingdom of
+Romance. Even the lift in which the three of them were whirled up
+to one of the upper floors of the huge building was to the girl a
+new and delightful experience. Daisy had always lived a simple,
+quiet life in the little country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this
+was the first time a lift had come her way.
+
+With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler
+marched his friends down a wide, airy corridor.
+
+Daisy clung to her father's arm, a little bewildered, a little
+oppressed by her good fortune. Her happy young voice was
+stilled by the awe she felt at the wonderful place where she
+found herself, and by the glimpses she caught of great rooms full
+of busy, silent men engaged in unravelling--or so she supposed
+--the mysteries of crime.
+
+They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped
+short. "Look in there," he said, in a low voice, addressing the
+father rather than the daughter, "that's the Finger-Print Room.
+We've records here of over two hundred thousand men's and women's
+finger-tips! I expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once we've got
+the print of a man's five finger-tips, well, he's done for--if he
+ever does anything else, that is. Once we've got that bit of him
+registered he can't never escape us--no, not if he tries ever so.
+But though there's nigh on a quarter of a million records in there,
+yet it don't take--well, not half an hour, for them to tell
+whether any particular man has ever been convicted before! Wonderful
+thought, ain't it?"
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing a deep breath. And then a
+troubled look came over his stolid face. "Wonderful, but also a
+very fearful thought for the poor wretches as has got their
+finger-prints in, Joe."
+
+Joe laughed. "Agreed!" he said. "And the cleverer ones knows that
+only too well. Why, not long ago, one man who knew his record was
+here safe, managed to slash about his fingers something awful, just
+so as to make a blurred impression--you takes my meaning? But
+there, at the end of six weeks the skin grew all right again, and
+in exactly the same little creases as before!"
+
+"Poor devil!" said Bunting under his breath, and a cloud even came
+over Daisy's bright eager face.
+
+They were now going along a narrower passage, and then again they
+came to a half-open door, leading into a room far smaller than
+that of the Finger-Print Identification Room.
+
+"If you'll glance in there," said Joe briefly, "you'll see how we
+finds out all about any man whose finger-tips has given him away, so
+to speak. It's here we keeps an account of what he's done, his
+previous convictions, and so on. His finger-tips are where I told
+you, and his record in there--just connected by a number."
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing in his breath. But Daisy was
+longing to get on--to get to the Black Museum. All this that Joe
+and her father were saying was quite unreal to her, and, for the
+matter of that not worth taking the trouble to understand. However,
+she had not long to wait.
+
+A broad-shouldered, pleasant-looking young fellow, who seemed on
+very friendly terms with Joe Chandler, came forward suddenly, and,
+unlocking a common-place-looking door, ushered the little party of
+three through into the Black Museum.
+
+For a moment there came across Daisy a feeling of keen disappointment
+and surprise. This big, light room simply reminded her of what they
+called the Science Room in the public library of the town where she
+lived with Old Aunt. Here, as there, the centre was taken up with
+plain glass cases fixed at a height from the floor which enabled
+their contents to be looked at closely.
+
+She walked forward and peered into the case nearest the door. The
+exhibits shown there were mostly small, shabby-looking little things,
+the sort of things one might turn out of an old rubbish cupboard in
+an untidy house--old medicine bottles, a soiled neckerchief, what
+looked like a child's broken lantern, even a box of pills. . .
+
+As for the walls, they were covered with the queerest-looking
+objects; bits of old iron, odd-looking things made of wood and
+leather, and so on.
+
+It was really rather disappointing.
+
+Then Daisy Bunting gradually became aware that standing on a shelf
+just below the first of the broad, spacious windows which made the
+great room look so light and shadowless, was a row of life-size
+white plaster heads, each head slightly inclined to the right.
+There were about a dozen of these, not more--and they had such odd,
+staring, helpless, real-looking faces.
+
+"Whatever's those?" asked Bunting in a low voice.
+
+Daisy clung a thought closer to her father's arm. Even she guessed
+that these strange, pathetic, staring faces were the death-masks of
+those men and women who had fulfilled the awful law which ordains
+that the murderer shall be, in his turn, done to death.
+
+"All hanged!" said the guardian of the Black Museum briefly. "Casts
+taken after death."
+
+Bunting smiled nervously. "They don't look dead somehow. They
+looks more as if they were listening," he said.
+
+"That's the fault of Jack Ketch," said the man facetiously. "It's
+his idea--that of knotting his patient's necktie under the left
+ear! That's what he does to each of the gentlemen to whom he has
+to act valet on just one occasion only. It makes them lean just a
+bit to one side. You look here--?"
+
+Daisy and her father came a little closer, and the speaker pointed
+with his finger to a little dent imprinted on the left side of each
+neck; running from this indentation was a curious little furrow,
+well ridged above, showing how tightly Jack Ketch's necktie had been
+drawn when its wearer was hurried through the gates of eternity.
+
+"They looks foolish-like, rather than terrified, or--or hurt," said
+Bunting wonderingly.
+
+He was extraordinarily moved and fascinated by those dumb, staring
+faces.
+
+But young Chandler exclaimed in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice,
+"Well, a man would look foolish at such a time as that, with all his
+plans brought to naught--and knowing he's only got a second to live
+--now wouldn't he?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose he would," said Bunting slowly.
+
+Daisy had gone a little pale. The sinister, breathless atmosphere
+of the place was beginning to tell on her. She now began to
+understand that the shabby little objects lying there in the glass
+case close to her were each and all links in the chain of evidence
+which, in almost every case, had brought some guilty man or woman
+to the gallows.
+
+"We had a yellow gentleman here the other day," observed the guardian
+suddenly; "one of those Brahmins--so they calls themselves. Well,
+you'd a been quite surprised to see how that heathen took on! He
+declared--what was the word he used?"--he turned to Chandler.
+
+"He said that each of these things, with the exception of the casts,
+mind you--queer to say, he left them out--exuded evil, that was
+the word he used! Exuded--squeezed out it means. He said that
+being here made him feel very bad. And twasn't all nonsense either.
+He turned quite green under his yellow skin, and we had to shove him
+out quick. He didn't feel better till he'd got right to the other
+end of the passage!"
+
+"There now! Who'd ever think of that?" said Bunting. "I should say
+that man 'ud got something on his conscience, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Well, I needn't stay now," said Joe's good-natured friend. "You
+show your friends round, Chandler. You knows the place nearly as
+well as I do, don't you?"
+
+He smiled at Joe's visitors, as if to say good-bye, but it seemed
+that he could not tear himself away after all.
+
+"Look here," he said to Bunting. "In this here little case are the
+tools of Charles Peace. I expect you've heard of him."
+
+"I should think I have!" cried Bunting eagerly.
+
+"Many gents as comes here thinks this case the most interesting of
+all. Peace was such a wonderful man! A great inventor they say he
+would have been, had he been put in the way of it. Here's his
+ladder; you see it folds up quite compactly, and makes a nice little
+bundle--just like a bundle of old sticks any man might have been
+seen carrying about London in those days without attracting any
+attention. Why, it probably helped him to look like an honest
+working man time and time again, for on being arrested he declared
+most solemnly he'd always carried that ladder openly under his arm."
+
+"The daring of that!" cried Bunting.
+
+"Yes, and when the ladder was opened out it could reach from the
+ground to the second storey of any old house. And, oh! how clever
+he was! Just open one section, and you see the other sections open
+automatically; so Peace could stand on the ground and force the
+thing quietly up to any window he wished to reach. Then he'd go
+away again, having done his job, with a mere bundle of old wood
+under his arm! My word, he was artful! I wonder if you've heard
+the tale of how Peace once lost a finger. Well, he guessed the
+constables were instructed to look out for a man missing a finger;
+so what did he do?"
+
+"Put on a false finger," suggested Bunting.
+
+"No, indeed! Peace made up his mind just to do without a hand
+altogether. Here's his false stump: you see, it's made of wood
+--wood and black felt? Well, that just held his hand nicely.
+Why, we considers that one of the most ingenious contrivances in
+the whole museum."
+
+Meanwhile, Daisy had let go her hold of her father. With Chandler
+in delighted attendance, she had moved away to the farther end of
+the great room, and now she was bending over yet another glass case.
+"Whatever are those little bottles for?" she asked wonderingly.
+
+There were five small phials, filled with varying quantities of
+cloudy liquids.
+
+"They're full of poison, Miss Daisy, that's what they are. There's
+enough arsenic in that little whack o' brandy to do for you and me
+--aye, and for your father as well, I should say."
+
+"Then chemists shouldn't sell such stuff," said Daisy, smiling.
+Poison was so remote from herself, that the sight of these little
+bottles only brought a pleasant thrill.
+
+"No more they don't. That was sneaked out of a flypaper, that was.
+Lady said she wanted a cosmetic for her complexion, but what she was
+really going for was flypapers for to do away with her husband.
+She'd got a bit tired of him, I suspect."
+
+"Perhaps he was a horrid man, and deserved to be done away with,"
+said Daisy. The idea struck them both as so very comic that they
+began to laugh aloud in unison.
+
+"Did you ever hear what a certain Mrs. Pearce did?" asked Chandler,
+becoming suddenly serious.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Daisy, and she shuddered a little. "That was the
+wicked, wicked woman what killed a pretty little baby and its mother.
+They've got her in Madame Tussaud's. But Ellen, she won't let me go
+to the Chamber of Horrors. She wouldn't let father take me there
+last time I was in London. Cruel of her, I called it. But somehow
+I don't feel as if I wanted to go there now, after having been here!"
+
+"Well," said Chandler slowly, "we've a case full of relics of Mrs.
+Pearce. But the pram the bodies were found in, that's at Madame
+Tussaud's--at least so they claim, I can't say. Now here's something
+just as curious, and not near so dreadful. See that man's jacket
+there?"
+
+"Yes," said Daisy falteringly. She was beginning to feel oppressed,
+frightened. She no longer wondered that the Indian gentleman had
+been taken queer.
+
+"A burglar shot a man dead who'd disturbed him, and by mistake he
+went and left that jacket behind him. Our people noticed that one
+of the buttons was broken in two. Well, that don't seem much of a
+clue, does it, Miss Daisy? Will you believe me when I tells you
+that that other bit of button was discovered, and that it hanged
+the fellow? And 'twas the more wonderful because all three buttons
+was different!"
+
+Daisy stared wonderingly, down at the little broken button which
+had hung a man. "And whatever's that!" she asked, pointing to a
+piece of dirty-looking stuff.
+
+"Well," said Chandler reluctantly, "that's rather a horrible thing
+--that is. That's a bit o' shirt that was buried with a woman--
+buried in the ground, I mean--after her husband had cut her up and
+tried, to burn her. 'Twas that bit o' shirt that brought him to the
+gallows."
+
+"I considers your museum's a very horrid place!" said Daisy
+pettishly, turning away.
+
+She longed to be out in the passage again, away from this brightly
+lighted, cheerful-looking, sinister room.
+
+But her father was now absorbed in the case containing various types
+of infernal machines. "Beautiful little works of art some of them
+are," said his guide eagerly, and Bunting could not but agree.
+
+"Come along--do, father!" said Daisy quickly. "I've seen about
+enough now. If I was to stay in here much longer it 'ud give me
+the horrors. I don't want to have no nightmares to-night. It's
+dreadful to think there are so many wicked people in the world.
+Why, we might knock up against some murderer any minute without
+knowing it, mightn't we?"
+
+"Not you, Miss Daisy," said Chandler smilingly. "I don't suppose
+you'll ever come across even a common swindler, let alone anyone
+who's committed a murder--not one in a million does that. Why,
+even I have never had anything to do with a proper murder case!"
+
+But Bunting was in no hurry. He was thoroughly enjoying every
+moment of the time. Just now he was studying intently the various
+photographs which hung on the walls of the Black Museum; especially
+was he pleased to see those connected with a famous and still
+mysterious case which had taken place not long before in Scotland,
+and in which the servant of the man who died had played a
+considerable part--not in elucidating, but in obscuring, the mystery.
+
+"I suppose a good many murderers get off?" he said musingly.
+
+And Joe Chandler's friend nodded. "I should think they did!" he
+exclaimed. "There's no such thing as justice here in England.
+'Tis odds on the murderer every time. 'Tisn't one in ten that
+come to the end he should do--to the gallows, that is."
+
+"And what d'you think about what's going on now--I mean about
+those Avenger murders?"
+
+Bunting lowered his voice, but Daisy and Chandler were already
+moving towards the door.
+
+"I don't believe he'll ever be caught," said the other
+confidentially. "In some ways 'tis a lot more of a job to catch a
+madman than 'tis to run down just an ordinary criminal. And, of
+course--leastways to my thinking--The Avenger is a madman--one
+of the cunning, quiet sort. Have you heard about the letter?" his
+voice dropped lower.
+
+ "No," said Bunting, staring eagerly at him. "What letter d'you
+mean?"
+
+"Well, there's a letter--it'll be in this museum some day--which
+came just before that last double event. 'Twas signed 'The Avenger,'
+in just the same printed characters as on that bit of paper he always
+leaves behind him. Mind you, it don't follow that it actually was The
+Avenger what sent that letter here, but it looks uncommonly like it,
+and I know that the Boss attaches quite a lot of importance to it."
+
+"And where was it posted?" asked Bunting. "That might be a bit of a
+clue, you know."
+
+"Oh, no," said the other. "They always goes a very long way to
+post anything--criminals do. It stands to reason they would. But
+this particular one was put in the Edgware Road Post Office."
+
+"What? Close to us?" said Bunting. "Goodness! dreadful!"
+
+"Any of us might knock up against him any minute. I don't suppose
+The Avenger's in any way peculiar-looking--in fact we know he ain't."
+
+"Then you think that woman as says she saw him did see him?" asked
+Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+"Our description was made up from what she said," answered the other
+cautiously. "But, there, you can't tell! In a case like that it's
+groping--groping in the dark all the time--and it's just a lucky
+accident if it comes out right in the end. Of course, it's upsetting
+us all very much here. You can't wonder at that!"
+
+"No, indeed," said Bunting quickly. "I give you my word, I've hardly
+thought of anything else for the last month."
+
+Daisy had disappeared, and when her father joined her in the passage
+she was listening, with downcast eyes, to what Joe Chandler was
+saying.
+
+He was telling her about his real home, of the place where his mother
+lived, at Richmond--that it was a nice little house, close to the
+park. He was asking her whether she could manage to come out there
+one afternoon, explaining that his mother would give them tea, and
+how nice it would be.
+
+"I don't see why Ellen shouldn't let me," the girl said rebelliously.
+"But she's that old-fashioned and pernickety is Ellen--a regular
+old maid! And, you see, Mr. Chandler, when I'm staying with them,
+father don't like for me to do anything that Ellen don't approve of.
+But she's got quite fond of you, so perhaps if you ask her--?"
+She looked at him, and he nodded sagely.
+
+"Don't you be afraid," he said confidently. "I'll get round Mrs.
+Bunting. But, Miss Daisy"--he grew very red--"I'd just like to
+ask you a question--no offence meant--"
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy a little breathlessly. "There's father close to
+us, Mr. Chandler. Tell me quick; what is it?"
+
+"Well, I take it, by what you said just now, that you've never
+walked out with any young fellow?"
+
+Daisy hesitated a moment; then a very pretty dimple came into her
+cheek. "No," she said sadly. "No, Mr. Chandler, that I have not."
+In a burst of candour she added, "You see, I never had the chance!"
+
+And Joe Chandler smiled, well pleased.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+By what she regarded as a fortunate chance, Mrs. Bunting found
+herself for close on an hour quite alone in the house during her
+husband's and Daisy's jaunt with young Chandler.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not often go out in the daytime, but on this
+particular afternoon, after he had finished his tea, when dusk was
+falling, he suddenly observed that he wanted a new suit of clothes,
+and his landlady eagerly acquiesced in his going out to purchase it.
+
+As soon as he had left the house, she went quickly up to the
+drawing-room floor. Now had come her opportunity of giving the two
+rooms a good dusting; but Mrs. Bunting knew well, deep in her heart,
+that it was not so much the dusting of Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room she
+wanted to do--as to engage in a vague search for--she hardly knew
+for what.
+
+During the years she had been in service Mrs. Bunting had always
+had a deep, wordless contempt for those of her fellow-servants who
+read their employers' private letters, and who furtively peeped
+into desks and cupboards in the hope, more vague than positive, of
+discovering family skeletons.
+
+But now, with regard to Mr. Sleuth, she was ready, aye, eager, to
+do herself what she had once so scorned others for doing.
+
+Beginning with the bedroom, she started on a methodical search. He
+was a very tidy gentleman was the lodger, and his few things,
+under-garments, and so on, were in apple-pie order. She had early
+undertaken, much to his satisfaction, to do the very little bit of
+washing he required done, with her own and Bunting's. Luckily he
+wore soft shirts.
+
+At one time Mrs. Bunting had always had a woman in to help her with
+this tiresome weekly job, but lately she had grown quite clever at
+it herself. The only things she had to send out were Bunting's
+shirts. Everything else she managed to do herself.
+
+From the chest of drawers she now turned her attention to the
+dressing-table.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not take his money with him when he went out, he
+generally left it in one of the drawers below the old-fashioned
+looking-glass. And now, in a perfunctory way, his landlady pulled
+out the little drawer, but she did not touch what was lying there;
+she only glanced at the heap of sovereigns and a few bits of silver.
+The lodger had taken just enough money with him to buy the clothes
+he required. He had consulted her as to how much they would cost,
+making no secret of why he was going out, and the fact had vaguely
+comforted Mrs. Bunting.
+
+Now she lifted the toilet-cover, and even rolled up the carpet a
+little way, but no, there was nothing there, not so much as a scrap
+of paper. And at last, when more or less giving up the search, as
+she came and went between the two rooms, leaving the connecting door
+wide open, her mind became full of uneasy speculation and wonder as
+to the lodger's past life.
+
+Odd Mr. Sleuth must surely always have been, but odd in a sensible
+sort of way, having on the whole the same moral ideals of conduct
+as have other people of his class. He was queer about the drink--one
+might say almost crazy on the subject--but there, as to that, he
+wasn't the only one! She, Ellen Bunting, had once lived with a
+lady who was just like that, who was quite crazed, that is, on the
+question of drink and drunkards--She looked round the neat
+drawing-room with vague dissatisfaction. There was only one place
+where anything could be kept concealed--that place was the
+substantial if small mahogany chiffonnier. And then an idea
+suddenly came to Mrs. Bunting, one she had never thought of before.
+
+After listening intently for a moment, lest something should suddenly
+bring Mr. Sleuth home earlier than she expected, she went to the
+corner where the chiffonnier stood, and, exerting the whole of her
+not very great physical strength, she tipped forward the heavy piece
+of furniture.
+
+As she did so, she heard a queer rumbling sound,--something rolling
+about on the second shelf, something which had not been there before
+Mr. Sleuth's arrival. Slowly, laboriously, she tipped the chiffonnier
+backwards and forwards--once, twice, thrice--satisfied, yet strangely
+troubled in her mind, for she now felt sure that the bag of which the
+disappearance had so surprised her was there, safely locked away by
+its owner.
+
+Suddenly a very uncomfortable thought came to Mrs. Bunting's mind.
+She hoped Mr. Sleuth would not notice that his bag had shifted inside
+the cupboard. A moment later, with sharp dismay, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady realised that the fact that she had moved the chiffonnier
+must become known to her lodger, for a thin trickle of some
+dark-coloured liquid was oozing out though the bottom of the little
+cupboard door.
+
+She stooped down and touched the stuff. It showed red, bright red,
+on her finger.
+
+Mrs. Bunting grew chalky white, then recovered herself quickly. In
+fact the colour rushed into her face, and she grew hot all over.
+
+It was only a bottle of red ink she had upset--that was all! How
+could she have thought it was anything else?
+
+It was the more silly of her--so she told herself in scornful
+condemnation--because she knew that the lodger used red ink.
+Certain pages of Cruden's Concordance were covered with notes written
+in Mr. Sleuth's peculiar upright handwriting. In fact in some places
+you couldn't see the margin, so closely covered was it with remarks
+and notes of interrogation.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had foolishly placed his bottle of red ink in the
+chiffonnier--that was what her poor, foolish gentleman had done;
+and it was owing to her inquisitiveness, her restless wish to know
+things she would be none the better, none the happier, for knowing,
+that this accident had taken place.
+
+She mopped up with her duster the few drops of ink which had fallen
+on the green carpet and then, still feeling, as she angrily told
+herself, foolishly upset she went once more into the back room.
+
+It was curious that Mr. Sleuth possessed no notepaper. She would
+have expected him to have made that one of his first purchases--the
+more so that paper is so very cheap, especially that rather
+dirty-looking grey Silurian paper. Mrs. Bunting had once lived with
+a lady who always used two kinds of notepaper, white for her friends
+and equals, grey for those whom she called "common people." She,
+Ellen Green, as she then was, had always resented the fact. Strange
+she should remember it now, stranger in a way because that employer
+of her's had not been a real lady, and Mr. Sleuth, whatever his
+peculiarities, was, in every sense of the word, a real gentleman.
+Somehow Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he had bought any notepaper
+it would have been white--white and probably cream-laid--not
+grey and cheap.
+
+Again she opened the drawer of the old-fashioned wardrobe and lifted
+up the few pieces of underclothing Mr. Sleuth now possessed.
+
+But there was nothing there--nothing, that is, hidden away. When
+one came to think of it there seemed something strange in the notion
+of leaving all one's money where anyone could take it, and in locking
+up such a valueless thing as a cheap sham leather bag, to say nothing
+of a bottle of ink.
+
+Mrs. Bunting once more opened out each of the tiny drawers below the
+looking-glass, each delicately fashioned of fine old mahogany. Mr.
+Sleuth kept his money in the centre drawer.
+
+The glass had only cost seven-and-sixpence, and, after the auction
+a dealer had come and offered her first fifteen shillings, and then
+a guinea for it. Not long ago, in Baker Street, she had seen a
+looking-glass which was the very spit of this one, labeled
+"Chippendale, Antique. L21 5s 0d."
+
+There lay Mr. Sleuth's money--the sovereigns, as the landlady well
+knew, would each and all gradually pass into her's and Bunting's
+possession, honestly earned by them no doubt but unattainable--in
+act unearnable--excepting in connection with the present owner of
+those dully shining gold sovereigns.
+
+At last she went downstairs to await Mr. Sleuth's return.
+
+When she heard the key turn in the door, she came out into the
+passage.
+
+"I'm sorry to say I've had an accident, sir," she said a little
+breathlessly. "Taking advantage of your being out I went up to
+dust the drawing-room, and while I was trying to get behind the
+chiffonnier it tilted. I'm afraid, sir, that a bottle of ink that
+was inside may have got broken, for just a few drops oozed out,
+sir. But I hope there's no harm done. I wiped it up as well as
+I could, seeing that the doors of the chiffonnier are locked."
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her with a wild, almost a terrified glance.
+But Mrs. Bunting stood her ground. She felt far less afraid now
+than she had felt before he came in. Then she had been so
+frightened that she had nearly gone out of the house, on to the
+pavement, for company.
+
+"Of course I had no idea, sir, that you kept any ink in there."
+
+She spoke as if she were on the defensive, and the lodger's brow
+cleared.
+
+"I was aware you used ink, sir," Mrs. Bunting went on, "for I have
+seen you marking that book of yours--I mean the book you read
+together with the Bible. Would you like me to go out and get you
+another bottle, sir?"
+
+"No," said Mr. Sleuth. "No, I thank you. I will at once proceed
+upstairs and see what damage has been done. When I require you I
+shall ring."
+
+He shuffled past her, and five minutes later the drawing-room bell
+did ring.
+
+At once, from the door, Mrs. Bunting saw that the chiffonnier was
+wide open, and that the shelves were empty save for the bottle of
+red ink which had turned over and now lay in a red pool of its own
+making on the lower shelf.
+
+"I'm afraid it will have stained the wood, Mrs. Bunting. Perhaps I
+was ill-advised to keep my ink in there."
+
+"Oh, no, sir! That doesn't matter at all. Only a drop or two fell
+out on to the carpet, and they don't show, as you see, sir, for it's
+a dark corner. Shall I take the bottle away? I may as well."
+
+Mr. Sleuth hesitated. "No," he said, after a long pause, "I think
+not, Mrs. Bunting. For the very little I require it the ink
+remaining in the bottle will do quite well, especially if I add a
+little water, or better still, a little tea, to what already
+remains in the bottle. I only require it to mark up passages which
+happen to be of peculiar interest in my Concordance--a work, Mrs.
+Bunting, which I should have taken great pleasure in compiling
+myself had not this--ah--this gentleman called Cruden, been before."
+
+******
+
+Not only Bunting, but Daisy also, thought Ellen far pleasanter in
+her manner than usual that evening. She listened to all they had
+to say about their interesting visit to the Black Museum, and did
+not snub either of them--no, not even when Bunting told of the
+dreadful, haunting, silly-looking death-masks taken from the hanged.
+
+But a few minutes after that, when her husband suddenly asked her
+a question, Mrs. Bunting answered at random. It was clear she had
+not heard the last few words he had been saying.
+
+"A penny for your thoughts!" he said jocularly. But she shook her
+head.
+
+Daisy slipped out of the room, and, five minutes later, came back
+dressed up in a blue-and-white check silk gown.
+
+"My!" said her father. "You do look fine, Daisy. I've never seen
+you wearing that before."
+
+"And a rare figure of fun she looks in it!" observed Mrs. Bunting
+sarcastically. And then, "I suppose this dressing up means that
+you're expecting someone. I should have thought both of you must
+have seen enough of young Chandler for one day. I wonder when that
+young chap does his work--that I do! He never seems too busy to
+come and waste an hour or two here."
+
+But that was the only nasty thing Ellen said all that evening. And
+even Daisy noticed that her stepmother seemed dazed and unlike
+herself. She went about her cooking and the various little things
+she had to do even more silently than was her wont.
+
+Yet under that still, almost sullen, manner, how fierce was the
+storm of dread, of sombre anguish, and, yes, of sick suspense,
+which shook her soul, and which so far affected her poor, ailing
+body that often she felt as if she could not force herself to
+accomplish her simple round of daily work.
+
+After they had finished supper Bunting went out and bought a penny
+evening paper, but as he came in he announced, with a rather rueful
+smile, that he had read so much of that nasty little print this
+last week or two that his eyes hurt him.
+
+"Let me read aloud a bit to you, father," said Daisy eagerly, and he
+handed her the paper.
+
+Scarcely had Daisy opened her lips when a loud ring and a knock
+echoed through the house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+It was only Joe. Somehow, even Bunting called him "Joe" now, and no
+longer "Chandler," as he had mostly used to do.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had opened the front door only a very little way.
+She wasn't going to have any strangers pushing in past her.
+
+To her sharpened, suffering senses her house had become a citadel
+which must be defended; aye, even if the besiegers were a mighty
+horde with right on their side. And she was always expecting that
+first single spy who would herald the battalion against whom her
+only weapon would be her woman's wit and cunning.
+
+But when she saw who stood there smiling at her, the muscles of her
+face relaxed, and it lost the tense, anxious, almost agonised look
+it assumed the moment she turned her back on her husband and
+stepdaughter.
+
+"Why, Joe," she whispered, for she had left the door open behind
+her, and Daisy had already begun to read aloud, as her father had
+bidden her. "Come in, do! It's fairly cold to-night."
+
+A glance at his face had shown her that there was no fresh news.
+
+Joe Chandler walked in, past her, into the little hall. Cold?
+Well, he didn't feel cold, for he had walked quickly to be the
+sooner where he was now.
+
+Nine days had gone by since that last terrible occurrence, the
+double murder which had been committed early in the morning of
+the day Daisy had arrived in London. And though the thousands of
+men belonging to the Metropolitan Police--to say nothing of the
+smaller, more alert body of detectives attached to the Force--
+were keenly on the alert, not one but had begun to feel that
+there was nothing to be alert about. Familiarity, even with
+horror, breeds contempt.
+
+But with the public it was far otherwise. Each day something
+happened to revive and keep alive the mingled horror and interest
+this strange, enigmatic series of crimes had evoked. Even the
+more sober organs of the Press went on attacking, with gathering
+severity and indignation, the Commissioner of Police; and at the
+huge demonstration held in Victoria Park two days before violent
+speeches had also been made against the Home Secretary.
+
+But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that. The little
+house in the Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isle
+of dreams, to which his thoughts were ever turning when he had a
+moment to spare from what had grown to be a wearisome, because an
+unsatisfactory, job. He secretly agreed with one of his pals who
+had exclaimed, and that within twenty-four hours of the last double
+crime, "Why, 'twould be easier to find a needle in a rick o' hay
+than this--bloke!"
+
+And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now--after
+nine long, empty days had gone by?
+
+Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat.
+Then he put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs.
+Bunting to wait a moment. From where he stood in the hall the
+father and daughter made a pleasant little picture of contented
+domesticity. Joe Chandler's honest heart swelled at the sight.
+
+Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which her
+stepmother and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the left
+side of the fire, while Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortable
+arm-chair, was listening, his hand to his ear, in an attitude--as
+it was the first time she had caught him doing it, the fact brought
+a pang to Mrs. Bunting--which showed that age was beginning to
+creep over the listener.
+
+One of Daisy's duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of
+reading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her
+accomplishment.
+
+Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy had been asking,
+"Shall I read this, father?" And Bunting had answered quickly,
+"Aye, do, my dear."
+
+He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the
+door, he had only just nodded his head. The young man was becoming
+so frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.
+
+Daisy read out:
+
+"The Avenger: A--"
+
+And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly.
+Bravely, however, she went on. "A the-o-ry."
+
+"Go in--do!" whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. "Why should
+we stay out here in the cold? It's ridiculous."
+
+"I don't want to interrupt Miss Daisy," whispered Chandler back,
+rather hoarsely.
+
+"Well, you'll hear it all the better in the room. Don't think
+she'll stop because of you, bless you! There's nothing shy about
+our Daisy!"
+
+The young man resented the tart, short tone. "Poor little girl!"
+he said to himself tenderly. "That's what it is having a stepmother,
+instead of a proper mother." But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and then
+he was pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a bright
+blush came over her pretty face.
+
+"Joe begs you won't stop yet awhile. Go on with your reading,"
+commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly. "Now, Joe, you can go and sit over
+there, close to Daisy, and then you won't miss a word."
+
+There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticed
+that, but he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he went
+and sat on a chair just behind Daisy. From there he could note with
+reverent delight the charming way her fair hair grew upwards from
+the nape of her slender neck.
+
+"The AVENGER: A THE-O-RY"
+
+began Daisy again, clearing her throat.
+
+"DEAR Sir--I have a suggestion to put forward for which I think
+there is a great deal to be said. It seems to me very probable
+that The Avenger--to give him the name by which he apparently
+wishes to be known--comprises in his own person the peculiarities
+of Jekyll and Hyde, Mr. Louis Stevenson's now famous hero.
+
+"The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet,
+pleasant-looking gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End of
+London. He has, however, a tragedy in his past life. He is the
+husband of a dipsomaniac wife. She is, of course, under care, and
+is never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe with his
+widowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister. They notice that he
+has become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life,
+occupying himself each day with some harmless hobby. On foggy
+nights, once the quiet household is plunged in sleep, he creeps out
+of the house, maybe between one and two o'clock, and swiftly makes
+his way straight to what has become The Avenger's murder area.
+Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her with Judas-like
+gentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly home
+again. After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, once
+more the quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother,
+esteemed and even beloved by a large circle of friends and
+acquaintances. Meantime, the police are searching about the scene
+of the tragedy for what they regard as the usual type of criminal
+lunatic.
+
+"I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess that
+I am amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries to
+the part of London where these murders have been actually committed.
+I am quite sure from all that has come out--and we must remember
+that full information is never given to the newspapers--The Avenger
+should be sought for in the West and not in the East End of London
+--Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very truly--"
+
+Again Daisy hesitated, and then with an effort she brought out the
+word "Gab-o-ri-you," said she.
+
+"What a funny name!" said Bunting wonderingly.
+
+And then Joe broke in: "That's the name of a French chap what wrote
+detective stories," he said. "Pretty good, some of them are, too!"
+
+"Then this Gaboriyou has come over to study these Avenger murders,
+I take it?" said Bunting.
+
+"Oh, no," Joe spoke with confidence. "Whoever's written that silly
+letter just signed that name for fun."
+
+"It is a silly letter," Mrs. Bunting had broken in resentfully. "I
+wonder a respectable paper prints such rubbish."
+
+"Fancy if The Avenger did turn out to be a gentleman!" cried Daisy, in
+an awe-struck voice. "There'd be a how-to-do!"
+
+"There may be something in the notion," said her father thoughtfully.
+"After all, the monster must be somewhere. This very minute he must
+be somewhere a-hiding of himself."
+
+"Of course he's somewhere," said Mrs. Bunting scornfully.
+
+She had just heard Mr. Sleuth moving overhead. 'Twould soon be time
+for the lodger's supper.
+
+She hurried on: "But what I do say is that--that--he has nothing
+to do with the West End. Why, they say it's a sailor from the Docks
+--that's a good bit more likely, I take it. But there, I'm fair
+sick of the whole subject! We talk of nothing else in this house.
+The Avenger this--The Avenger that--"
+
+"I expect Joe has something to tell us new to-night," said Bunting
+cheerfully. "Well, Joe, is there anything new?"
+
+"I say, father, just listen to this!" Daisy broke in excitedly.
+She read out:
+
+
+"BLOODHOUNDS TO BE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERED"
+
+
+"Bloodhounds?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, and there was terror in her
+tone. "Why bloodhounds? That do seem to me a most horrible idea!"
+
+Bunting looked across at her, mildly astonished. "Why, 'twould be
+a very good idea, if 'twas possible to have bloodhounds in a town.
+But, there, how can that be done in London, full of butchers' shops,
+to say nothing of slaughter-yards and other places o' that sort?"
+
+But Daisy went on, and to her stepmother's shrinking ear there
+seemed a horrible thrill of delight; of gloating pleasure, in her
+fresh young voice.
+
+"Hark to this," she said:
+
+"A man who had committed a murder in a lonely wood near Blackburn
+was traced by the help of a bloodhound, and thanks to the sagacious
+instincts of the animal, the miscreant was finally convicted and
+hanged."
+
+"La, now! Who'd ever have thought of such a thing?" Bunting
+exclaimed, in admiration. "The newspapers do have some useful
+hints in sometimes, Joe."
+
+But young Chandler shook his head. "Bloodhounds ain't no use," he
+said; "no use at all! If the Yard was to listen to all the
+suggestions that the last few days have brought in--well, all I
+can say is our work would be cut out for us--not but what it's
+cut out for us now, if it comes to that!" He sighed ruefully. He
+was beginning to feel very tired; if only he could stay in this
+pleasant, cosy room listening to Daisy Bunting reading on and on
+for ever, instead of having to go out, as he would presently have
+to do, into the cold and foggy night!
+
+Joe Chandler was fast becoming very sick of his new job. There
+was a lot of unpleasantness attached to the business, too. Why,
+even in the house where he lived, and in the little cook-shop where
+he habitually took his meals, the people round him had taken to
+taunt him with the remissness of the police. More than that one of
+his pals, a man he'd always looked up to, because the young fellow
+had the gift of the gab, had actually been among those who had
+spoken at the big demonstration in Victoria Park, making a violent
+speech, not only against the Commissioner of the Metropolitan
+Police, but also against the Home Secretary.
+
+But Daisy, like most people who believe themselves blessed with the
+possession of an accomplishment, had no mind to leave off reading
+just yet.
+
+"Here's another notion!" she exclaimed. "Another letter, father!"
+
+
+"PARDON TO ACCOMPLICES.
+
+
+"DEAR Sir--During the last day or two several of the more
+Intelligent of my acquaintances have suggested that The Avenger,
+whoever he may be, must be known to a certain number of persons.
+It is impossible that the perpetrator of such deeds, however
+nomad he may be in his habits--"
+
+"Now I wonder what 'nomad' can be?" Daisy interrupted herself, and
+looked round at her little audience.
+
+"I've always declared the fellow had all his senses about him,"
+observed Bunting confidently.
+
+Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
+
+"--however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat
+where his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person
+who knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding information
+in expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory
+after the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences. My
+suggestion, Sir, is that the Home Secretary promise a free pardon.
+The more so that only thus can this miscreant be brought to justice.
+Unless he was caught red-handed in the act, it will be exceedingly
+difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for
+English law looks very askance at circumstantial evidence."
+
+"There's something worth listening to in that letter," said Joe,
+leaning forward.
+
+Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as
+she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he
+was saying.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
+
+"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in
+a railway carriage? He took refuge with someone--a woman his
+mother had known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time.
+But at last she gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!"
+
+"I don't think I'd like to give anybody up for a reward," said
+Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
+
+"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You'd
+only be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone--everyone, that
+is, who's a good citizen. And you'd be getting something for doing
+it, which is more than most people gets as does their duty."
+
+"A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common
+informer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man 'ud care to be
+called that! It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It's
+your job to catch those who've done anything wrong. And a man'd be
+a fool who'd take refuge--like with you. He'd be walking into the
+lion's mouth--" Bunting laughed.
+
+And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything I
+wouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
+
+And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn't
+be afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"
+
+And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting,
+sitting with bowed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience
+and anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.
+
+"Why, Ellen, don't you feel well?" asked Bunting quickly.
+
+"Just a spasm, a sharp stitch in my side, like," answered the poor
+woman heavily. "It's over now. Don't mind me."
+
+"But I don't believe--no, that I don't--that there's anybody in
+the world who knows who The Avenger is," went on Chandler quickly.
+"It stands to reason that anybody'd give him up--in their own
+interest, if not in anyone else's. Who'd shelter such a creature?
+Why, 'twould be dangerous to have him in the house along with one!"
+
+"Then it's your idea that he's not responsible for the wicked things
+he does?" Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandler
+with eager, anxious eyes.
+
+"I'd be sorry to think he wasn't responsible enough to hang!" said
+Chandler deliberately. "After all the trouble he's been giving us, too!"
+
+"Hanging'd be too good for that chap," said Bunting.
+
+"Not if he's not responsible," said his wife sharply. "I never
+heard of anything so cruel--that I never did! If the man's a
+madman, he ought to be in an asylum--that's where he ought to be."
+
+"Hark to her now!" Bunting looked at his Ellen with amusement.
+"Contrary isn't the word for her! But there, I've noticed the last
+few days that she seemed to be taking that monster's part. That's
+what comes of being a born total abstainer."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had got up from her chair. "What nonsense you do talk!"
+she said angrily. "Not but what it's a good thing if these murders
+have emptied the public-houses of women for a bit. England's drink
+is England's shame--I'll never depart from that! Now, Daisy, child,
+get up, do! Put down that paper. We've heard quite enough. You can
+be laying the cloth while I goes down the kitchen."
+
+"Yes, you mustn't be forgetting the lodger's supper," called out
+Bunting. "Mr. Sleuth don't always ring--" he turned to Chandler.
+"For one thing, he's often out about this time."
+
+"Not often--just now and again, when he wants to buy something,"
+snapped out Mrs. Bunting. "But I hadn't forgot his supper. He
+never do want it before eight o'clock."
+
+"Let me take up the lodger's supper, Ellen," Daisy's eager voice
+broke in. She had got up in obedience to her stepmother, and was
+now laying the cloth.
+
+"Certainly not! I told you he only wanted me to wait on him. You
+have your work cut out looking after things down here--that's where
+I wants you to help me."
+
+Chandler also got up. Somehow he didn't like to be doing nothing
+while Daisy was so busy. "Yes," he said, looking across at Mrs.
+Bunting, "I'd forgotten about your lodger. Going on all right, eh?"
+
+"Never knew so quiet and well-behaved a gentleman," said Bunting.
+"He turned our luck, did Mr. Sleuth."
+
+His wife left the room, and after she had gone Daisy laughed.
+"You'll hardly believe it, Mr. Chandler, but I've never seen this
+wonderful lodger. Ellen keeps him to herself, that she does! If I
+was father I'd be jealous!"
+
+Both men laughed. Ellen? No, the idea was too funny.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+"All I can say is, I think Daisy ought to go. One can't always do
+just what one wants to do--not in this world, at any rate!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting did not seem to be addressing anyone in particular,
+though both her husband and her stepdaughter were in the room. She
+was standing by the table, staring straight before her, and as she
+spoke she avoided looking at either Bunting or Daisy. There was in
+her voice a tone of cross decision, of thin finality, with which
+they were both acquainted, and to which each listener knew the other
+would have to bow.
+
+There was silence for a moment, then Daisy broke out passionately,
+"I don't see why I should go if I don't want to!" she cried.
+"You'll allow I've been useful to you, Ellen? 'Tisn't even as if
+you was quite well."
+
+"I am quite well--perfectly well!" snapped out Mrs. Bunting, and
+she turned her pale, drawn face, and looked angrily at her
+stepdaughter.
+
+"'Tain't often I has a chance of being with you and father." There
+were tears in Daisy's voice, and Bunting glanced deprecatingly at
+his wife.
+
+An invitation had come to Daisy--an invitation from her own dead
+mother's sister, who was housekeeper in a big house in Belgrave
+Square. "The family" had gone away for the Christmas holidays, and
+Aunt Margaret--Daisy was her godchild--had begged that her niece
+might come and spend two or three days with her.
+
+But the girl had already had more than one taste of what life was
+like in the great gloomy basement of 100 Belgrave Square. Aunt
+Margaret was one of those old-fashioned servants for whom the modern
+employer is always sighing. While "the family" were away it was
+her joy--she regarded it as a privilege--to wash sixty-seven pieces
+of very valuable china contained in two cabinets in the drawing-room;
+she also slept in every bed by turns, to keep them all well aired.
+These were the two duties with which she intended her young niece
+to assist her, and Daisy's soul sickened at the prospect.
+
+But the matter had to be settled at once. The letter had come an
+hour ago, containing a stamped telegraph form, and Aunt Margaret
+was not one to be trifled with.
+
+Since breakfast the three had talked of nothing else, and from the
+very first Mrs. Bunting had said that Daisy ought to go--that there
+was no doubt about it, that it did not admit of discussion. But
+discuss it they all did, and for once Bunting stood up to his wife.
+But that, as was natural, only made his Ellen harder and more set
+on her own view.
+
+"What the child says is true," he observed. "It isn't as if you
+was quite well. You've been took bad twice in the last few days
+--you can't deny of it, Ellen. Why shouldn't I just take a bus
+and go over and see Margaret? I'd tell her just how it is. She'd
+understand, bless you!"
+
+"I won't have you doing nothing of the sort!" cried Mrs. Bunting,
+speaking almost as passionately as her stepdaughter had done.
+"Haven't I a right to be ill, haven't I a right to be took bad,
+aye, and to feel all right again--same as other people?"
+
+Daisy turned round and clasped her hands. "Oh, Ellen!" she cried;
+"do say that you can't spare me! I don't want to go across to that
+horrid old dungeon of a place."
+
+"Do as you like," said Mrs. Bunting sullenly. "I'm fair tired of
+you both! There'll come a day, Daisy, when you'll know, like me,
+that money is the main thing that matters in this world; and when
+your Aunt Margaret's left her savings to somebody else just because
+you wouldn't spend a few days with her this Christmas, then you'll
+know what it's like to go without--you'll know what a fool you
+were, and that nothing can't alter it any more!"
+
+And then, with victory actually in her grasp, poor Daisy saw it
+snatched from her.
+
+"Ellen is right," Bunting said heavily. "Money does matter--a
+terrible deal--though I never thought to hear Ellen say 'twas the
+only thing that mattered. But 'twould be foolish--very, very
+foolish, my girl, to offend your Aunt Margaret. It'll only be
+two days after all--two days isn't a very long time."
+
+But Daisy did not hear her father's last words. She had already
+rushed from the room, and gone down to the kitchen to hide her
+childish tears of disappointment--the childish tears which came
+because she was beginning to be a woman, with a woman's natural
+instinct for building her own human nest.
+
+Aunt Margaret was not one to tolerate the comings of any strange
+young man, and she had a peculiar dislike to the police.
+
+"Who'd ever have thought she'd have minded as much as that!"
+Bunting looked across at Ellen deprecatingly; already his heart
+was misgiving him.
+
+"It's plain enough why she's become so fond of us all of a sudden,"
+said Mrs. Bunting sarcastically. And as her husband stared at her
+uncomprehendingly, she added, in a tantalising tone, "as plain as
+the nose on your face, my man."
+
+"What d'you mean?" he said. "I daresay I'm a bit slow, Ellen, but
+I really don't know what you'd be at?"
+
+"Don't you remember telling me before Daisy came here that Joe
+Chandler had become sweet on her last summer? I thought it only
+foolishness then, but I've come round to your view--that's all."
+
+Bunting nodded his head slowly. Yes, Joe had got into the way of
+coming very often, and there had been the expedition to that gruesome
+Scotland Yard museum, but somehow he, Bunting, had been so interested
+in the Avenger murders that he hadn't thought of Joe in any other
+connection--not this time, at any rate.
+
+"And do you think Daisy likes him?" There was an unwonted tone of
+excitement, of tenderness, in Bunting's voice.
+
+His wife looked over at him; and a thin smile, not an unkindly
+smile by any means, lit up her pale face. "I've never been one
+to prophesy," she answered deliberately. "But this I don't mind
+telling you, Bunting--Daisy'll have plenty o' time to get tired
+of Joe Chandler before they two are dead. Mark my words!"
+
+"Well, she might do worse," said Bunting ruminatingly. "He's as
+steady as God makes them, and he's already earning thirty-two
+shillings a week. But I wonder how Old Aunt'd like the notion?
+I don't see her parting with Daisy before she must."
+
+"I wouldn't let no old aunt interfere with me about such a thing
+as that!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "No, not for millions of gold!"
+And Bunting looked at her in silent wonder. Ellen was singing a
+very different tune now to what she'd sung a few minutes ago, when
+she was so keen about the girl going to Belgrave Square.
+
+"If she still seems upset while she's having her dinner," said his
+wife suddenly, "well, you just wait till I've gone out for something,
+and then you just say to her, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'
+--just that, and nothing more! She'll take it from you. And I
+shouldn't be surprised if it comforted her quite a lot."
+
+"For the matter of that, there's no reason why Joe Chandler shouldn't
+go over and see her there," said Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+"Oh, yes, there is," said Mrs. Bunting, smiling shrewdly. "Plenty of
+reason. Daisy'll be a very foolish girl if she allows her aunt to
+know any of her secrets. I've only seen that woman once, but I know
+exactly the sort Margaret is. She's just waiting for Old Aunt to
+drop off and then she'll want to have Daisy herself--to wait on
+her, like. She'd turn quite nasty if she thought there was a young
+fellow what stood in her way."
+
+She glanced at the dock, the pretty little eight-day clock which
+had been a wedding present from a kind friend of her last mistress.
+It had mysteriously disappeared during their time of trouble, and
+had as mysteriously reappeared three or four days after Mr. Sleuth's
+arrival.
+
+"I've time to go out with that telegram," she said briskly--somehow
+she felt better, different to what she had done the last few days--
+"and then it'll be done. It's no good having more words about it,
+and I expect we should have plenty more words if I wait till the
+child comes upstairs again."
+
+She did not speak unkindly, and Bunting looked at her rather
+wonderingly. Ellen very seldom spoke of Daisy as "the child"
+--in fact, he could only remember her having done so once before,
+and that was a long time ago. They had been talking over their
+future life together, and she had said, very solemnly, "Bunting,
+I promise I will do my duty--as much as lies in my power, that
+is--by the child."
+
+But Ellen had not had much opportunity of doing her duty by Daisy.
+As not infrequently happens with the duties that we are willing to
+do, that particular duty had been taken over by someone else who
+had no mind to let it go.
+
+"What shall I do if Mr. Sleuth rings?" asked Bunting, rather
+nervously. It was the first time since the lodger had come to them
+that Ellen had offered to go out in the morning.
+
+She hesitated. In her anxiety to have the matter of Daisy settled,
+she had forgotten Mr. Sleuth. Strange that she should have done so
+--strange, and, to herself, very comfortable and pleasant.
+
+"Oh, well, you can just go up and knock at the door and say I'll be
+back in a few minutes--that I had to go out with a message. He's
+quite a reasonable gentleman." She went into the back room to put
+on her bonnet and thick jacket for it was very cold--getting colder
+every minute.
+
+As she stood, buttoning her gloves--she wouldn't have gone out
+untidy for the world--Bunting suddenly came across to her. "Give
+us a kiss, old girl," he said. And his wife turned up her face.
+
+"One 'ud think it was catching!" she said, but there was a lilt in
+her voice.
+
+"So it is," Bunting briefly answered. "Didn't that old cook get
+married just after us? She'd never 'a thought of it if it hadn't
+been for you!"
+
+But once she was out, walking along the damp, uneven pavement, Mr.
+Sleuth revenged himself for his landlady's temporary forgetfulness.
+
+During the last two days the lodger had been queer, odder than usual,
+unlike himself, or, rather, very much as he had been some ten days
+ago, just before that double murder had taken place.
+
+The night before, while Daisy was telling all about the dreadful
+place to which Joe Chandler had taken her and her father, Mrs.
+Bunting had heard Mr. Sleuth moving about overhead, restlessly
+walking up and down his sitting-room. And later, when she took up
+his supper, she had listened a moment outside the door, while he
+read aloud some of the texts his soul delighted in--terrible texts
+telling of the grim joys attendant on revenge.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was so absorbed in her thoughts, so possessed with the
+curious personality of her lodger, that she did not look where she
+was going, and suddenly a young woman bumped up against her.
+
+She started violently and looked round, dazed, as the young person
+muttered a word of apology;--then she again fell into deep thought.
+
+It was a good thing Daisy was going away for a few days; it made the
+problem of Mr. Sleuth and his queer ways less disturbing. She,
+Ellen, was sorry she had spoken so sharp-like to the girl, but after
+all it wasn't wonderful that she had been snappy. This last night
+she had hardly slept at all. Instead, she had lain awake listening
+--and there is nothing so tiring as to lie awake listening for a
+sound that never comes.
+
+The house had remained so still you could have heard a pin drop. Mr.
+Sleuth, lying snug in his nice warm bed upstairs, had not stirred.
+Had he stirred his landlady was bound to have heard him, for his bed
+was, as we know, just above hers. No, during those long hours of
+darkness Daisy's light, regular breathing was all that had fallen on
+Mrs. Bunting's ears.
+
+And then her mind switched off Mr. Sleuth. She made a determined
+effort to expel him, to toss him, as it were, out of her thoughts.
+
+It seemed strange that The Avenger had stayed his hand, for, as Joe
+had said only last evening, it was full time that he should again
+turn that awful, mysterious searchlight of his on himself. Mrs.
+Bunting always visioned The Avenger as a black shadow in the centre
+a bright blinding light--but the shadow had no form or definite
+substance. Sometimes he looked like one thing, sometimes like
+another . . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting had now come to the corner which led up the street
+where there was a Post Office. But instead of turning sharp to the
+left she stopped short for a minute.
+
+There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke
+and even self-loathing. It was dreadful that she, of all women,
+should have longed to hear that another murder had been committed
+last night!
+
+Yet such was the shameful fact. She had listened all through
+breakfast hoping to hear the dread news being shouted outside; yes,
+and more or less during the long discussion which had followed on
+the receipt of Margaret's letter she had been hoping--hoping
+against hope--that those dreadful triumphant shouts of the
+newspaper-sellers still might come echoing down the Marylebone Road.
+And yet hypocrite that she was, she had reproved Bunting when he
+had expressed, not disappointment exactly--but, well, surprise,
+that nothing had happened last night.
+
+Now her mind switched off to Joe Chandler. Strange to think how
+afraid she had been of that young man! She was no longer afraid of
+him, or hardly at all. He was dotty--that's what was the matter
+with him, dotty with love for rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little Daisy.
+Anything might now go on, right under Joe Chandler's very nose--but,
+bless you, he'd never see it! Last summer, when this affair, this
+nonsense of young Chandler and Daisy had begun, she had had very
+little patience with it all. In fact, the memory of the way Joe
+had gone on then, the tiresome way he would be always dropping in,
+had been one reason (though not the most important reason of all)
+why she had felt so terribly put about at the idea of the girl
+coming again. But now? Well, now she had become quite tolerant,
+quite kindly--at any rate as far as Joe Chandler was concerned.
+
+She wondered why.
+
+Still, 'twouldn't do Joe a bit of harm not to see the girl for a
+couple of days. In fact 'twould be a very good thing, for then he'd
+think of Daisy--think of her to the exclusion of all else. Absence
+does make the heart grow fonder--at first, at any rate. Mrs.
+Bunting was well aware of that. During the long course of hers
+and Bunting's mild courting, they'd been separated for about three
+months, and it was that three months which had made up her mind for
+her. She had got so used to Bunting that she couldn't do without
+him, and she had felt--oddest fact of all--acutely, miserably
+jealous. But she hadn't let him know that--no fear!
+
+Of course, Joe mustn't neglect his job--that would never do. But
+what a good thing it was, after all, that he wasn't like some of
+those detective chaps that are written about in stories--the sort
+of chaps that know everything, see everything, guess everything
+--even where there isn't anything to see, or know, or guess!
+
+Why, to take only one little fact--Joe Chandler had never shown
+the slightest curiosity about their lodger. . . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting pulled herself together with a start, and hurried
+quickly on. Bunting would begin to wonder what had happened to her.
+
+She went into the Post Office and handed the form to the young woman
+without a word. Margaret, a sensible woman, who was accustomed to
+manage other people's affairs, had even written out the words: "Will
+be with you to tea.--DAISY."
+
+It was a comfort to have the thing settled once for all. If anything
+horrible was going to happen in the next two or three days--it was
+just as well Daisy shouldn't be at home. Not that there was any real
+danger that anything would happen,--Mrs. Bunting felt sure of that.
+
+By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally
+counting up the number of murders The Avenger had committed. Nine,
+or was it ten? Surely by now The Avenger must be avenged? Surely by
+now, if--as that writer in the newspaper had suggested--he was a
+quiet, blameless gentleman living in the West End, whatever vengeance
+he had to wreak, must be satisfied?
+
+She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn't do for the lodger to ring
+before she had got back. Bunting would never know how to manage Mr.
+Sleuth, especially if Mr. Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
+
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting put the key into the front door lock and passed into
+the house. Then her heart stood still with fear and terror. There
+came the sound of voices--of voices she thought she did not know--
+in the sitting-room.
+
+She opened the door, and then drew a long breath. It was only Joe
+Chandler--Joe, Daisy, and Bunting, talking together. They stopped
+rather guiltily as she came in, but not before she had heard
+Chandler utter the words: "That don't mean nothing! I'll just run
+out and send another saying you won't come, Miss Daisy."
+
+And then the strangest smile came over Mrs. Bunting's face. There
+had fallen on her ear the still distant, but unmistakable, shouts
+which betokened that something had happened last night--something
+which made it worth while for the newspaper-sellers to come crying
+down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"Well?" she said a little breathlessly. "Well, Joe? I suppose
+you've brought us news? I suppose there's been another?"
+
+He looked at her, surprised. "No, that there hasn't, Mrs. Bunting
+--not as far as I know, that is. Oh, you're thinking of those
+newspaper chaps? They've got to cry out something," he grinned.
+"You wouldn't 'a thought folk was so bloodthirsty. They're just
+shouting out that there's been an arrest; but we don't take no
+stock of that. It's a Scotchman what gave himself up last night
+at Dorking. He'd been drinking, and was a-pitying of himself.
+Why, since this business began, there's been about twenty arrests,
+but they've all come to nothing."
+
+"Why, Ellen, you looks quite sad, quite disappointed," said Bunting
+jokingly. "Come to think of it, it's high time The Avenger was at
+work again." He laughed as he made his grim joke. Then turned to
+young Chandler: "Well, you'll be glad when its all over, my lad."
+
+"Glad in a way," said Chandler unwillingly. "But one 'ud have liked
+to have caught him. One doesn't like to know such a creature's at
+large, now, does one?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting had taken off her bonnet and jacket. "I must just go
+and see about Mr. Sleuth's breakfast," she said in a weary,
+dispirited voice, and left them there.
+
+She felt disappointed, and very, very depressed. As to the plot
+which had been hatching when she came in, that had no chance of
+success; Bunting would never dare let Daisy send out another
+telegram contradicting the first. Besides, Daisy's stepmother
+shrewdly suspected that by now the girl herself wouldn't care to
+do such a thing. Daisy had plenty of sense tucked away somewhere
+in her pretty little head. If it ever became her fate to live as
+a married woman in London, it would be best to stay on the right
+side of Aunt Margaret.
+
+And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother's heart became
+very soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready. In fact,
+there was nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth's two eggs. Feeling
+suddenly more cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took
+the tray upstairs.
+
+"As it was rather late, I didn't wait for you to ring, sir," she
+said.
+
+And the lodger looked up from the table where, as usual, he was
+studying with painful, almost agonising intentness, the Book.
+"Quite right, Mrs. Bunting--quite right! I have been pondering
+over the command, 'Work while it is yet light.'"
+
+"Yes, sir?" she said, and a queer, cold feeling stole over her
+heart. "Yes, sir?"
+
+"'The spirit is willing, but the flesh--the flesh is weak,'" said
+Mr. Sleuth, with a heavy sigh.
+
+"You studies too hard, and too long--that's what's ailing you, sir,"
+said Mr. Sleuth's landlady suddenly.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down again she found that a great deal had
+been settled in her absence; among other things, that Joe Chandler
+was going to escort Miss Daisy across to Belgrave Square. He
+could carry Daisy's modest bag, and if they wanted to ride instead
+of walk, why, they could take the bus from Baker Street Station
+to Victoria--that would land them very near Belgrave Square.
+
+But Daisy seemed quite willing to walk; she hadn't had a walk, she
+declared, for a long, long time--and then she blushed rosy red,
+and even her stepmother had to admit to herself that Daisy was very
+nice looking, not at all the sort of girl who ought to be allowed to
+go about the London streets by herself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+Daisy's father and stepmother stood side by side at the front door,
+watching the girl and young Chandler walk off into the darkness.
+
+A yellow pall of fog had suddenly descended on London, and Joe had
+come a full half-hour before they expected him, explaining, rather
+lamely, that it was the fog which had brought him so soon.
+
+"If we was to have waited much longer, perhaps, 'twouldn't have been
+possible to walk a yard," he explained, and they had accepted,
+silently, his explanation.
+
+"I hope it's quite safe sending her off like that?" Bunting looked
+deprecatingly at his wife. She had already told him more than once
+that he was too fussy about Daisy, that about his daughter he was
+like an old hen with her last chicken.
+
+"She's safer than she would be, with you or me. She couldn't have
+a smarter young fellow to look after her."
+
+"It'll be awful thick at Hyde Park Corner," said Bunting. "It's
+always worse there than anywhere else. If I was Joe I'd 'a taken
+her by the Underground Railway to Victoria--that 'ud been the best
+way, considering the weather 'tis."
+
+"They don't think anything of the weather, bless you!" said his
+wife. "They'll walk and walk as long as there's a glimmer left for
+'em to steer by. Daisy's just been pining to have a walk with that
+young chap. I wonder you didn't notice how disappointed they both
+were when you was so set on going along with them to that horrid
+place."
+
+"D'you really mean that, Ellen?" Bunting looked upset. "I understood
+Joe to say he liked my company."
+
+"Oh, did you?" said Mrs. Bunting dryly. "I expect he liked it just
+about as much as we liked the company of that old cook who would go
+out with us when we was courting. It always was a wonder to me how
+the woman could force herself upon two people who didn't want her."
+
+"But I'm Daisy's father; and an old friend of Chandler," said Bunting
+remonstratingly. "I'm quite different from that cook. She was
+nothing to us, and we was nothing to her."
+
+"She'd have liked to be something to you, I make no doubt," observed
+his Ellen, shaking her head, and her husband smiled, a little
+foolishly.
+
+By this time they were back in their nice, cosy sitting-room, and
+a feeling of not altogether unpleasant lassitude stole over Mrs.
+Bunting. It was a comfort to have Daisy out of her way for a bit.
+The girl, in some ways, was very wide awake and inquisitive, and
+she had early betrayed what her stepmother thought to be a very
+unseemly and silly curiosity concerning the lodger. "You might
+just let me have one peep at him, Ellen?" she had pleaded, only
+that morning. But Ellen had shaken her head. "No, that I won't!
+He's a very quiet gentleman; but he knows exactly what he likes,
+and he don't like anyone but me waiting on him. Why, even your
+father's hardly seen him."
+
+But that, naturally, had only increased Daisy's desire to view Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+There was another reason why Mrs. Bunting was glad that her
+stepdaughter had gone away for two days. During her absence young
+Chandler was far less likely to haunt them in the way he had taken
+to doing lately, the more so that, in spite of what she had said to
+her husband, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that Daisy would ask Joe
+Chandler to call at Belgrave Square. 'Twouldn't be human nature
+--at any rate, not girlish human nature--not to do so, even if
+Joe's coming did anger Aunt Margaret.
+
+Yes, it was pretty safe that with Daisy away they, the Buntings,
+would be rid of that young chap for a bit, and that would be a
+good thing.
+
+When Daisy wasn't there to occupy the whole of his attention, Mrs.
+Bunting felt queerly afraid of Chandler. After all, he was a
+detective--it was his job to be always nosing about, trying to
+find out things. And, though she couldn't fairly say to herself
+that he had done much of that sort of thing in her house, he might
+start doing it any minute. And then--then--where would she, and
+--and Mr. Sleuth, be?
+
+She thought of the bottle of red ink--of the leather bag which
+must be hidden somewhere--and her heart almost stopped beating.
+Those were the sort of things which, in the stories Bunting was
+so fond of reading, always led to the detection of famous
+criminals. . . .
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell for tea rang that afternoon far earlier than
+usual. The fog had probably misled him, and made him think it
+later than it was.
+
+When she went up, "I would like a cup of tea now, and just one
+piece of bread-and-butter," the lodger said wearily. "I don't
+feel like having anything else this afternoon."
+
+"It's a horrible day," Mrs. Bunting observed, in a cheerier voice
+than usual. "No wonder you don't feel hungry, sir. And then it
+isn't so very long since you had your dinner, is it?"
+
+"No," he said absently. "No, it isn't, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+She went down, made the tea, and brought it up again. And then,
+as she came into the room, she uttered an exclamation of sharp
+dismay.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was dressed for going out. He was wearing his long
+Inverness cloak, and his queer old high hat lay on the table,
+ready for him to put on.
+
+"You're never going out this afternoon, sir?" she asked falteringly.
+"Why, the fog's awful; you can't see a yard ahead of you!"
+
+Unknown to herself, Mrs. Bunting's voice had risen almost to a
+scream. She moved back, still holding the tray, and stood between
+the door and her lodger, as if she meant to bar his way--to erect
+between Mr. Sleuth and the dark, foggy world outside a living
+barrier.
+
+"The weather never affects me at all," he said sullenly; and he
+looked at her with so wild and pleading a look in his eyes that,
+slowly, reluctantly, she moved aside. As she did so she noticed
+for the first time that Mr. Sleuth held something in his right
+hand. It was the key of the chiffonnier cupboard. He had been
+on his way there when her coming in had disturbed him.
+
+"It's very kind of you to be so concerned about me," he stammered,
+"but--but, Mrs. Bunting, you must excuse me if I say that I do
+not welcome such solicitude. I prefer to be left alone. I--I
+cannot stay in your house if I feel that my comings and goings are
+watched--spied upon."
+
+She pulled herself together. "No one spies upon you, sir," she
+said, with considerable dignity. "I've done my best to satisfy
+you--"
+
+"You have--you have!" he spoke in a distressed, apologetic tone.
+"But you spoke just now as if you were trying to prevent my doing
+what I wish to do--indeed, what I have to do. For years I have
+been misunderstood--persecuted"--he waited a moment, then in
+a hollow voice added the one word, "tortured! Do not tell me that
+you are going to add yourself to the number of my tormentors, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him helplessly. "Don't you be afraid I'll ever be
+that, sir. I only spoke as I did because--well, sir, because I
+thought it really wasn't safe for a gentleman to go out this
+afternoon. Why, there's hardly anyone about, though we're so near
+Christmas."
+
+He walked across to the window and looked out. "The fog is clearing
+somewhat; Mrs. Bunting," but there was no relief in his voice, rather
+was there disappointment and dread.
+
+Plucking up courage, she followed him. Yes, Mr. Sleuth was right.
+The fog was lifting--rolling off in that sudden, mysterious way in
+which local fogs sometimes do lift in London.
+
+He turned sharply from the window. "Our conversation has made me
+forget an important thing, Mrs. Bunting. I should be glad if you
+would just leave out a glass of milk and some bread-and-butter for
+me this evening. I shall not require supper when I come in, for
+after my walk I shall probably go straight upstairs to carry through
+a very difficult experiment."
+
+"Very good, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting left the lodger.
+
+But when she found herself downstairs in the fog-laden hall, for it
+had drifted in as she and her husband had stood at the door seeing
+Daisy off, instead of going in to Bunting she did a very odd thing
+--a thing she had never thought of doing in her life before. She
+pressed her hot forehead against the cool bit of looking-glass let
+into the hat-and-umbrella stand. "I don't know what to do!" she
+moaned to herself, and then, "I can't bear it! I can't bear it!"
+
+But though she felt that her secret suspense and trouble was becoming
+intolerable, the one way in which she could have ended her misery
+never occurred to Mrs. Bunting.
+
+In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that
+a woman has betrayed one who has taken refuge with her. The
+timorous and cautious woman has not infrequently hunted a human
+being fleeing from his pursuer from her door, but she has not
+revealed the fact that he was ever there. In fact, it may almost
+be said that such betrayal has never taken place unless the betrayer
+has been actuated by love of gain, or by a longing for revenge. So
+far, perhaps because she is subject rather than citizen, her duty
+as a component part of civilised society weighs but lightly on
+woman's shoulders.
+
+And then--and then, in a sort of way, Mrs. Bunting had become
+attached to Mr. Sleuth. A wan smile would sometimes light up his
+sad face when he saw her come in with one of his meals, and when
+this happened Mrs. Bunting felt pleased--pleased and vaguely
+touched. In between those--those dreadful events outside, which
+filled her with such suspicion, such anguish and such suspense,
+she never felt any fear, only pity, for Mr. Sleuth.
+
+Often and often, when lying wide awake at night, she turned over
+the strange problem in her mind. After all, the lodger must have
+lived somewhere during his forty-odd years of life. She did not
+even know if Mr. Sleuth had any brothers or sisters; friends she
+knew he had none. But, however odd and eccentric he was, he had
+evidently, or so she supposed, led a quiet, undistinguished kind
+of life, till--till now.
+
+What had made him alter all of a sudden--if, that is, he had
+altered? That was what Mrs. Bunting was always debating fitfully
+with herself; and, what was more, and very terribly, to the point,
+having altered, why should he not in time go back to what he
+evidently had been--that is, a blameless, quiet gentleman?
+
+If only he would! If only he would!
+
+As she stood in the hall, cooling her hot forehead, all these
+thoughts, these hopes and fears, jostled at lightning speed through
+her brain.
+
+She remembered what young Chandler had said the other day--that
+there had never been, in the history of the world, so strange a
+murderer as The Avenger had proved himself to be.
+
+She and Bunting, aye, and little Daisy too, had hung, fascinated,
+on Joe's words, as he had told them of other famous series of
+murders which had taken place in the past, not only in England but
+abroad--especially abroad.
+
+One woman, whom all the people round her believed to be a kind,
+respectable soul, had poisoned no fewer than fifteen people in order
+to get their insurance money. Then there had been the terrible tale
+of an apparently respectable, contented innkeeper and his wife, who,
+living at the entrance to a wood, killed all those humble travellers
+who took shelter under their roof, simply for their clothes, and any
+valuables they possessed. But in all those stories the murderer or
+murderers always had a very strong motive, the motive being, in
+almost every case, a wicked lust for gold.
+
+At last, after having passed her handkerchief over her forehead, she
+went into the room where Bunting was sitting smoking his pipe.
+
+"The fog's lifting a bit," she said in an ill-assured voice. "I hope
+that by this time Daisy and that Joe Chandler are right out of it."
+
+But the other shook his head silently. "No such luck!" he said
+briefly. "You don't know what it's like in Hyde Park, Ellen. I
+expect 'twill soon be just as heavy here as 'twas half an hour ago!"
+
+She wandered over to the window, and pulled the curtain back.
+"Quite a lot of people have come out, anyway," she observed.
+
+"There's a fine Christmas show in the Edgware Road. I was thinking
+of asking if you wouldn't like to go along there with me."
+
+"No," she said dully. "I'm quite content to stay at home."
+
+She was listening--listening for the sounds which would betoken
+that the lodger was coming downstairs.
+
+At last she heard the cautious, stuffless tread of his rubber-soled
+shoes shuffling along the hall. But Bunting only woke to the fact
+when the front door shut to.
+
+"That's never Mr. Sleuth going out?" He turned on his wife,
+startled. "Why, the poor gentleman'll come to harm--that he will!
+One has to be wide awake on an evening like this. I hope he hasn't
+taken any of his money out with him."
+
+"'Tisn't the first time Mr. Sleuth's been out in a fog," said Mrs.
+Bunting sombrely.
+
+Somehow she couldn't help uttering these over-true words. And then
+she turned, eager and half frightened, to see how Bunting had taken
+what she said.
+
+But he looked quite placid, as if he had hardly heard her. "We
+don't get the good old fogs we used to get--not what people used
+to call 'London particulars.' I expect the lodger feels like Mrs.
+Crowley--I've often told you about her, Ellen?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting nodded.
+
+Mrs. Crowley had been one of Bunting's ladies, one of those he had
+liked best--a cheerful, jolly lady, who used often to give her
+servants what she called a treat. It was seldom the kind of treat
+they would have chosen for themselves, but still they appreciated
+her kind thought.
+
+"Mrs. Crowley used to say," went on Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic
+way, "that she never minded how bad the weather was in London, so
+long as it was London and not the country. Mr. Crowley, he liked
+the country best, but Mrs. Crowley always felt dull-like there.
+Fog never kept her from going out--no, that it didn't. She wasn't
+a bit afraid. But--" he turned round and looked at his wife--
+"I am a bit surprised at Mr. Sleuth. I should have thought him a
+timid kind of gentleman--"
+
+He waited a moment, and she felt forced to answer him.
+
+"I wouldn't exactly call him timid," she said, in a low voice, "but
+he is very quiet, certainly. That's why he dislikes going out when
+there are a lot of people bustling about the streets. I don't
+suppose he'll be out long."
+
+She hoped with all her soul that Mr. Sleuth would be in very soon
+--that he would be daunted by the now increasing gloom.
+
+Somehow she did not feel she could sit still for very long. She
+got up, and went over to the farthest window.
+
+The fog had lifted, certainly. She could see the lamp-lights on
+the other side of the Marylebone Road, glimmering redly; and
+shadowy figures were hurrying past, mostly making their way towards
+the Edgware Road, to see the Christmas shops.
+
+At last to his wife's relief, Bunting got up too. He went over to
+the cupboard where he kept his little store of books, and took one
+out.
+
+"I think I'll read a bit," he said. "Seems a long time since I've
+looked at a book. The papers was so jolly interesting for a bit,
+but now there's nothing in 'em."
+
+His wife remained silent. She knew what he meant. A good many days
+had gone by since the last two Avenger murders, and the papers had
+very little to say about them that they hadn't said in different
+language a dozen times before.
+
+She went into her bedroom and came back with a bit of plain sewing.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was fond of sewing, and Bunting liked to see her so
+engaged. Since Mr. Sleuth had come to be their lodger she had not
+had much time for that sort of work.
+
+It was funny how quiet the house was without either Daisy, or--or
+the lodger, in it.
+
+At last she let her needle remain idle, and the bit of cambric
+slipped down on her knee, while she listened, longingly, for Mr.
+Sleuth's return home.
+
+And as the minutes sped by she fell to wondering with a painful
+wonder if she would ever see her lodger again, for, from what she
+knew of Mr. Sleuth, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he got into any
+kind of--well, trouble outside, he would never betray where he
+had lived during the last few weeks.
+
+No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way
+as he had come. And Bunting would never suspect, would never know,
+until, perhaps--God, what a horrible thought--a picture published
+in some newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting's
+knowledge.
+
+But if that happened--if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass,
+she made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything. She also
+would pretend to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the
+astounding revelation.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+"There he is at last, and I'm glad of it, Ellen. 'Tain't a night
+you would wish a dog to be out in."
+
+Bunting's voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and
+look at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the
+evening paper he held in his hand.
+
+He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his
+nice arm-chair. He looked very well--well and ruddy. Mrs. Bunting
+stared across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of
+resentment. And this was very curious, for she was, in her own dry
+way, very fond of Bunting.
+
+"You needn't feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for
+himself all right."
+
+Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. "I
+can't think why he wanted to go out in such weather," he said
+impatiently.
+
+"Well, it's none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?"
+
+"No, that's true enough. Still, 'twould be a very bad thing for us
+if anything happened to him. This lodger's the first bit of luck
+we've had for a terrible long time, Ellen."
+
+Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair. She
+remained silent for a moment. What Bunting had said was too obvious
+to be worth answering. Also she was listening, following in
+imagination her lodger's quick, singularly quiet progress--
+"stealthy" she called it to herself--through the fog-filled,
+lamp-lit hall. Yes, now he was going up the staircase. What
+was that Bunting was saying?
+
+"It isn't safe for decent folk to be out in such weather--no, that
+it ain't, not unless they have something to do that won't wait till
+to-morrow." The speaker was looking straight into his wife's narrow,
+colourless face. Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to prove
+himself right. "I've a good mind to speak to him about it, that
+I have! He ought to be told that it isn't safe--not for the sort
+of man he is--to be wandering about the streets at night. I read
+you out the accidents in Lloyd's--shocking, they were, and all
+brought about by the fog! And then, that horrid monster 'ull soon
+be at his work again--"
+
+"Monster?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.
+
+She was trying to hear the lodger's footsteps overhead. She was
+very curious to know whether he had gone into his nice sitting-room,
+or straight upstairs, to that cold experiment-room, as he now always
+called it.
+
+But her husband went on as if he had not heard her, and she gave up
+trying to listen to what was going on above.
+
+"It wouldn't be very pleasant to run up against such a party as that
+in the fog, eh, Ellen?" He spoke as if the notion had a certain
+pleasant thrill in it after all.
+
+"What stuff you do talk!" said Mrs. Bunting sharply. And then she
+got up. Her husband's remarks had disturbed her. Why couldn't they
+talk of something pleasant when they did have a quiet bit of time
+together?
+
+Bunting looked down again at his paper, and she moved quietly about
+the room. Very soon it would be time for supper, and to-night she
+was going to cook her husband a nice piece of toasted cheese. That
+fortunate man, as she was fond of telling him, with mingled contempt
+and envy, had the digestion of an ostrich, and yet he was rather
+fanciful, as gentlemen's servants who have lived in good places
+often are.
+
+Yes, Bunting was very lucky in the matter of his digestion. Mrs.
+Bunting prided herself on having a nice mind, and she would never
+have allowed an unrefined word--such a word as "stomach," for
+instance, to say nothing of an even plainer term--to pass her
+lips, except, of course, to a doctor in a sick-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go down at once into her cold kitchen;
+instead, with a sudden furtive movement, she opened the door leading
+into her bedroom, and then, closing the door quietly, stepped back
+into the darkness, and stood motionless, listening.
+
+At first she heard nothing, but gradually there stole on her
+listening ears the sound of someone moving softly about in the
+room just overhead, that is, in Mr. Sleuth's bedroom. But, try as
+she might, it was impossible for her to guess what the lodger was
+doing.
+
+At last she heard him open the door leading out on the little
+landing. She could hear the stairs creaking. That meant, no doubt,
+that Mr. Sleuth would pass the rest of the evening in the cheerless
+room above. He hadn't spent any time up there for quite a long
+while--in fact, not for nearly ten days. 'Twas odd he chose to-night,
+when it was so foggy, to carry out an experiment.
+
+She groped her way to a chair and sat down. She felt very tired--
+strangely tired, as if she had gone through some great physical
+exertion.
+
+Yes, it was true that Mr. Sleuth had brought her and Bunting luck,
+and it was wrong, very wrong, of her ever to forget that.
+
+As she sat there she also reminded herself, and not for the first
+time, what the lodger's departure would mean. It would almost
+certainly mean ruin; just as his staying meant all sorts of good
+things, of which physical comfort was the least. If Mr. Sleuth
+stayed on with them, as he showed every intention of doing, it
+meant respectability, and, above all, security.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought of Mr. Sleuth's money. He never received a
+letter, and yet he must have some kind of income--so much was
+clear. She supposed he went and drew his money, in sovereigns, out
+of a bank as he required it.
+
+Her mind swung round, consciously, deliberately, away from Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+The Avenger? What a strange name! Again she assured herself that
+there would come a time when The Avenger, whoever he was, must feel
+satiated; when he would feel himself to be, so to speak, avenged.
+
+To go back to Mr. Sleuth; it was lucky that the lodger seemed so
+pleased, not only with the rooms, but with his landlord and landlady
+--indeed, there was no real reason why Mr. Sleuth should ever wish
+to leave such nice lodgings.
+
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly stood up. She made a strong effort, and shook
+off her awful sense of apprehension and unease. Feeling for the
+handle of the door giving into the passage she turned it, and then,
+with light, firm steps, she went down into the kitchen.
+
+When they had first taken the house, the basement had been made by
+her care, if not into a pleasant, then, at any rate, into a very
+clean place. She had had it whitewashed, and against the still
+white walls the gas stove loomed up, a great square of black iron
+and bright steel. It was a large gas-stove, the kind for which one
+pays four shillings a quarter rent to the gas company, and here, in
+the kitchen, there was no foolish shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+Mrs. Bunting was too shrewd a woman to have anything to do with that
+kind of business. There was a proper gas-meter, and she paid for
+what she consumed after she had consumed it.
+
+Putting her candle down on the well-scrubbed wooden table, she
+turned up the gas-jet, and blew out the candle.
+
+Then, lighting one of the gas-rings, she put a frying-pan on the
+stove, and once more her mind reverted, as if in spite of herself,
+to Mr. Sleuth. Never had there been a more confiding or trusting
+gentleman than the lodger, and yet in some ways he was so secret,
+so--so peculiar.
+
+She thought of the bag--that bag which had rumbled about so
+queerly in the chiffonnier. Something seemed to tell her that
+tonight the lodger had taken that bag out with him.
+
+And then she thrust away the thought of the bag almost violently
+from her mind, and went back to the more agreeable thought of Mr.
+Sleuth's income, and of how little trouble he gave. Of course,
+the lodger was eccentric, otherwise he wouldn't be their lodger
+at all--he would be living in quite a different sort of way with
+some of his relations, or with a friend in his own class.
+
+While these thoughts galloped disconnectedly through her mind,
+Mrs. Bunting went on with her cooking, preparing the cheese, cutting
+it up into little shreds, carefully measuring out the butter, doing
+everything, as was always her way, with a certain delicate and
+cleanly precision.
+
+And then, while in the middle of toasting the bread on which was to
+be poured the melted cheese, she suddenly heard sounds which startled
+her, made her feel uncomfortable.
+
+Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.
+
+She looked up and listened.
+
+Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy
+night--going out, as he had done the other evening, for a second
+time? But no; the sounds she heard, the sounds of now familiar
+footsteps, did not continue down the passage leading to the front
+door.
+
+Instead--Why, what was this she heard now? She began to listen
+so intently that the bread she was holding at the end of the
+toasting-fork grew quite black. With a start she became aware
+that this was so, and she frowned, vexed with herself. That came
+of not attending to one's work.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done.
+He was coming down into the kitchen.
+
+Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on the
+kitchen stairs, and Mrs. Bunting's heart began to beat as if in
+response. She put out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of the
+fact that the cheese would stiffen and spoil in the cold air.
+
+Then she turned and faced the door.
+
+There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the door
+opened, and revealed, as she had at once known and feared it would
+do, the lodger.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked even odder than usual. He was clad in a plaid
+dressing-gown, which she had never seen him wear before, though
+she knew that he had purchased it not long after his arrival. In
+his hand was a lighted candle.
+
+When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing in
+it, the lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.
+
+"Yes, sir? What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn't ring, sir?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting held her ground in front of the stove. Mr. Sleuth had
+no business to come like this into her kitchen, and she intended to
+let him know that such was her view.
+
+"No, I--I didn't ring," he stammered awkwardly. "The truth is, I
+didn't know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. Please excuse my costume.
+My gas-stove has gone wrong, or, rather, that shilling-in-the-slot
+arrangement has done so. So I came down to see if you had a
+gas-stove. I am going to ask you to allow me to use it to-night for
+an important experiment I wish to make."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's heart was beating quickly--quickly. She felt
+horribly troubled, unnaturally so. Why couldn't Mr. Sleuth's
+experiment wait till the morning? She stared at him dubiously, but
+there was that in his face that made her at once afraid and pitiful.
+It was a wild, eager, imploring look.
+
+"Oh, certainly, sir; but you will find it very cold down here."
+
+"It seems most pleasantly warm," he observed, his voice full of
+relief, "warm and cosy, after my cold room upstairs."
+
+Warm and cosy? Mrs. Bunting stared at him in amazement. Nay, even
+that cheerless room at the top of the house must be far warmer and
+more cosy than this cold underground kitchen could possibly be.
+
+"I'll make you a fire, sir. We never use the grate, but it's in
+perfect order, for the first thing I did after I came into the house
+was to have the chimney swept. It was terribly dirty. It might
+have set the house on fire." Mrs. Bunting's housewifely instincts
+were roused. "For the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in
+your bedroom this cold night."
+
+"By no means--I would prefer not. I certainly do not want a fire
+there. I dislike an open fire, Mrs. Bunting. I thought I had told
+you as much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth frowned. He stood there, a strange-looking figure, his
+candle still alight, just inside the kitchen door.
+
+"I shan't be very long, sir. Just about a quarter of an hour. You
+could come down then. I'll have everything quite tidy for you. Is
+there anything I can do to help you?"
+
+"I do not require the use of your kitchen yet--thank you all the
+same, Mrs. Bunting. I shall come down later--altogether later--
+after you and your husband have gone to bed. But I should be much
+obliged if you would see that the gas people come to-morrow and
+put my stove in order. It might be done while I am out. That the
+shilling-in-the-slot machine should go wrong is very unpleasant.
+It has upset me greatly."
+
+"Perhaps Bunting could put it right for you, sir. For the matter
+of that, I could ask him to go up now."
+
+"No, no, I don't want anything of that sort done to-night. Besides,
+he couldn't put it right. I am something of an expert, Mrs. Bunting,
+and I have done all I could. The cause of the trouble is quite
+simple. The machine is choked up with shillings; a very foolish
+plan, so I always felt it to be."
+
+Mr. Sleuth spoke pettishly, with far more heat than he was wont to
+speak, but Mrs. Bunting sympathised with him in this matter. She
+had always suspected that those slot machines were as dishonest as
+if they were human. It was dreadful, the way they swallowed up
+the shillings! She had had one once, so she knew.
+
+And as if he were divining her thoughts, Mr. Sleuth walked forward
+and stared at the stove. "Then you haven't got a slot machine?" he
+said wonderingly. "I'm very glad of that, for I expect my experiment
+will take some time. But, of course, I shall pay you something for
+the use of the stove, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I wouldn't think of charging you anything for that.
+We don't use our stove very much, you know, sir. I'm never in the
+kitchen a minute longer than I can help this cold weather."
+
+Mrs. Bunting was beginning to feel better. When she was actually
+in Mr. Sleuth's presence her morbid fears would be lulled, perhaps
+because his manner almost invariably was gentle and very quiet.
+But still there came over her an eerie feeling, as, with him
+preceding her, they made a slow progress to the ground floor.
+
+Once there, the lodger courteously bade his landlady good-night,
+and proceeded upstairs to his own apartments.
+
+Mrs. Bunting returned to the kitchen. Again she lighted the stove;
+but she felt unnerved, afraid of she knew not what. As she was
+cooking the cheese, she tried to concentrate her mind on what she
+was doing, and on the whole she succeeded. But another part of her
+mind seemed to be working independently, asking her insistent
+questions.
+
+The place seemed to her alive with alien presences, and once she
+caught herself listening--which was absurd, for, of course, she
+could not hope to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two, if not three,
+flights upstairs. She wondered in what the lodger's experiments
+consisted. It was odd that she had never been able to discover what
+it was he really did with that big gas-stove. All she knew was
+that he used a very high degree of heat.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+The Buntings went to bed early that night. But Mrs. Bunting made
+up her mind to keep awake. She was set upon knowing at what hour
+of the night the lodger would come down into her kitchen to carry
+through his experiment, and, above all, she was anxious to know
+how long he would stay there.
+
+But she had had a long and a very anxious day, and presently she
+fell asleep.
+
+The church clock hard by struck two, and, suddenly Mrs. Bunting
+awoke. She felt put out, sharply annoyed with herself. How could
+she have dropped off like that? Mr. Sleuth must have been down
+and up again hours ago!
+
+Then, gradually, she became aware that there was a faint acrid
+odour in the room. Elusive, intangible, it yet seemed to encompass
+her and the snoring man by her side, almost as a vapour might have
+done.
+
+Mrs. Bunting sat up in bed and sniffed; and then, in spite of the
+cold, she quietly crept out of her nice, warm bedclothes, and
+crawled along to the bottom of the bed. When there, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady did a very curious thing; she leaned over the brass rail
+and put her face close to the hinge of the door giving into the
+hall. Yes, it was from here that this strange, horrible odor was
+coming; the smell must be very strong in the passage.
+
+As, shivering, she crept back under the bedclothes, she longed to
+give her sleeping husband a good shake, and in fancy she heard
+herself saying, "Bunting, get up! There's something strange and
+dreadful going on downstairs which we ought to know about."
+
+But as she lay there, by her husband's side, listening with painful
+intentness for the slightest sound, she knew very well that she
+would do nothing of the sort.
+
+What if the lodger did make a certain amount of mess--a certain
+amount of smell--in her nice clean kitchen? Was he not--was he
+not an almost perfect lodger? If they did anything to upset him,
+where could they ever hope to get another like him?
+
+Three o'clock struck before Mrs. Bunting heard slow, heavy steps
+creaking up the kitchen stairs. But Mr. Sleuth did not go straight
+up to his own quarters, as she had expected him to do. Instead, he
+went to the front door, and, opening it, put on the chain. Then he
+came past her door, and she thought--but could not be sure--that
+he sat down on the stairs.
+
+At the end of ten minutes or so she heard him go down the passage
+again. Very softly he closed the front door. By then she had
+divined why the lodger had behaved in this funny fashion. He wanted
+to get the strong, acrid smell of burning--was it of burning wool?
+--out of the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting, lying there in the darkness, listening to the
+lodger creeping upstairs, felt as if she herself would never get
+rid of the horrible odour.
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt herself to be all smell.
+
+At last the unhappy woman fell into a deep, troubled sleep; and
+then she dreamed a most terrible and unnatural dream. Hoarse
+voices seemed to be shouting in her ear: "The Avenger close here!
+The Avenger close here!" "'Orrible murder off the Edgware Road!"
+"The Avenger at his work again!"
+
+And even in her dream Mrs. Bunting felt angered--angered and
+impatient. She knew so well why she was being disturbed by this
+horrid nightmare! It was because of Bunting--Bunting, who could
+think and talk of nothing else than those frightful murders, in
+which only morbid and vulgar-minded people took any interest.
+
+Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking
+to her about it:
+
+"Ellen"--so she heard Bunting murmur in her ear--"Ellen, my dear,
+I'm just going to get up to get a paper. It's after seven o'clock."
+
+The shouting--nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet
+smote on her shrinking ears. Pushing back her hair off her forehead
+with both hands, she sat up and listened.
+
+It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse--
+reality.
+
+Why couldn't Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and
+let his poor wife go on dreaming? The most awful dream would have
+been easier to bear than this awakening.
+
+She heard her husband go to the front door, and, as he bought the
+paper, exchange a few excited words with the newspaper-seller. Then
+he came back. There was a pause, and she heard him lighting the
+gas-ring in the sitting-room.
+
+Bunting always made his wife a cup of tea in the morning. He had
+promised to do this when they first married, and he had never yet
+broken his word. It was a very little thing and a very usual thing,
+no doubt, for a kind husband to do, but this morning the knowledge
+that he was doing it brought tears to Mrs. Bunting's pale blue eyes.
+This morning he seemed to be rather longer than usual over the job.
+
+When, at last, he came in with the little tray, Bunting found his
+wife lying with her face to the wall.
+
+"Here's your tea, Ellen," he said, and there was a thrill of eager,
+nay happy, excitement in his voice.
+
+She turned herself round and sat up. "Well?" she asked. "Well?
+Why don't you tell me about it?"
+
+"I thought you was asleep," he stammered out. "I thought, Ellen,
+you never heard nothing."
+
+"How could I have slept through all that din? Of course I heard.
+Why don't you tell me?"
+
+"I've hardly had time to glance at the paper myself," he said slowly.
+
+"You was reading it just now," she said severely, "for I heard the
+rustling. You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring. Don't
+tell me! What was that they was shouting about the Edgware Road?"
+
+"Well," said Bunting, "as you do know, I may as well tell you. The
+Avenger's moving West--that's what he's doing. Last time 'twas
+King's Cross--now 'tis the Edgware Road. I said he'd come our way,
+and he has come our way!"
+
+"You just go and get me that paper," she commanded. "I wants to
+see for myself."
+
+Bunting went into the next room; then he came back and handed her
+silently the odd-looking, thin little sheet.
+
+"Why, whatever's this?" she asked. "This ain't our paper!"
+
+"'Course not," he answered, a trifle crossly. "It's a special early
+edition of the Sun, just because of The Avenger. Here's the bit
+about it"--he showed her the exact spot. But she would have found
+it, even by the comparatively bad light of the gas-jet now flaring
+over the dressing-table, for the news was printed in large, clear
+characters:--
+
+"Once more the murder fiend who chooses to call himself The Avenger
+has escaped detection. While the whole attention of the police,
+and of the great army of amateur detectives who are taking an
+interest in this strange series of atrocious crimes, were
+concentrating their attention round the East End and King's Cross,
+he moved swiftly and silently Westward. And, choosing a time when
+the Edgware Road is at its busiest and most thronged, did another
+human being to death with lightning-like quickness and savagery.
+
+"Within fifty yards of the deserted warehouse yard where he had
+lured his victim to destruction were passing up and down scores of
+happy, busy people, intent on their Christmas shopping. Into that
+cheerful throng he must have plunged within a moment of committing
+his atrocious crime. And it was only owing to the merest accident
+that the body was discovered as soon as it was--that is, just
+after midnight.
+
+"Dr. Dowtray, who was called to the spot at once, is of opinion that
+the woman had been dead at least three hours, if not four. It was at
+first thought--we were going to say, hoped--that this murder had
+nothing to do with the series which is now puzzling and horrifying
+the whole of the civilised world. But no--pinned on the edge of the
+dead woman's dress was the usual now familiar triangular piece of
+grey paper--the grimmest visiting card ever designed by the wit of
+man! And this time The Avenger has surpassed himself as regards his
+audacity and daring--so cold in its maniacal fanaticism and abhorrent
+wickedness."
+
+All the time that Mrs. Bunting was reading with slow, painful
+intentness, her husband was looking at her, longing, yet afraid, to
+burst out with a new idea which he was burning to confide even to his
+Ellen's unsympathetic ears.
+
+At last, when she had quite finished, she looked up defiantly.
+
+"Haven't you anything better to do than to stare at me like that?"
+she said irritably. "Murder or no murder, I've got to get up! Go
+away--do!"
+
+And Bunting went off into the next room.
+
+After he had gone, his wife lay back and closed her eyes. She tried
+to think of nothing. Nay, more--so strong, so determined was her
+will that for a few moments she actually did think of nothing. She
+felt terribly tired and weak, brain and body both quiescent, as does
+a person who is recovering from a long, wearing illness.
+
+Presently detached, puerile thoughts drifted across the surface of
+her mind like little clouds across a summer sky. She wondered if
+those horrid newspaper men were allowed to shout in Belgrave Square;
+she wondered if, in that case, Margaret, who was so unlike her
+brother-in-law, would get up and buy a paper. But no. Margaret
+was not one to leave her nice warm bed for such a silly reason as
+that.
+
+Was it to-morrow Daisy was coming back? Yes--to-morrow, not
+to-day. Well, that was a comfort, at any rate. What amusing things
+Daisy would be able to tell about her visit to Margaret! The girl
+had an excellent gift of mimicry. And Margaret, with her precise,
+funny ways, her perpetual talk about "the family," lent herself to
+the cruel gift.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting's mind--her poor, weak, tired mind--wandered
+off to young Chandler. A funny thing love was, when you came to
+think of it--which she, Ellen Bunting, didn't often do. There was
+Joe, a likely young fellow, seeing a lot of young women, and pretty
+young women, too,--quite as pretty as Daisy, and ten times more
+artful--and yet there! He passed them all by, had done so ever
+since last summer, though you might be sure that they, artful minxes,
+by no manner of means passed him by,--without giving them a thought!
+As Daisy wasn't here, he would probably keep away to-day. There
+was comfort in that thought, too.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat up, and memory returned in a dreadful
+turgid flood. If Joe did come in, she must nerve herself to hear
+all that--that talk there'd be about The Avenger between him and
+Bunting.
+
+Slowly she dragged herself out of bed, feeling exactly as if she
+had just recovered from an illness which had left her very weak,
+very, very tired in body and soul.
+
+She stood for a moment listening--listening, and shivering, for
+it was very cold. Considering how early it still was, there
+seemed a lot of coming and going in the Marylebone Road. She could
+hear the unaccustomed sounds through her closed door and the tightly
+fastened windows of the sitting-room. There must be a regular
+crowd of men and women, on foot and in cabs, hurrying to the scene
+of The Avenger's last extraordinary crime.
+
+She heard the sudden thud made by their usual morning paper falling
+from the letter-box on to the floor of the hall, and a moment later
+came the sound of Bunting quickly, quietly going out and getting it.
+She visualised him coming back, and sitting down with a sigh of
+satisfaction by the newly-lit fire.
+
+Languidly she began dressing herself to the accompaniment of distant
+tramping and of noise of passing traffic, which increased in volume
+and in sound as the moments slipped by.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down into her kitchen everything looked just
+as she had left it, and there was no trace of the acrid smell she
+had expected to find there. Instead, the cavernous, whitewashed
+room was full of fog, but she noticed that, though the shutters were
+bolted and barred as she had left them, the windows behind them had
+been widely opened to the air. She had left them shut.
+
+Making a "spill" out of a twist of newspaper--she had been taught
+the art as a girl by one of her old mistresses--she stooped and
+flung open the oven-door of her gas-stove. Yes, it was as she had
+expected, a fierce heat had been generated there since she had last
+used the oven, and through to the stone floor below had fallen a
+mass of black, gluey soot.
+
+Mrs. Bunting took the ham and eggs that she had bought the previous
+day for her own and Bunting's breakfast upstairs, and broiled them
+over the gas-ring in their sitting-room. Her husband watched her in
+surprised silence. She had never done such a thing before.
+
+"I couldn't stay down there," she said; "it was so cold and foggy.
+I thought I'd make breakfast up here, just for to-day."
+
+"Yes," he said kindly; "that's quite right, Ellen. I think you've
+done quite right, my dear."
+
+But, when it came to the point, his wife could not eat any of the
+nice breakfast she had got ready; she only had another cup of tea.
+
+"I'm afraid you're ill, Ellen?" Bunting asked solicitously.
+
+"No," she said shortly; "I'm not ill at all. Don't be silly! The
+thought of that horrible thing happening so close by has upset me,
+and put me off my food. Just hark to them now!"
+
+Through their closed windows penetrated the sound of scurrying feet
+and loud, ribald laughter. What a crowd; nay, what a mob, must be
+hastening busily to and from the spot where there was now nothing
+to be seen!
+
+Mrs. Bunting made her husband lock the front gate. "I don't want
+any of those ghouls in here!" she exclaimed angrily. And then,
+"What a lot of idle people there are in the world!" she said.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Bunting began moving about the room restlessly. He would go to the
+window; stand there awhile staring out at the people hurrying past;
+then, coming back to the fireplace, sit down.
+
+But he could not stay long quiet. After a glance at his paper, up
+he would rise from his chair, and go to the window again.
+
+"I wish you'd stay still," his wife said at last. And then, a few
+minutes later, "Hadn't you better put your hat and coat on and go
+out?" she exclaimed.
+
+And Bunting, with a rather shamed expression, did put on his hat
+and coat and go out.
+
+As he did so he told himself that, after all, he was but human; it
+was natural that he should be thrilled and excited by the dreadful,
+extraordinary thing which had just happened close by. Ellen wasn't
+reasonable about such things. How queer and disagreeable she had
+been that very morning--angry with him because he had gone out
+to hear what all the row was about, and even more angry when he had
+come back and said nothing, because he thought it would annoy her
+to hear about it!
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Bunting forced herself to go down again into the
+kitchen, and as she went through into the low, whitewashed place,
+a tremor of fear, of quick terror, came over her. She turned and
+did what she had never in her life done before, and what she had
+never heard of anyone else doing in a kitchen. She bolted the door.
+
+But, having done this, finding herself at last alone, shut off from
+everybody, she was still beset by a strange, uncanny dread. She
+felt as if she were locked in with an invisible presence, which
+mocked and jeered, reproached and threatened her, by turns.
+
+Why had she allowed, nay encouraged, Daisy to go away for two days?
+Daisy, at any rate, was company--kind, young, unsuspecting company.
+With Daisy she could be her old sharp self. It was such a comfort
+to be with someone to whom she not only need, but ought to, say
+nothing. When with Bunting she was pursued by a sick feeling of
+guilt, of shame. She was the man's wedded wife--in his stolid way
+he was very kind to her, and yet she was keeping from him something
+he certainly had a right to know.
+
+Not for worlds, however, would she have told Bunting of her dreadful
+suspicion--nay, of her almost certainty.
+
+At last she went across to the door and unlocked it. Then she went
+upstairs and turned out her bedroom. That made her feel a little
+better.
+
+She longed for Bunting to return, and yet in a way she was relieved
+by his absence. She would have liked to feel him near by, and yet
+she welcomed anything that took her husband out of the house.
+
+And as Mrs. Bunting swept and dusted, trying to put her whole mind
+into what she was doing, she was asking herself all the time what
+was going on upstairs.
+
+What a good rest the lodger was having! But there, that was only
+natural. Mr. Sleuth, as she well knew, had been up a long time last
+night, or rather this morning.
+
+******
+
+Suddenly, the drawing-room bell rang. But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did
+not go up, as she generally did, before getting ready the simple meal
+which was the lodger's luncheon and breakfast combined. Instead, she
+went downstairs again and hurriedly prepared the lodger's food.
+
+Then, very slowly, with her heart beating queerly, she walked up, and
+just outside the sitting-room--for she felt sure that Mr. Sleuth had
+got up, that he was there already, waiting for her--she rested the
+tray on the top of the banisters and listened. For a few moments she
+heard nothing; then through the door came the high, quavering voice
+with which she had become so familiar:
+
+"'She saith to him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in
+secret is pleasant. But he knoweth not that the dead are there,
+and that her guests are in the depths of hell.'"
+
+There was a long pause. Mrs. Bunting could hear the leaves of
+her Bible being turned over, eagerly, busily; and then again Mr.
+Sleuth broke out, this time in a softer voice:
+
+"'She hath cast down many wounded from her; yea, many strong men
+have been slain by her.'" And in a softer, lower, plaintive tone
+came the words: "'I applied my heart to know, and to search, and
+to seek out wisdom and the reason of things; and to know the
+wickedness of folly, even of foolishness and madness.'"
+
+And as she stood there listening, a feeling of keen distress, of
+spiritual oppression, came over Mrs. Bunting. For the first time
+in her life she visioned the infinite mystery, the sadness and
+strangeness, of human life.
+
+Poor Mr. Sleuth--poor unhappy, distraught Mr. Sleuth! An
+overwhelming pity blotted out for a moment the fear, aye, and the
+loathing, she had been feeling for her lodger.
+
+She knocked at the door, and then she took up her tray.
+
+"Come in, Mrs. Bunting." Mr. Sleuth's voice sounded feebler, more
+toneless than usual.
+
+She turned the handle of the door and walked in. The lodger was
+not sitting in his usual place; he had taken the little round table
+on which his candle generally rested when he read in bed, out of
+his bedroom, and placed it over by the drawing-room window. On it
+were placed, open, the Bible and the Concordance. But as his
+landlady came in, Mr. Sleuth hastily closed the Bible, and began
+staring dreamily out of the window, down at the sordid, hurrying
+crowd of men and women which now swept along the Marylebone Road.
+
+"There seem a great many people out today," he observed, without
+looking round.
+
+"Yes, sir, there do."
+
+Mrs. Bunting began busying herself with laying the cloth and
+putting out the breakfast-lunch, and as she did so she was seized
+with a mortal, instinctive terror of the man sitting there.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth got up and turned round. She forced herself to
+look at him. How tired, how worn, he looked, and--how strange!
+
+Walking towards the table on which lay his meal, he rubbed his hands
+together with a nervous gesture--it was a gesture he only made when
+something had pleased, nay, satisfied him. Mrs. Bunting, looking at
+him, remembered that he had rubbed his hands together thus when he
+had first seen the room upstairs, and realised that it contained a
+large gas-stove and a convenient sink.
+
+What Mr. Sleuth was doing now also reminded her in an odd way of a
+play she had once seen--a play to which a young man had taken her
+when she was a girl, unnumbered years ago, and which had thrilled
+and fascinated her. "Out, out, damned spot!" that was what the tall,
+fierce, beautiful lady who had played the part of a queen had said,
+twisting her hands together just as the lodger was doing now.
+
+"It's a fine day," said Mr. Sleuth, sitting down and unfolding his
+napkin. "The fog has cleared. I do not know if you will agree with
+me, Mrs. Bunting, but I always feel brighter when the sun is shining,
+as it is now, at any rate, trying to shine." He looked at her
+inquiringly, but Mrs. Bunting could not speak. She only nodded.
+However, that did not affect Mr. Sleuth adversely.
+
+He had acquired a great liking and respect for this well-balanced,
+taciturn woman. She was the first woman for whom he had experienced
+any such feeling for many years past.
+
+He looked down at the still covered dish, and shook his head. "I
+don't feel as if I could eat very much to-day," he said plaintively.
+And then he suddenly took a half-sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket.
+
+Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat
+Mr. Sleuth had been wearing the day before.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?"
+
+And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly
+allowed me to make of your kitchen last night?" he said quietly.
+"I tried to make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but--
+well, the truth is I was carrying out a very elaborate experiment."
+
+Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took
+the coin. The fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against
+her palm were icy cold--cold and clammy. Mr. Sleuth was evidently
+not well.
+
+As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball
+hanging in the smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth's landlady, and
+threw blood-red gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of
+gold she was holding in her hand.
+
+******
+
+The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household,
+but, of course, there was far greater animation outside the little
+house than was usually the case.
+
+Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some
+days, the whole of London seemed to be making holiday in that part
+of the town.
+
+When Bunting at last came back, his wife listened silently while he
+told her of the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere. And
+then, after he had been talking a long while, she suddenly shot a
+strange look at him.
+
+"I suppose you went to see the place?" she said.
+
+And guiltily he acknowledged that he had done so.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, there wasn't anything much to see--not now. But, oh, Ellen,
+the daring of him! Why, Ellen, if the poor soul had had time to cry
+out--which they don't believe she had--it's impossible someone
+wouldn't 'a heard her. They say that if he goes on doing it like
+that--in the afternoon, like--he never will be caught. He must
+have just got mixed up with all the other people within ten seconds
+of what he'd done!"
+
+During the afternoon Bunting bought papers recklessly--in fact, he
+must have spent the best part of six-pence. But in spite of all the
+supposed and suggested clues, there was nothing--nothing at all new
+to read, less, in fact than ever before.
+
+The police, it was clear, were quite at a loss, and Mrs. Bunting
+began to feel curiously better, less tired, less ill, less--less
+terrified than she had felt through the morning.
+
+And then something happened which broke with dramatic suddenness the
+quietude of the day.
+
+They had had their tea, and Bunting was reading the last of the
+papers he had run out to buy, when suddenly there came a loud,
+thundering, double knock at the door.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. "Why, whoever can that be?" she
+said.
+
+But as Bunting got up she added quickly, "You just sit down again.
+I'll go myself. Sounds like someone after lodgings. I'll soon send
+them to the right-about!"
+
+And then she left the room, but not before there had come another
+loud double knock.
+
+Mrs. Bunting opened the front door. In a moment she saw that the
+person who stood there was a stranger to her. He was a big, dark
+man, with fierce, black moustaches. And somehow--she could not
+have told you why--he suggested a policeman to Mrs. Bunting's mind.
+
+This notion of hers was confirmed by the very first words he uttered.
+For, "I'm here to execute a warrant!" he exclaimed in a theatrical,
+hollow tone.
+
+With a weak cry of protest Mrs. Bunting suddenly threw out her arms
+as if to bar the way; she turned deadly white--but then, in an
+instant the supposed stranger's laugh rang out, with loud, jovial,
+familiar sound!
+
+"There now, Mrs. Bunting! I never thought I'd take you in as well
+as all that!"
+
+It was Joe Chandler--Joe Chandler dressed up, as she knew he
+sometimes, not very often, did dress up in the course of his work.
+
+Mrs. Bunting began laughing--laughing helplessly, hysterically,
+just as she had done on the morning of Daisy's arrival, when the
+newspaper-sellers had come shouting down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"What's all this about?" Bunting came out
+
+Young Chandler ruefully shut the front door. "I didn't mean to
+upset her like this," he said, looking foolish; "'twas just my silly
+nonsense, Mr. Bunting." And together they helped her into the
+sitting-room.
+
+But, once there, poor Mrs. Bunting went on worse than ever; she
+threw her black apron over her face, and began to sob hysterically.
+
+"I made sure she'd know who I was when I spoke," went on the young
+fellow apologetically. "But, there now, I have upset her. I am
+sorry!"
+
+"It don't matter!" she exclaimed, throwing the apron off her face,
+but the tears were still streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and
+laughed by turns. "Don't matter one little bit, Joe! 'Twas stupid
+of me to be so taken aback. But, there, that murder that's happened
+close by, it's just upset me--upset me altogether to-day."
+
+"Enough to upset anyone--that was," acknowledged the young man
+ruefully. "I've only come in for a minute, like. I haven't no
+right to come when I'm on duty like this--"
+
+Joe Chandler was looking longingly at what remains of the meal were
+still on the table.
+
+"You can take a minute just to have a bite and a sup," said Bunting
+hospitably; "and then you can tell us any news there is, Joe. We're
+right in the middle of everything now, ain't we?" He spoke with
+evident enjoyment, almost pride, in the gruesome fact.
+
+Joe nodded. Already his mouth was full of bread-and-butter. He
+waited a moment, and then: "Well I have got one piece of news--not
+that I suppose it'll interest you very much."
+
+They both looked at him--Mrs. Bunting suddenly calm, though her
+breast still heaved from time to time.
+
+"Our Boss has resigned!" said Joe Chandler slowly, impressively.
+
+"No! Not the Commissioner o' Police?" exclaimed Bunting.
+
+"Yes, he has. He just can't bear what's said about us any longer
+--and I don't wonder! He done his best, and so's we all. The
+public have just gone daft--in the West End, that is, to-day. As
+for the papers, well, they're something cruel--that's what they
+are. And the ridiculous ideas they print! You'd never believe the
+things they asks us to do--and quite serious-like."
+
+"What d'you mean?" questioned Mrs. Bunting. She really wanted to
+know.
+
+"Well, the Courier declares that there ought to be a house-to-house
+investigation--all over London. Just think of it! Everybody to
+let the police go all over their house, from garret to kitchen,
+just to see if The Avenger isn't concealed there. Dotty, I calls
+it! Why, 'twould take us months and months just to do that one
+job in a town like London."
+
+"I'd like to see them dare come into my house!" said Mrs. Bunting
+angrily.
+
+"It's all along of them blarsted papers that The Avenger went to
+work a different way this time," said Chandler slowly.
+
+Bunting had pushed a tin of sardines towards his guest, and was
+eagerly listening. "How d'you mean?" he asked. "I don't take
+your meaning, Joe."
+
+"Well, you see, it's this way. The newspapers was always saying
+how extraordinary it was that The Avenger chose such a peculiar
+time to do his deeds--I mean, the time when no one's about the
+streets. Now, doesn't it stand to reason that the fellow, reading
+all that, and seeing the sense of it, said to himself, 'I'll go on
+another tack this time'? Just listen to this!" He pulled a strip
+of paper, part of a column cut from a newspaper, out of his pocket:
+
+
+"'AN EX-LORD MAYOR OF LONDON ON THE AVENGER
+
+
+"'Will the murderer be caught? Yes,' replied Sir John, 'he will
+certainly be caught--probably when he commits his next crime. A
+whole army of bloodhounds, metaphorical and literal, will be on his
+track the moment he draws blood again. With the whole community
+against him, he cannot escape, especially when it be remembered that
+he chooses the quietest hour in the twenty-four to commit his crimes.
+
+"'Londoners are now in such a state of nerves--if I may use the
+expression, in such a state of funk--that every passer-by, however
+innocent, is looked at with suspicion by his neighbour if his
+avocation happens to take him abroad between the hours of one and
+three in the morning.'
+
+"I'd like to gag that ex-Lord Mayor!" concluded Joe Chandler
+wrathfully.
+
+Just then the lodger's bell rang.
+
+"Let me go up, my dear," said Bunting.
+
+His wife still looked pale and shaken by the fright she had had.
+
+"No, no," she said hastily. "You stop down here, and talk to Joe.
+I'll look after Mr. Sleuth. He may be wanting his supper just a
+bit earlier than usual to-day."
+
+Slowly, painfully, again feeling as if her legs were made of cotton
+wool, she dragged herself up to the first floor, knocked at the door,
+and then went in.
+
+"You did ring, sir?" she said, in her quiet, respectful way.
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up.
+
+She thought--but, as she reminded herself afterwards, it might have
+been just her idea, and nothing else--that for the first time the
+lodger looked frightened--frightened and cowed.
+
+"I heard a noise downstairs," he said fretfully, "and I wanted to
+know what it was all about. As I told you, Mrs. Bunting, when I
+first took these rooms, quiet is essential to me."
+
+"It was just a friend of ours, sir. I'm sorry you were disturbed.
+Would you like the knocker taken off to-morrow? Bunting'll be
+pleased to do it if you don't like to hear the sound of the knocks."
+
+"Oh, no, I wouldn't put you to such trouble as that." Mr. Sleuth
+looked quite relieved. "Just a friend of yours, was it, Mrs.
+Bunting? He made a great deal of noise."
+
+"Just a young fellow," she said apologetically. "The son of one of
+Bunting's old friends. He often comes here, sir; but he never did
+give such a great big double knock as that before. I'll speak to
+him about it."
+
+"Oh, no, Mrs. Bunting. I would really prefer you did nothing of
+the kind. It was just a passing annoyance--nothing more!"
+
+She waited a moment. How strange that Mr. Sleuth said nothing of
+the hoarse cries which had made of the road outside a perfect Bedlam
+every hour or two throughout that day. But no, Mr. Sleuth made no
+allusion to what might well have disturbed any quiet gentleman at
+his reading.
+
+"I thought maybe you'd like to have supper a little earlier to-night,
+sir?"
+
+"Just when you like, Mrs. Bunting--just when it's convenient. I
+do not wish to put you out in any way."
+
+She felt herself dismissed, and going out quietly, closed the door.
+
+As she did so, she heard the front door banging to. She sighed
+--Joe Chandler was really a very noisy young fellow.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Mrs. Bunting slept well the night following that during which the
+lodger had been engaged in making his mysterious experiments in her
+kitchen. She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, that sleep came
+to her the moment she laid her head upon her pillow.
+
+Perhaps that was why she rose so early the next morning. Hardly
+giving herself time to swallow the tea Bunting had made and brought
+her, she got up and dressed.
+
+She had suddenly come to the conclusion that the hall and staircase
+required a thorough "doing down," and she did not even wait till
+they had eaten their breakfast before beginning her labours. It
+made Bunting feel quite uncomfortable. As he sat by the fire reading
+his morning paper--the paper which was again of such absorbing
+interest--he called out, "There's no need for so much hurry, Ellen.
+Daisy'll be back to-day. Why don't you wait till she's come home to
+help you?"
+
+But from the hall where she was busy dusting, sweeping, polishing,
+his wife's voice came back: "Girls ain't no good at this sort of
+work. Don't you worry about me. I feel as if I'd enjoy doing an
+extra bit of cleaning to-day. I don't like to feel as anyone could
+come in and see my place dirty."
+
+"No fear of that!" Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck
+him. "Ain't you afraid of waking the lodger?" he called out.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night," she
+answered quickly. "As it is, I study him over-much; it's a long,
+long time since I've done this staircase down."
+
+All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left
+the sitting-room door wide open.
+
+That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn't like to get
+up and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn't
+read with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had
+never known Ellen make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he
+looked up and frowned rather crossly.
+
+There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that. Ellen
+was standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
+
+"Come in," he said, "do! Ain't you finished yet?"
+
+"I was only resting a minute," she said. "You don't tell me nothing.
+I'd like to know if there's anything--I mean anything new--in the
+paper this morning."
+
+She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her
+unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting
+suddenly uneasy. "Come in--do!" he repeated sharply. "You've
+done quite enough--and before breakfast, too. 'Tain't necessary.
+Come in and shut that door."
+
+He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
+
+She came in, and did what she had never done before--brought the
+broom with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
+
+Then she sat down.
+
+"I think I'll make breakfast up here," she said. "I--I feel cold,
+Bunting." And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of
+perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
+
+He got up. "All right. I'll go down and bring the eggs up. Don't
+you worry. For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if
+you like."
+
+"No," she said obstinately. "I'd rather do my own work. You just
+bring them up here--that'll be all right. To-morrow morning we'll
+have Daisy to help see to things."
+
+"Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair," he suggested
+kindly. "You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen. I never see'd
+such a woman!"
+
+And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room
+with languid steps.
+
+He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
+
+She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took
+two steps towards her.
+
+"I'll show you the most interesting bit" he said eagerly. "It's
+the piece headed, 'Our Special Investigator.' You see, they've
+started a special investigator of their own, and he's got hold of
+a lot of little facts the police seem to have overlooked. The man
+who writes all that--I mean the Special Investigator--was a
+famous 'tec in his time, and he's just come back out of his
+retirement o' purpose to do this bit of work for the paper. You
+read what he says--I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he ends by
+getting that reward! One can see he just loves the work of
+tracking people down."
+
+"There's nothing to be proud of in such a job," said his wife
+listlessly.
+
+"He'll have something to be proud of if he catches The Avenger!"
+cried Bunting. He was too keen about this affair to be put off
+by Ellen's contradictory remarks. "You just notice that bit about
+the rubber soles. Now, no one's thought o' that. I'll just tell
+Chandler--he don't seem to me to be half awake, that young man
+don't."
+
+"He's quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him!
+How about those eggs, Bunting? I feel quite ready for my breakfast
+even if you don't--"
+
+Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly
+described to himself as "Ellen's snarling voice."
+
+He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled. There
+was something queer about her, and he couldn't make it out. He
+didn't mind it when she spoke sharply and nastily to him. He was
+used to that. But now she was so up and down; so different from
+what she used to be! In old days she had always been the same, but
+now a man never knew where to have her.
+
+And as he went downstairs he pondered uneasily over his wife's
+changed ways and manner.
+
+Take the question of his easy chair. A very small matter, no doubt,
+but he had never known Ellen sit in that chair--no, not even once,
+for a minute, since it had been purchased by her as a present for him.
+
+They had been so happy, so happy, and so--so restful, during that
+first week after Mr. Sleuth had come to them. Perhaps it was the
+sudden, dramatic change from agonising anxiety to peace and security
+which had been too much for Ellen--yes, that was what was the matter
+with her, that and the universal excitement about these Avenger
+murders, which were shaking the nerves of all London. Even Bunting,
+unobservant as he was, had come to realise that his wife took a
+morbid interest in these terrible happenings. And it was the more
+queer of her to do so that at first she refused to discuss them, and
+said openly that she was utterly uninterested in murder or crime of
+any sort.
+
+He, Bunting, had always had a mild pleasure in such things. In his
+time he had been a great reader of detective tales, and even now he
+thought there was no pleasanter reading. It was that which had first
+drawn him to Joe Chandler, and made him welcome the young chap as
+cordially as he had done when they first came to London.
+
+But though Ellen had tolerated, she had never encouraged, that sort
+of talk between the two men. More than once she had exclaimed
+reproachfully: "To hear you two, one would think there was no nice,
+respectable, quiet people left in the world!"
+
+But now all that was changed. She was as keen as anyone could be
+to hear the latest details of an Avenger crime. True, she took her
+own view of any theory suggested. But there! Ellen always had had
+her own notions about everything under the sun. Ellen was a woman
+who thought for herself--a clever woman, not an everyday woman by
+any manner of means.
+
+While these thoughts were going disconnectedly through his mind,
+Bunting was breaking four eggs into a basin. He was going to give
+Ellen a nice little surprise--to cook an omelette as a French chef
+had once taught him to do, years and years ago. He didn't know how
+she would take his doing such a thing after what she had said; but
+never mind, she would enjoy the omelette when done. Ellen hadn't
+been eating her food properly of late.
+
+And when he went up again, his wife, to his relief, and, it must be
+admitted, to his surprise, took it very well. She had not even
+noticed how long he had been downstairs, for she had been reading
+with intense, painful care the column that the great daily paper
+they took in had allotted to the one-time famous detective.
+
+According to this Special Investigator's own account he had
+discovered all sorts of things that had escaped the eye of the
+police and of the official detectives. For instance, owing, he
+admitted, to a fortunate chance, he had been at the place where
+the two last murders had been committed very soon after the double
+crime had been discovered--in fact within half an hour, and he
+had found, or so he felt sure, on the slippery, wet pavement
+imprints of the murderer's right foot.
+
+The paper reproduced the impression of a half-worn rubber sole.
+At the same time, he also admitted--for the Special Investigator
+was very honest, and he had a good bit of space to fill in the
+enterprising paper which had engaged him to probe the awful
+mystery--that there were thousands of rubber soles being worn in
+London. . . .
+
+And when she came to that statement Mrs. Bunting looked up, and
+there came a wan smile over her thin, closely-shut lips. It was
+quite true--that about rubber soles; there were thousands of
+rubber soles being worn just now. She felt grateful to the Special
+Investigator for having stated the fact so clearly.
+
+The column ended up with the words:
+
+"And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten
+days ago. To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public
+inquiry could be held at once. Say, on the very day the discovery
+of a fresh murder is made. In that way alone would it be possible
+to weigh and sift the evidence offered by members of the general
+public. For when a week or more has elapsed, and these same people
+have been examined and cross-examined in private by the police,
+their impressions have had time to become blurred and hopelessly
+confused. On that last occasion but one there seems no doubt
+that several people, at any rate two women and one man, actually
+saw the murderer hurrying from the scene of his atrocious double
+crime--this being so, to-day's investigation may be of the highest
+value and importance. To-morrow I hope to give an account of
+the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements
+made during its course."
+
+Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had
+gone on reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment. At last he
+said rather crossly, "Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute! The
+omelette I've cooked for you will be just like leather if you don't
+eat it."
+
+But once his wife had eaten her breakfast--and, to Bunting's
+mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette untouched
+--she took the paper up again. She turned over the big sheets,
+until she found, at the foot of one of the ten columns devoted to
+The Avenger and his crimes, the information she wanted, and then
+uttered an exclamation under her breath.
+
+What Mrs. Bunting had been looking for--what at last she had found
+--was the time and place of the inquest which was to be held that
+day. The hour named was a rather odd time--two o'clock in the
+afternoon, but, from Mrs. Bunting's point of view, it was most
+convenient.
+
+By two o'clock, nay, by half-past one, the lodger would have had
+his lunch; by hurrying matters a little she and Bunting would have
+had their dinner, and--and Daisy wasn't coming home till tea-time.
+
+She got up out of her husband's chair. "I think you're right," she
+said, in a quick, hoarse tone. "I mean about me seeing a doctor,
+Bunting. I think I will go and see a doctor this very afternoon."
+
+"Wouldn't you like me to go with you?" he asked.
+
+"No, that I wouldn't. In fact I wouldn't go at all you was to go
+with me."
+
+"All right," he said vexedly. "Please yourself, my dear; you know
+best."
+
+"I should think I did know best where my own health is concerned."
+
+Even Bunting was incensed by this lack of gratitude. "'Twas I said,
+long ago, you ought to go and see the doctor; 'twas you said you
+wouldn't!" he exclaimed pugnaciously.
+
+"Well, I've never said you was never right, have I? At any rate,
+I'm going."
+
+"Have you a pain anywhere?" He stared at her with a look of real
+solicitude on his fat, phlegmatic face.
+
+Somehow Ellen didn't look right, standing there opposite him. Her
+shoulders seemed to have shrunk; even her cheeks had fallen in a
+little. She had never looked so bad--not even when they had been
+half starving, and dreadfully, dreadfully worked.
+
+"Yes," she said briefly, "I've a pain in my head, at the back of
+my neck. It doesn't often leave me; it gets worse when anything
+upsets me, like I was upset last night by Joe Chandler."
+
+"He was a silly ass to come and do a thing like that!" said Bunting
+crossly. "I'd a good mind to tell him so, too. But I must say,
+Ellen, I wonder he took you in--he didn't me!"
+
+"Well, you had no chance he should--you knew who it was," she said
+slowly.
+
+And Bunting remained silent, for Ellen was right. Joe Chandler had
+already spoken when he, Bunting, came out into the hall, and saw
+their cleverly disguised visitor.
+
+"Those big black moustaches," he went on complainingly, "and that
+black wig--why, 'twas too ridic'lous--that's what I call it!"
+
+"Not to anyone who didn't know Joe," she said sharply.
+
+"Well, I don't know. He didn't look like a real man--nohow. If
+he's a wise lad, he won't let our Daisy ever see him looking like
+that!" and Bunting laughed, a comfortable laugh.
+
+He had thought a good deal about Daisy and young Chandler the last
+two days, and, on the whole, he was well pleased.  It was a dull,
+unnatural life the girl was leading with Old Aunt. And Joe was
+earning good money. They wouldn't have long to wait, these two
+young people, as a beau and his girl often have to wait, as he,
+Bunting, and Daisy's mother had had to do, for ever so long before
+they could be married. No, there was no reason why they shouldn't
+be spliced quite soon--if so the fancy took them. And Bunting
+had very little doubt that so the fancy would take Joe, at any rate.
+
+But there was plenty of time. Daisy wouldn't be eighteen till the
+week after next. They might wait till she was twenty. By that
+time Old Aunt might be dead, and Daisy might have come into quite
+a tidy little bit of money.
+
+"What are you smiling at?" said his wife sharply.
+
+And he shook himself. "I--smiling? At nothing that I knows of."
+Then he waited a moment. "Well, if you will know, Ellen, I was
+just thinking of Daisy and that young chap Joe Chandler. He is
+gone on her, ain't he?"
+
+"Gone?" And then Mrs. Bunting laughed, a queer, odd, not unkindly
+laugh. "Gone, Bunting?" she repeated. "Why, he's out o' sight
+--right, out of sight!"
+
+Then hesitatingly, and looking narrowly at her husband, she went on,
+twisting a bit of her black apron with her fingers as she spoke:--
+"I suppose he'll be going over this afternoon to fetch her? Or--or
+d'you think he'll have to be at that inquest, Bunting?"
+
+"Inquest? What inquest?" He looked at her puzzled.
+
+"Why, the inquest on them bodies found in the passage near by King's
+Cross."
+
+"Oh, no; he'd have no call to be at the inquest. For the matter o'
+that, I know he's going over to fetch Daisy. He said so last night
+--just when you went up to the lodger."
+
+"That's just as well." Mrs. Bunting spoke with considerable
+satisfaction. "Otherwise I suppose you'd ha' had to go. I wouldn't
+like the house left--not with us out of it. Mr. Sleuth would be
+upset if there came a ring at the door."
+
+"Oh, I won't leave the house, don't you be afraid, Ellen--not while
+you're out."
+
+"Not even if I'm out a good while, Bunting."
+
+"No fear. Of course, you'll be a long time if it's your idea to see
+that doctor at Ealing?"
+
+He looked at her questioningly, and Mrs. Bunting nodded. Somehow
+nodding didn't seem as bad as speaking a lie.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Any ordeal is far less terrifying, far easier to meet with courage,
+when it is repeated, than is even a milder experience which is
+entirely novel.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had already attended an inquest, in the character of a
+witness, and it was one of the few happenings of her life which was
+sharply etched against the somewhat blurred screen of her memory.
+
+In a country house where the then Ellen Green had been staying for
+a fortnight with her elderly mistress, there had occurred one of
+those sudden, pitiful tragedies which occasionally destroy the
+serenity, the apparent decorum, of a large, respectable household.
+
+The under-housemaid, a pretty, happy-natured girl, had drowned
+herself for love of the footman, who had given his sweetheart cause
+for bitter jealousy. The girl had chosen to speak of her troubles
+to the strange lady's maid rather than to her own fellow-servants,
+and it was during the conversation the two women had had together
+that the girl had threatened to take her own life.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting put on her outdoor clothes, preparatory to going
+out, she recalled very clearly all the details of that dreadful
+affair, and of the part she herself had unwillingly played in it.
+
+She visualised the country inn where the inquest on that poor,
+unfortunate creature had been held.
+
+The butler had escorted her from the Hall, for he also was to give
+evidence, and as they came up there had been a look of cheerful
+animation about the inn yard; people coming and going, many women
+as well as men, village folk, among whom the dead girl's fate had
+aroused a great deal of interest, and the kind of horror which those
+who live on a dull countryside welcome rather than avoid.
+
+Everyone there had been particularly nice and polite to her, to
+Ellen Green; there had been a time of waiting in a room upstairs in
+the old inn, and the witnesses had been accommodated, not only with
+chairs, but with cake and wine.
+
+She remembered how she had dreaded being a witness, how she had
+felt as if she would like to run away from her nice, easy place,
+rather than have to get up and tell the little that she knew of the
+sad business.
+
+But it had not been so very dreadful after all. The coroner had
+been a kindly-spoken gentleman; in fact he had complimented her on
+the clear, sensible way she had given her evidence concerning the
+exact words the unhappy girl had used.
+
+One thing Ellen Green had said, in answer to a question put by
+an inquisitive juryman, had raised a laugh in the crowded,
+low-ceilinged room. "Ought not Miss Ellen Green," so the man had
+asked, "to have told someone of the girl's threat? If she had done
+so, might not the girl have been prevented from throwing herself
+into the lake?" And she, the witness, had answered, with some
+asperity--for by that time the coroner's kind manner had put her
+at her ease--that she had not attached any importance to what the
+girl had threatened to do, never believing that any young woman
+could be so silly as to drown herself for love!
+
+******
+
+Vaguely Mrs. Bunting supposed that the inquest at which she was
+going to be present this afternoon would be like that country
+inquest of long ago.
+
+It had been no mere perfunctory inquiry; she remembered very well
+how little by little that pleasant-spoken gentleman, the coroner,
+had got the whole truth out--the story, that is, of how that
+horrid footman, whom she, Ellen Green, had disliked from the first
+minute she had set eyes on him, had taken up with another young
+woman. It had been supposed that this fact would not be elicited
+by the coroner; but it had been, quietly, remorselessly; more, the
+dead girl's letters had been read out--piteous, queerly expressed
+letters, full of wild love and bitter, threatening jealousy. And
+the jury had censured the young man most severely; she remembered
+the look on his face when the people, shrinking back, had made a
+passage for him to slink out of the crowded room.
+
+Come to think of it now, it was strange she had never told Bunting
+that long-ago tale. It had occurred years before she knew him, and
+somehow nothing had ever happened to make her tell him about it.
+
+She wondered whether Bunting had ever been to an inquest. She longed
+to ask him. But if she asked him now, this minute, he might guess
+where she was thinking of going.
+
+And then, while still moving about her bedroom, she shook her head
+--no, no, Bunting would never guess such a thing; he would never,
+never suspect her of telling him a lie.
+
+Stop--had she told a lie? She did mean to go to the doctor after
+the inquest was finished--if there was time, that is. She wondered
+uneasily how long such an inquiry was likely to last. In this case,
+as so very little had been discovered, the proceedings would surely
+be very formal--formal and therefore short.
+
+She herself had one quite definite object--that of hearing the
+evidence of those who believed they had seen the murderer leaving
+the spot where his victims lay weltering in their still flowing
+blood. She was filled with a painful, secret, and, yes, eager
+curiosity to hear how those who were so positive about the matter
+would describe the appearance of The Avenger. After all, a lot of
+people must have seen him, for, as Bunting had said only the day
+before to young Chandler, The Avenger was not a ghost; he was a
+living man with some kind of hiding-place where he was known, and
+where he spent his time between his awful crimes.
+
+As she came back to the sitting-room, her extreme pallor struck her
+husband.
+
+"Why, Ellen," he said, "it is time you went to the doctor. You
+looks just as if you was going to a funeral. I'll come along with
+you as far as the station. You're going by train, ain't you? Not
+by bus, eh? It's a very long way to Ealing, you know."
+
+"There you go! Breaking your solemn promise to me the very first
+minute!" But somehow she did not speak unkindly, only fretfully
+and sadly.
+
+And Bunting hung his head. "Why, to be sure I'd gone and clean
+forgot the lodger! But will you be all right, Ellen? Why not wait
+till to-morrow, and take Daisy with you?"
+
+"I like doing my own business in my own way, and not in someone
+else's way!" she snapped out; and then more gently, for Bunting
+really looked concerned, and she did feel very far from well, "I'll
+be all right, old man. Don't you worry about me!"
+
+As she turned to go across to the door, she drew the black shawl
+she had put over her long jacket more closely round her.
+
+She felt ashamed, deeply ashamed, of deceiving so kind a husband.
+And yet, what could she do? How could she share her dreadful burden
+with poor Bunting? Why, 'twould be enough to make a man go daft.
+Even she often felt as if she could stand it no longer--as if she
+would give the world to tell someone--anyone--what it was that she
+suspected, what deep in her heart she so feared to be the truth.
+
+But, unknown to herself, the fresh outside air, fog-laden though it
+was, soon began to do her good. She had gone out far too little the
+last few days, for she had had a nervous terror of leaving the house
+unprotected, as also a great unwillingness to allow Bunting to come
+into contact with the lodger.
+
+When she reached the Underground station she stopped short. There
+were two ways of getting to St. Pancras--she could go by bus, or
+she could go by train. She decided on the latter. But before
+turning into the station her eyes strayed over the bills of the
+early afternoon papers lying on the ground.
+
+Two words,
+
+  THE AVENGER,
+
+stared up at her in varying type.
+
+Drawing her black shawl yet a little closer about her shoulders,
+Mrs. Bunting looked down at the placards. She did not feel inclined
+to buy a paper, as many of the people round her were doing. Her eyes
+were smarting, even now, from their unaccustomed following of the
+close print in the paper Bunting took in.
+
+Slowly she turned, at last, into the Underground station.
+
+And now a piece of extraordinary good fortune befell Mrs. Bunting.
+
+The third-class carriage in which she took her place happened to be
+empty, save for the presence of a police inspector. And once they
+were well away she summoned up courage, and asked him the question
+she knew she would have to ask of someone within the next few minutes.
+
+"Can you tell me," she said, in a low voice, "where death inquests
+are held"--she moistened her lips, waited a moment, and then
+concluded--"in the neighbourhood of King's Cross?"
+
+The man turned and, looked at her attentively. She did not look at
+all the sort of Londoner who goes to an inquest--there are many
+such--just for the fun of the thing. Approvingly, for he was a
+widower, he noted her neat black coat and skirt; and the plain
+Princess bonnet which framed her pale, refined face.
+
+"I'm going to the Coroner's Court myself." he said good-naturedly.
+"So you can come along of me. You see there's that big Avenger
+inquest going on to-day, so I think they'll have had to make other
+arrangements for--hum, hum--ordinary cases." And as she looked
+at him dumbly, he went on, "There'll be a mighty crowd of people at
+The Avenger inquest--a lot of ticket folk to be accommodated, to
+say nothing of the public."
+
+"That's the inquest I'm going to," faltered Mrs. Bunting. She could
+scarcely get the words out. She realised with acute discomfort,
+yes, and shame, how strange, how untoward, was that which she was
+going to do. Fancy a respectable woman wanting to attend a murder
+inquest!
+
+During the last few days all her perceptions had become sharpened
+by suspense and fear. She realised now, as she looked into the
+stolid face of her unknown friend, how she herself would have
+regarded any woman who wanted to attend such an inquiry from a
+simple, morbid feeling of curiosity. And yet--and yet that was
+just what she was about to do herself.
+
+"I've got a reason for wanting to go there," she murmured. It was
+a comfort to unburden herself this little way even to a stranger.
+
+"Ah!" he said reflectively. "A--a relative connected with one of
+the two victims' husbands, I presume?"
+
+And Mrs. Bunting bent her head.
+
+"Going to give evidence?" he asked casually, and then he turned and
+looked at Mrs. Bunting with far more attention than he had yet done.
+
+"Oh, no!" There was a world of horror, of fear in the speaker's voice.
+
+And the inspector felt concerned and sorry. "Hadn't seen her for
+quite a long time, I suppose?"
+
+"Never had, seen her. I'm from the country." Something impelled
+Mrs. Bunting to say these words. But she hastily corrected herself,
+"At least, I was."
+
+"Will he be there?"
+
+She looked at him dumbly; not in the least knowing to whom he was
+alluding.
+
+"I mean the husband," went on the inspector hastily. "I felt sorry
+for the last poor chap--I mean the husband of the last one--he
+seemed so awfully miserable. You see, she'd been a good wife and a
+good mother till she took to the drink."
+
+"It always is so," breathed out Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Aye." He waited a moment. "D'you know anyone about the court?" he
+asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Well, don't you worry. I'll take you in along o' me. You'd never
+get in by yourself."
+
+They got out; and oh, the comfort of being in some one's charge, of
+having a determined man in uniform to look after one! And yet even
+now there was to Mrs. Bunting something dream-like, unsubstantial
+about the whole business.
+
+"If he knew--if he only knew what I know!" she kept saying over
+and over again to herself as she walked lightly by the big, burly
+form of the police inspector.
+
+"'Tisn't far--not three minutes," he said suddenly. "Am I walking
+too quick for you, ma'am?"'
+
+"No, not at all. I'm a quick walker."
+
+And then suddenly they turned a corner and came on a mass of people,
+a densely packed crowd of men and women, staring at a mean-looking
+little door sunk into a high wall.
+
+"Better take my arm," the inspector suggested. "Make way there!
+Make way!" he cried authoritatively; and he swept her through the
+serried ranks which parted at the sound of his voice, at the sight
+of his uniform.
+
+"Lucky you met me," he said, smiling. "You'd never have got
+through alone. And 'tain't a nice crowd, not by any manner of
+means."
+
+The small door opened just a little way, and they found themselves
+on a narrow stone-flagged path, leading into a square yard. A few
+men were out there, smoking.
+
+Before preceding her into the building which rose at the back of
+the yard, Mrs. Bunting's kind new friend took out his watch.
+"There's another twenty minutes before they'll begin," he said.
+"There's the mortuary"--he pointed with his thumb to a low room
+built out to the right of the court. "Would you like to go in and
+see them?" he whispered.
+
+"Oh, no!" she cried, in a tone of extreme horror. And he looked
+down at her with sympathy, and with increased respect. She was a
+nice, respectable woman, she was. She had not come here imbued
+with any morbid, horrible curiosity, but because she thought it
+her duty to do so. He suspected her of being sister-in-law to
+one of The Avenger's victims.
+
+They walked through into a big room or hall, now full of men
+talking in subdued yet eager, animated tones.
+
+"I think you'd better sit down here," he said considerately, and,
+leading her to one of the benches that stood out from the whitewashed
+walls--"unless you'd rather be with the witnesses, that is."
+
+But again she said, "Oh, no!" And then, with an effort, "Oughtn't
+I to go into the court now, if it's likely to be so full?"
+
+"Don't you worry," he said kindly. "I'll see you get a proper place.
+I must leave you now for a minute, but I'll come back in good time
+and look after you."
+
+She raised the thick veil she had pulled down over her face while
+they were going through that sinister, wolfish-looking crowd outside,
+and looked about her.
+
+Many of the gentlemen--they mostly wore tall hats and good overcoats
+--standing round and about her looked vaguely familiar. She picked
+out one at once. He was a famous journalist, whose shrewd, animated
+face was familiar to her owing to the fact that it was widely
+advertised in connection with a preparation for the hair--the
+preparation which in happier, more prosperous days Bunting had had
+great faith in, and used, or so he always said, with great benefit to
+himself. This gentleman was the centre of an eager circle; half a
+dozen men were talking to him, listening deferentially when he spoke,
+and each of these men, so Mrs. Bunting realised, was a Somebody.
+
+How strange, how amazing, to reflect that from all parts of London,
+from their doubtless important avocations, one unseen, mysterious
+beckoner had brought all these men here together, to this sordid
+place, on this bitterly cold, dreary day. Here they were, all
+thinking of, talking of, evoking one unknown, mysterious personality
+--that of the shadowy and yet terribly real human being who chose
+to call himself The Avenger. And somewhere, not so very far away
+from them all The Avenger was keeping these clever, astute, highly
+trained minds--aye, and bodies, too--at bay.
+
+Even Mrs. Bunting, sitting here unnoticed, realised the irony of her
+presence among them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that she had been sitting there a long
+time--it was really about a quarter of an hour--when her official
+friend came back.
+
+"Better come along now," he whispered; "it'll begin soon."
+
+She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps,
+and so into the Coroner's Court.
+
+The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike a
+chapel, the more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, a
+gallery evidently set aside for the general public, for it was now
+crammed to its utmost capacity.
+
+Mrs. Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces. Had
+it not been for her good fortune in meeting the man she was now
+following, it was there that she would have had to try and make her
+way. And she would have failed. Those people had rushed in the
+moment the doors were opened, pushing, fighting their way in a way
+she could never have pushed or fought.
+
+There were just a few women among them, set, determined-looking
+women, belonging to every class, but made one by their love of
+sensation and their power of forcing their way in where they wanted
+to be. But the women were few; the great majority of those standing
+there were men--men who were also representative of every class of
+Londoner.
+
+The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or three
+steps below the surrounding gallery. Just now it was comparatively
+clear of people, save for the benches on which sat the men who were
+to compose the jury. Some way from these men, huddled together in
+a kind of big pew, stood seven people--three women and four men.
+
+"D'you see the witnesses?" whispered the inspector, pointing these
+out to her. He supposed her to know one of them with familiar
+knowledge, but, if that were so, she made no sign.
+
+Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of little
+platform, on which stood a desk and an arm-chair. Mrs. Bunting
+guessed rightly that it was there the coroner would sit. And to
+the left of the platform was the witness-stand, also raised
+considerably above the jury.
+
+Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring than
+the scene of the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on that
+bright April day, in the village inn. There the coroner had sat on
+the same level as the jury, and the witnesses had simply stepped
+forward one by one, and taken their place before him.
+
+Looking round her fearfully, Mrs. Bunting thought she would surely
+die if ever she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in that
+curious box-like stand, and she stared across at the bench where sat
+the seven witnesses with a feeling of sincere pity in her heart.
+
+But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted. Each woman
+witness looked eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be the
+centre of attention and attraction to the general public. It was
+plain each was enjoying her part of important, if humble, actress
+in the thrilling drama which was now absorbing the attention of all
+London--it might almost be said of the whole world.
+
+Looking at these women, Mrs. Bunting wondered vaguely which was
+which. Was it that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person who
+had certainly, or almost certainly, seen The Avenger within ten
+seconds of the double crime being committed? The woman who, aroused
+by one of his victims' cry of terror, had rushed to her window and
+seen the murderer's shadowy form pass swiftly by in the fog?
+
+Yet another woman, so Mrs. Bunting now remembered, had given a most
+circumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, it
+was supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
+
+Those two women now before her had been interrogated and
+cross-examined again and again, not only by the police, but by
+representatives of every newspaper in London. It was from what they
+had both said--unluckily their accounts materially differed--that
+that official description of The Avenger had been worked up--that
+which described him as being a good-looking, respectable young fellow
+of twenty-eight, carrying a newspaper parcel.
+
+As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a boon
+companion of the dead.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gaze
+on another unfamiliar sight. Specially prominent, running indeed
+through the whole length of the shut-in space, that is, from the
+coroner's high dais right across to the opening in the wooden barrier,
+was an ink-splashed table at which, when she had first taken her
+place, there had been sitting three men busily sketching; but now
+every seat at the table was occupied by tired, intelligent-looking
+men, each with a notebook, or with some loose sheets of paper,
+before him.
+
+"Them's the reporters," whispered her friend. "They don't like
+coming till the last minute, for they has to be the last to go.
+At an ordinary inquest there are only two--maybe three--attending,
+but now every paper in the kingdom has pretty well applied for a
+pass to that reporters' table."
+
+He looked consideringly down into the well of the court. "Now let
+me see what I can do for you--"
+
+Then he beckoned to the coroner's officer: "Perhaps you could put
+this lady just over there, in a corner by herself? Related to a
+relation of the deceased, but doesn't want to be--" He whispered
+a word or two, and the other nodded sympathetically, and looked at
+Mrs. Bunting with interest. "I'll put her just here," he muttered.
+"There's no one coming there to-day. You see, there are only seven
+witnesses--sometimes we have a lot more than that."
+
+And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where the
+seven witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready
+--aye, more than ready--to play their part.
+
+For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs. Bunting, but
+soon those who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realised
+that she had nothing to do with the case. She was evidently there
+as a spectator, and, more fortunate than most, she had a "friend at
+court," and so was able to sit comfortably, instead of having to
+stand in the crowd.
+
+But she was not long left in isolation. Very soon some of the
+important-looking gentlemen she had seen downstairs came into the
+court, and were ushered over to her seat while two or three among
+them, including the famous writer whose face was so familiar that
+it almost seemed to Mrs. Bunting like that of a kindly acquaintance,
+were accommodated at the reporters' table.
+
+"Gentlemen, the Coroner."
+
+The jury stood up, shuffling their feet, and then sat down again;
+over the spectators there fell a sudden silence.
+
+And then what immediately followed recalled to Mrs. Bunting, for the
+first time, that informal little country inquest of long ago.
+
+First came the "Oyez! Oyez!" the old Norman-French summons to all
+whose business it is to attend a solemn inquiry into the death
+--sudden, unexplained, terrible--of a fellow-being.
+
+The jury--there were fourteen of them--all stood up again. They
+raised their hands and solemnly chanted together the curious words
+of their oath.
+
+Then came a quick, informal exchange of sentences 'twixt the coroner
+and his officer.
+
+Yes, everything was in order. The jury had viewed the bodies--he
+quickly corrected himself--the body, for, technically speaking, the
+inquest just about to be held only concerned one body.
+
+And then, amid a silence so absolute that the slightest rustle could
+be heard through the court, the coroner--a clever-looking gentleman,
+though not so old as Mrs. Bunting thought he ought to have been to
+occupy so important a position on so important a day--gave a little
+history, as it were, of the terrible and mysterious Avenger crimes.
+
+He spoke very clearly, warming to his work as he went on.
+
+He told them that he had been present at the inquest held on one of
+The Avenger's former victims. "I only went through professional
+curiosity," he threw in by way of parenthesis, "little thinking,
+gentlemen, that the inquest on one of these unhappy creatures would
+ever be held in my court."
+
+On and on, he went, though he had, in truth, but little to say, and
+though that little was known to every one of his listeners.
+
+Mrs. Bunting heard one of the older gentlemen sitting near her
+whisper to another: "Drawing it out all he can; that's what he's
+doing. Having the time of his life, evidently!" And then the other
+whispered back, so low that she could only just catch the words,
+"Aye, aye. But he's a good chap--I knew his father; we were at
+school together. Takes his job very seriously, you know--he does
+to-day, at any rate."
+
+******
+
+She was listening intently, waiting for a word, a sentence, which
+would relieve her hidden terrors, or, on the other hand, confirm
+them. But the word, the sentence, was never uttered.
+
+And yet, at the very end of his long peroration, the coroner did
+throw out a hint which might mean anything--or nothing.
+
+"I am glad to say that we hope to obtain such evidence to-day as
+will in time lead to the apprehension of the miscreant who has
+committed, and is still committing, these terrible crimes."
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared uneasily up into the coroner's firm,
+determined-looking face. What did he mean by that? Was there any
+new evidence--evidence of which Joe Chandler, for instance, was
+ignorant? And, as if in answer to the unspoken question, her heart
+gave a sudden leap, for a big, burly man had taken his place in the
+witness-box--a policeman who had not been sitting with the other
+witnesses.
+
+But soon her uneasy terror became stilled. This witness was simply
+the constable who had found the first body. In quick, business-like
+tones he described exactly what had happened to him on that cold,
+foggy morning ten days ago. He was shown a plan, and he marked it
+slowly, carefully, with a thick finger. That was the exact place
+--no, he was making a mistake--that was the place where the other
+body had lain. He explained apologetically that he had got rather
+mixed up between the two bodies--that of Johanna Cobbett and Sophy
+Hurtle.
+
+And then the coroner intervened authoritatively: "For the purpose
+of this inquiry," he said, "we must, I think, for a moment consider
+the two murders together."
+
+After that, the witness went on far more comfortably; and as he
+proceeded, in a quick monotone, the full and deadly horror of
+The Avenger's acts came over Mrs. Bunting in a great seething flood
+of sick fear and--and, yes, remorse.
+
+Up to now she had given very little thought--if, indeed, any thought
+--to the drink-sodden victims of The Avenger. It was he who had
+filled her thoughts,--he and those who were trying to track him down.
+But now? Now she felt sick and sorry she had come here to-day. She
+wondered if she would ever be able to get the vision the policeman's
+words had conjured up out of her mind--out of her memory.
+
+And then there came an eager stir of excitement and of attention
+throughout the whole court, for the policeman had stepped down out of
+the witness-box, and one of the women witnesses was being conducted to
+his place.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked with interest and sympathy at the woman,
+remembering how she herself had trembled with fear, trembled as that
+poor, bedraggled, common-looking person was trembling now. The woman
+had looked so cheerful, so--so well pleased with herself till a
+minute ago, but now she had become very pale, and she looked round
+her as a hunted animal might have done.
+
+But the coroner was very kind, very soothing and gentle in his
+manner, just as that other coroner had been when dealing with Ellen
+Green at the inquest on that poor drowned girl.
+
+After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn words
+of the oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story.
+At once Mrs. Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimed
+to have seen The Avenger from her bedroom window. Gaining confidence,
+as she went on, the witness described how she had heard a long-drawn,
+stifled screech, and, aroused from deep sleep, had instinctively
+jumped out of bed and rushed to her window.
+
+The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk. "Let me
+see! Here is the plan. Yes--I think I understand that the house
+in which you are lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimes
+were committed?"
+
+And there arose a quick, futile discussion. The house did not face
+the alley, but the window of the witness's bedroom faced the alley.
+
+"A distinction without a difference," said the coroner testily.
+"And now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw when
+you looked out."
+
+There fell a dead silence on the crowded court. And then the woman
+broke out, speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done.
+"I saw 'im!" she cried. "I shall never forget it--no, not till my
+dying day!" And she looked round defiantly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men had
+had with a person who slept under this woman's room. That person
+had unkindly said she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up that
+night--that she had made up the whole story. She, the speaker, slept
+lightly, and that night had been tending a sick child. Accordingly,
+she would have heard if there had been either the scream described
+by Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping out of bed.
+
+"We quite understand that you think you saw the"--the coroner
+hesitated--"the individual who had just perpetrated these terrible
+crimes. But what we want to have from you is a description of him.
+In spite of the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, you
+say you saw him distinctly, walking along for some yards below your
+window. Now, please, try and tell us what he was like."
+
+The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a coloured
+handkerchief she held in her hand.
+
+"Let us begin at the beginning," said the coroner patiently. "What
+sort of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying from
+the passage?"
+
+"It was just a black 'at" said the witness at last, in a husky,
+rather anxious tone.
+
+"Yes--just a black hat. And a coat--were you able to see what
+sort of a coat he was wearing?"
+
+"'E 'adn't got no coat" she said decidedly. "No coat at all! I
+remembers that very perticulerly. I thought it queer, as it was
+so cold--everybody as can wears some sort o' coat this weather!"
+
+A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, and
+apparently not attending at all to what the witness was saying, here
+jumped up and put out his hand.
+
+"Yes?" the coroner turned to him.
+
+"I just want to say that this 'ere witness--if her name is Lizzie
+Cole, began by saying The Avenger was wearing a coat--a big, heavy
+coat. I've got it here, in this bit of paper."
+
+"I never said so!" cried the woman passionately. "I was made to
+say all those things by the young man what came to me from the
+Evening Sun. Just put in what 'e liked in 'is paper, 'e did--not
+what I said at all!"
+
+At this there was some laughter, quickly suppressed.
+
+"In future," said the coroner severely, addressing the juryman, who
+had now sat down again, "you must ask any question you wish to ask
+through your foreman, and please wait till I have concluded my
+examination of the witness."
+
+But this interruption, this--this accusation, had utterly upset
+the witness. She began contradicting herself hopelessly. The man
+she had seen hurrying by in the semi-darkness below was tall--no,
+he was short. He was thin--no, he was a stoutish young man. And
+as to whether he was carrying anything, there was quite an
+acrimonious discussion.
+
+Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared that she had
+seen a newspaper parcel under his arm; it had bulged out at the back
+--so she declared. But it was proved, very gently and firmly, that
+she had said nothing of the kind to the gentleman from Scotland Yard
+who had taken down her first account--in fact, to him she had
+declared confidently that the man had carried nothing--nothing at
+all; that she had seen his arms swinging up and down.
+
+One fact--if fact it could be called--the coroner did elicit.
+Lizzie Cole suddenly volunteered the statement that as he had passed
+her window he had looked up at her. This was quite a new statement.
+
+"He looked up at you?" repeated the coroner. "You said nothing of
+that in your examination."
+
+"I said nothink because I was scared--nigh scared to death!"
+
+"If you could really see his countenance, for we know the night was
+dark and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like?"
+
+But the coroner was speaking casually, his hand straying over his
+desk; not a creature in that court now believed the woman's story.
+
+"Dark!" she answered dramatically. "Dark, almost black! If you can
+take my meaning, with a sort of nigger look."
+
+And then there was a titter. Even the jury smiled. And sharply the
+coroner bade Lizzie Cole stand down.
+
+Far more credence was given to the evidence of the next witness.
+
+This was an older, quieter-looking woman, decently dressed in black.
+Being the wife of a night watchman whose work lay in a big warehouse
+situated about a hundred yards from the alley or passage where the
+crimes had taken place, she had gone out to take her husband some
+food he always had at one in the morning. And a man had passed her,
+breathing hard and walking very quickly. Her attention had been
+drawn to him because she very seldom met anyone at that hour, and
+because he had such an odd, peculiar look and manner.
+
+Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very much
+from what this witness had said that the official description of The
+Avenger had been composed--that description which had brought such
+comfort to her, Ellen Bunting's, soul.
+
+This witness spoke quietly, confidently, and her account of the
+newspaper parcel the man was carrying was perfectly clear and
+positive.
+
+"It was a neat parcel," she said, "done up with string."
+
+She had thought it an odd thing for a respectably dressed young man
+to carry such a parcel--that was what had made her notice it. But
+when pressed, she had to admit that it had been a very foggy night
+--so foggy that she herself had been afraid of losing her way,
+though every step was familiar.
+
+When the third woman went into the box, and with sighs and tears
+told of her acquaintance with one of the deceased, with Johanna
+Cobbett, there was a stir of sympathetic attention. But she had
+nothing to say throwing any light on the investigation, save that
+she admitted reluctantly that "Anny" would have been such a nice,
+respectable young woman if it hadn't been for the drink.
+
+Her examination was shortened as much as possible; and so was that
+of the next witness, the husband of Johanna Cobbett. He was a very
+respectable-looking man, a foreman in a big business house at Croydon.
+He seemed to feel his position most acutely. He hadn't seen his
+wife for two years; he hadn't had news of her for six months. Before
+she took to drink she had been an admirable wife, and--and yes,
+mother.
+
+Yet another painful few minutes, to anyone who had a heart, or
+imagination to understand, was spent when the father of the murdered
+woman was in the box. He had had later news of his unfortunate
+daughter than her husband had had, but of course he could throw no
+light at all on her murder or murderer.
+
+A barman, who had served both the women with drink just before the
+public-house closed for the night, was handled rather roughly. He
+had stepped with a jaunty air into the box, and came out of it
+looking cast down, uneasy.
+
+And then there took place a very dramatic, because an utterly
+unexpected, incident. It was one of which the evening papers made
+the utmost much to Mrs. Bunting's indignation. But neither coroner
+nor jury--and they, after all, were the people who mattered--
+thought a great deal of it.
+
+There had come a pause in the proceedings. All seven witnesses had
+been heard, and a gentleman near Mrs. Bunting whispered, "They are
+now going to call Dr. Gaunt. He's been in every big murder case for
+the last thirty years. He's sure to have something interesting to
+say. It was really to hear him I came."
+
+But before Dr. Gaunt had time even to get up from the seat with
+which he had been accommodated close to the coroner, there came a
+stir among the general public, or, rather, among those spectators
+who stood near the low wooden door which separated the official
+part of the court from the gallery.
+
+The coroner's officer, with an apologetic air, approached the
+coroner, and handed him up an envelope. And again in an instant,
+there fell absolute silence on the court.
+
+Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope. He glanced
+down the sheet of notepaper it contained. Then he looked up.
+
+"Mr.--" then he glanced down again. "Mr.--ah--Mr.--is it Cannot?"
+he said doubtfully, "may come forward."
+
+There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
+
+A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat,
+with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from
+the place where he had been standing among the general public, to
+the witness-box.
+
+"This is somewhat out of order, Mr.--er--Cannot," said the
+coroner severely. "You should have sent me this note before the
+proceedings began. This gentleman," he said, addressing the jury,
+"informs me that he has something of the utmost importance to
+reveal in connection with our investigation."
+
+"I have remained silent--I have locked what I knew within my own
+breast"--began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, "because I am so
+afraid of the Press! I knew if I said anything, even to the police,
+that my house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . .
+I have a delicate wife, Mr. Coroner. Such a state of things--the
+state of things I imagine--might cause her death--indeed, I hope
+she will never read a report of these proceedings. Fortunately, she
+has an excellent trained nurse--"
+
+"You will now take the oath," said the coroner sharply. He already
+regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
+
+Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been
+lacking in most of those who had preceded him.
+
+"I will address myself to the jury," he began.
+
+"You will do nothing of the sort," broke in the coroner. "Now,
+please attend to me. You assert in your letter that you know who
+is the--the--"
+
+"The Avenger," put in Mr. Cannot promptly.
+
+"The perpetrator of these crimes. You further declare that you met
+him on the very night he committed the murder we are now
+investigating?"
+
+"I do so declare," said Mr. Cannot confidently. "Though in the best
+of health myself,"--he beamed round the court, a now amused,
+attentive court--"it is my fate to be surrounded by sick people, to
+have only ailing friends. I have to trouble you with my private
+affairs, Mr. Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be out
+at so undue an hour as one o'clock in the morning--"
+
+Again a titter ran through the court. Even the jury broke into
+broad smiles.
+
+"Yes," went on the witness solemnly, "I was with a sick friend--in
+fact, I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed away.
+I will not reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on my
+notepaper. It is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understand
+me when I say that in order to come home I had to pass through a
+portion of the Regent's Park; and it was there--to be exact, about
+the middle of Prince's Terrace--when a very peculiar-looking
+individual stopped and accosted me."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's hand shot up to her breast. A feeling of deadly fear
+took possession of her.
+
+"I mustn't faint," she said to herself hurriedly. "I mustn't faint!
+Whatever's the matter with me?" She took out her bottle of
+smelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.
+
+"He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with a
+very odd-looking face. I should say an educated man--in common
+parlance, a gentleman. What drew my special attention to him was
+that he was talking aloud to himself--in fact, he seemed to be
+repeating poetry. I give you my word, I had no thought of The
+Avenger, no thought at all. To tell you the truth, I thought this
+gentleman was a poor escaped lunatic, a man who'd got away from his
+keeper. The Regent's Park, sir, as I need hardly tell you, is a
+most quiet and soothing neighbourhood--"
+
+And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.
+
+"I appeal to you; sir," the old gentleman suddenly cried out "to
+protect me from this unseemly levity! I have not come here with
+any other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!"
+
+"I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant," said the
+coroner stiffly. "Time is going on, and I have another important
+witness to call--a medical witness. Kindly tell me, as shortly as
+possible, what made you suppose that this stranger could possibly
+be--" with an effort he brought out for the first time since the
+proceedings began, the words, "The Avenger?"
+
+"I am coming to that!" said Mr. Cannot hastily. "I am coming to
+that! Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner. It was a foggy
+night, but not as foggy as it became later. And just when we were
+passing one another, I and this man, who was talking aloud to
+himself--he, instead of going on, stopped and turned towards
+me. That made me feel queer and uncomfortable, the more so that
+there was a very wild, mad look on his face. I said to him, as
+soothingly as possible, 'A very foggy night, sir.' And he said,
+'Yes--yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the commission of
+dark and salutary deeds.' A very strange phrase, sir, that--'dark
+and salutary deeds.'" He looked at the coroner expectantly--
+
+"Well? Well, Mr. Cannot? Was that all? Did you see this person
+go off in the direction of--of King's Cross, for instance?"
+
+"No." Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head. "No, I must honestly
+say I did not. He walked along a certain way by my side, and then
+he crossed the road and was lost in the fog."
+
+"That will do," said the coroner. He spoke more kindly. "I thank
+you, Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidently
+consider important information."
+
+Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again some
+of those present tittered rather foolishly.
+
+As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and looked
+up at the coroner, opening his lips as he did so. There was a
+murmur of talking going on, but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heard
+quite distinctly what it was that he said:
+
+"One thing I have forgotten, sir, which may be of importance. The
+man carried a bag--a rather light-coloured leather bag, in his left
+hand. It was such a bag, sir, as might well contain a long-handled
+knife."
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters' table. She remembered suddenly
+that she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth's bag.
+And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a
+single reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that last
+remark of Mr. Cannot. In fact, not one of them had heard it.
+
+Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. And
+then silence did fall on the court.
+
+"One word more," he said in a quavering voice. "May I ask to be
+accommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings? I see
+there is some room left on the witnesses' bench." And, without
+waiting for permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. Her friend, the inspector, was
+bending over her.
+
+"Perhaps you'd like to come along now," he said urgently.--"I
+don't suppose you want to hear the medical evidence. It's always
+painful for a female to hear that. And there'll be an awful rush
+when the inquest's over. I could get you away quietly now."
+
+She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followed
+him obediently.
+
+Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty,
+room downstairs.
+
+"I'll let you out the back way," he said. "I expect you're tired,
+ma'am, and will like to get home to a cup o' tea."
+
+"I don't know how to thank you!" There were tears in her eyes.
+She was trembling with excitement and emotion. "You have been good
+to me."
+
+"Oh, that's nothing," he said a little awkwardly. "I expect you
+went though a pretty bad time, didn't you?"
+
+"Will they be having that old gentleman again?" she spoke in a
+whisper, and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look.
+
+"Good Lord, no! Crazy old fool! We're troubled with a lot of
+those sort of people, you know, ma'am, and they often do have funny
+names, too. You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City,
+or what not; then they retires when they gets about sixty, and
+they're fit to hang themselves with dulness. Why, there's hundreds
+of lunies of the sort to be met in London. You can't go about at
+night and not meet 'em. Plenty of 'em!"
+
+"Then you don't think there was anything in what he said?" she
+ventured.
+
+"In what that old gent said? Goodness--no!" he laughed
+good-naturedly. "But I'll tell you what I do think. If it wasn't
+for the time that had gone by, I should believe that the second
+witness had seen that crafty devil--" he lowered his voice. "But,
+there, Dr. Gaunt declares most positively--so did two other medical
+gentlemen--that the poor creatures had been dead hours when they
+was found. Medical gentlemen are always very positive about their
+evidence. They have to be--otherwise who'd believe 'em? If we'd
+time I could tell you of a case in which--well, 'twas all because
+of Dr. Gaunt that the murderer escaped. We all knew perfectly well
+the man we caught did it, but he was able to prove an alibi as to
+the time Dr. Gaunt said the poor soul was killed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+It was not late even now, for the inquest had begun very punctually,
+but Mrs. Bunting felt that no power on earth should force her to go
+to Ealing. She felt quite tired out and as if she could think of
+nothing.
+
+Pacing along very slowly, as if she were an old, old woman, she
+began listlessly turning her steps towards home. Somehow she felt
+that it would do her more good to stay out in the air than take the
+train. Also she would thus put off the moment--the moment to which
+she looked forward with dread and dislike--when she would have to
+invent a circumstantial story as to what she had said to the doctor,
+and what the doctor had said to her.
+
+Like most men and women of his class, Bunting took a great interest
+in other people's ailments, the more interest that he was himself so
+remarkably healthy. He would feel quite injured if Ellen didn't
+tell him everything that had happened; everything, that is, that the
+doctor had told her.
+
+As she walked swiftly along, at every corner, or so it seemed to her,
+and outside every public-house, stood eager boys selling the latest
+edition of the afternoon papers to equally eager buyers. "Avenger
+Inquest?" they shouted exultantly. "All the latest evidence!" At
+one place, where there were a row of contents-bills pinned to the
+pavement by stones, she stopped and looked down. "Opening of the
+Avenger Inquest. What is he really like? Full description." On yet
+another ran the ironic query: "Avenger Inquest. Do you know him?"
+
+And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs.
+Bunting turned sick--so sick and faint that she did what she had
+never done before in her life--she pushed her way into a
+public-house, and, putting two pennies down on the counter, asked
+for, and received, a glass of cold water.
+
+As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind
+dwelling persistently--not on the inquest at which she had been
+present, not even on The Avenger, but on his victims.
+
+Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the
+mortuary. She seemed also to see that third body, which, though
+cold, must yet be warmer than the other two, for at this time
+yesterday The Avenger's last victim had been alive, poor soul--
+alive and, according to a companion of hers whom the papers had
+already interviewed, particularly merry and bright.
+
+Hitherto Mrs. Bunting had been spared in any real sense a vision of
+The Avenger's victims. Now they haunted her, and she wondered
+wearily if this fresh horror was to be added to the terrible fear
+which encompassed her night and day.
+
+As she came within sight of home, her spirit suddenly lightened.
+The narrow, drab-coloured little house, flanked each side by others
+exactly like it in every single particular, save that their front
+yards were not so well kept, looked as if it could, aye, and would,
+keep any secret closely hidden.
+
+For a moment, at any rate, The Avenger's victims receded from her
+mind. She thought of them no more. All her thoughts were
+concentrated on Bunting--Bunting and Mr. Sleuth. She wondered what
+had happened during her absence--whether the lodger had rung his
+bell, and, if so, how he had got on with Bunting, and Bunting with
+him?
+
+She walked up the little flagged path wearily, and yet with a
+pleasant feeling of home-coming. And then she saw that Bunting must
+have been watching for her behind the now closely drawn curtains,
+for before she could either knock or ring he had opened the door.
+
+"I was getting quite anxious about you," he exclaimed. "Come in,
+Ellen, quick! You must be fair perished a day like now--and you
+out so little as you are. Well? I hope you found the doctor all
+right?" He looked at her with affectionate anxiety.
+
+And then there came a sudden, happy thought to Mrs. Bunting. "No,"
+she said slowly, "Doctor Evans wasn't in. I waited, and waited, and
+waited, but he never came in at all. 'Twas my own fault," she added
+quickly. Even at such a moment as this she told herself that though
+she had, in a sort of way, a kind of right to lie to her husband,
+she had no sight to slander the doctor who had been so kind to her
+years ago. "I ought to have sent him a card yesterday night," she
+said. "Of course, I was a fool to go all that way, just on chance
+of finding a doctor in. It stands to reason they've got to go out
+to people at all times of day."
+
+"I hope they gave you a cup of tea?" he said.
+
+And again she hesitated, debating a point with herself: if the
+doctor had a decent sort of servant, of course, she, Ellen Bunting,
+would have been offered a cup of tea, especially if she explained
+she'd known him a long time.
+
+She compromised. "I was offered some," she said, in a weak, tired
+voice. "But there, Bunting, I didn't feel as if I wanted it. I'd
+be very grateful for a cup now--if you'd just make it for me over
+the ring."
+
+"'Course I will," he said eagerly. "You just come in and sit down,
+my dear. Don't trouble to take your things off now--wait till
+you've had tea."
+
+And she obeyed him. "Where's Daisy?" she asked suddenly. "I thought
+the girl would be back by the time I got home."
+
+"She ain't coming home to-day"--there was an odd, sly, smiling look
+on Bunting's face.
+
+"Did she send a telegram?" asked Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"No. Young Chandler's just come in and told me. He's been over
+there and,--would you believe it, Ellen?--he's managed to make
+friends with Margaret. Wonderful what love will do, ain't it? He
+went over there just to help Daisy carry her bag back, you know,
+and then Margaret told him that her lady had sent her some money
+to go to the play, and she actually asked Joe to go with them this
+evening--she and Daisy--to the pantomime. Did you ever hear o'
+such a thing?"
+
+"Very nice for them, I'm sure," said Mrs. Bunting absently. But
+she was pleased--pleased to have her mind taken off herself. "Then
+when is that girl coming home?" she asked patiently.
+
+"Well, it appears that Chandler's got to-morrow morning off too--
+this evening and to-morrow morning. He'll be on duty all night,
+but he proposes to go over and bring Daisy back in time for early
+dinner. Will that suit you, Ellen?"
+
+"Yes. That'll be all right," she said. "I don't grudge the girl
+her bit of pleasure. One's only young once. By the way, did the
+lodger ring while I was out?"
+
+Bunting turned round from the gas-ring, which he was watching to
+see the kettle boil. "No," he said. "Come to think of it, it's
+rather a funny thing, but the truth is, Ellen, I never gave Mr.
+Sleuth a thought. You see, Chandler came in and was telling me all
+about Margaret, laughing-like, and then something else happened
+while you was out, Ellen."
+
+"Something else happened?" she said in a startled voice. Getting
+up from her chair she came towards her husband: "What happened?
+Who came?"
+
+"Just a message for me, asking if I could go to-night to wait at a
+young lady's birthday party. In Hanover Terrace it is. A waiter
+--one of them nasty Swiss fellows as works for nothing--fell out
+just at the last minute and so they had to send for me."
+
+His honest face shone with triumph. The man who had taken over his
+old friend's business in Baker Street had hitherto behaved very
+badly to Bunting, and that though Bunting had been on the books for
+ever so long, and had always given every satisfaction. But this new
+man had never employed him--no, not once.
+
+"I hope you didn't make yourself too cheap?" said his wife jealously.
+
+"No, that I didn't! I hum'd and haw'd a lot; and I could see the
+fellow was quite worried--in fact, at the end he offered me
+half-a-crown more. So I graciously consented!"
+
+Husband and wife laughed more merrily than they had done for a long
+time.
+
+"You won't mind being alone, here? I don't count the lodger--he's
+no good--" Bunting looked at her anxiously. He was only prompted
+to ask the question because lately Ellen had been so queer, so
+unlike herself. Otherwise it never would have occurred to him that
+she could be afraid of being alone in the house. She had often been
+so in the days when he got more jobs.
+
+She stared at him, a little suspiciously. "I be afraid?" she echoed.
+"Certainly not. Why should I be? I've never been afraid before.
+What d'you exactly mean by that, Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, nothing. I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone
+on this ground floor. You was so upset yesterday when that young
+fool Chandler came, dressed up, to the door."
+
+"I shouldn't have been frightened if he'd just been an ordinary
+stranger," she said shortly. "He said something silly to me--just
+in keeping with his character-like, and it upset me. Besides, I
+feel better now."
+
+As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise
+outside, the shouts of newspaper-sellers.
+
+"I'll just run out," said Bunting apologetically, "and see what
+happened at that inquest to-day. Besides, they may have a clue
+about the horrible affair last night. Chandler was full of it--
+when he wasn't talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is. He's
+on to-night, luckily not till twelve o'clock; plenty of time to
+escort the two of 'em back after the play. Besides, he said
+he'll put them into a cab and blow the expense, if the panto'
+goes on too long for him to take 'em home."
+
+"On to-night?" repeated Mrs. Bunting. "Whatever for?"
+
+"Well, you see, The Avenger's always done 'em in couples, so to
+speak. They've got an idea that he'll have a try again to-night.
+However, even so, Joe's only on from midnight till five o'clock.
+Then he'll go and turn in a bit before going off to fetch Daisy,
+Fine thing to be young, ain't it, Ellen?"
+
+"I can't believe that he'd go out on such a night as this!"
+
+"What do you mean?" said Bunting, staring at her. Ellen had spoken
+so oddly, as if to herself, and in so fierce and passionate a tone.
+
+"What do I mean?" she repeated--and a great fear clutched at her
+heart. What had she said? She had been thinking aloud.
+
+"Why, by saying he won't go out. Of course, he has to go out.
+Besides, he'll have been to the play as it is. 'Twould be a pretty
+thing if the police didn't go out, just because it was cold!"
+
+"I--I was thinking of The Avenger," said Mrs. Bunting. She looked
+at her husband fixedly. Somehow she had felt impelled to utter
+those true words.
+
+"He don't take no heed of heat nor cold," said Bunting sombrely.
+"I take it the man's dead to all human feeling--saving, of
+course, revenge."
+
+"So that's your idea about him, is it?" She looked across at her
+husband. Somehow this dangerous, this perilous conversation between
+them attracted her strangely. She felt as if she must go on with it.
+"D'you think he was the man that woman said she saw? That young
+man what passed her with a newspaper parcel?"
+
+"Let me see," he said slowly. "I thought that 'twas from the bedroom
+window a woman saw him?"
+
+"No, no. I mean the other woman, what was taking her husband's
+breakfast to him in the warehouse. She was far the most
+respectable-looking woman of the two," said Mrs. Bunting impatiently.
+
+And then, seeing her husband's look of utter, blank astonishment,
+she felt a thrill of unreasoning terror. She must have gone suddenly
+mad to have said what she did! Hurriedly she got up from her chair.
+"There, now," she said; "here I am gossiping all about nothing when
+I ought to be seeing about the lodger's supper. It was someone in
+the train talked to me about that person as thinks she saw The
+Avenger."
+
+Without waiting for an answer, she went into her bedroom, lit the
+gas, and shut the door. A moment later she heard Bunting go out to
+buy the paper they had both forgotten during their dangerous
+discussion.
+
+As she slowly, languidly took off her nice, warm coat and shawl,
+Mrs. Bunting found herself shivering. It was dreadfully cold, quite
+unnaturally cold even for the time of year.
+
+She looked longingly towards the fireplace. It was now concealed
+by the washhand-stand, but how pleasant it would be to drag that
+stand aside and light a bit of fire, especially as Bunting was going
+to be out to-night. He would have to put on his dress clothes, and
+she didn't like his dressing in the sitting-room. It didn't suit
+her ideas that he should do so. How if she did light the fire here,
+in their bedroom? It would be nice for her to have bit of fire to
+cheer her up after he had gone.
+
+Mrs. Bunting knew only too well that she would have very little
+sleep the coming night. She looked over, with shuddering distaste,
+at her nice, soft bed. There she would lie, on that couch of little
+ease, listening--listening. . . .
+
+She went down to the kitchen. Everything was ready for Mr. Sleuth's
+supper, for she had made all her preparations before going out so
+as not to have to hurry back before it suited her to do so.
+
+Leaning the tray for a moment on the top of the banisters, she
+listened. Even in that nice warm drawing-room, and with a good
+fire, how cold the lodger must feel sitting studying at the table!
+But unwonted sounds were coming through the door. Mr. Sleuth was
+moving restlessly about the room, not sitting reading, as was his
+wont at this time of the evening.
+
+She knocked, and then waited a moment.
+
+There came the sound of a sharp click, that of the key turning in
+the lock of the chiffonnier cupboard--or so Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+could have sworn.
+
+There was a pause--she knocked again.
+
+"Come in," said Mr. Sleuth loudly, and she opened the door and
+carried in the tray.
+
+"You are a little earlier than usual, are you not Mrs. Bunting?"
+he said, with a touch of irritation in his voice.
+
+"I don't think so, sir, but I've been out. Perhaps I lost count of
+the time. I thought you'd like your breakfast early, as you had
+dinner rather sooner than usual."
+
+"Breakfast? Did you say breakfast, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure! I meant supper." He looked at
+her fixedly. It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that there was a terrible
+questioning look in his dark, sunken eyes.
+
+"Aren't you well?" he said slowly. "You don't look well, Mrs.
+Bunting."
+
+"No, sir," she said. "I'm not well. I went over to see a doctor
+this afternoon, to Ealing, sir."
+
+"I hope he did you good, Mrs. Bunting"--the lodger's voice had
+become softer, kinder in quality.
+
+"It always does me good to see the doctor," said Mrs. Bunting
+evasively.
+
+And then a very odd smile lit up Mr. Sleuth's face. "Doctors are a
+maligned body of men," he said. "I'm glad to hear you speak well of
+them. They do their best, Mrs. Bunting. Being human they are liable
+to err, but I assure you they do their best."
+
+"That I'm sure they do, sir"--she spoke heartily, sincerely.
+Doctors had always treated her most kindly, and even generously.
+
+And then, having laid the cloth, and put the lodger's one hot dish
+upon it, she went towards the door. "Wouldn't you like me to bring
+up another scuttleful of coals, sir? it's bitterly cold--getting
+colder every minute. A fearful night to have to go out in--" she
+looked at him deprecatingly.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth did something which startled her very much.
+Pushing his chair back, he jumped up and drew himself to his full
+height.
+
+"What d'you mean?" he stammered. "Why did you say that, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him, fascinated, affrighted. Again there came an
+awful questioning look over his face.
+
+"I was thinking of Bunting, sir. He's got a job to-night. He's
+going to act as waiter at a young lady's birthday party. I was
+thinking it's a pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes,
+too"--she brought out her words jerkily.
+
+Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down. "Ah!"
+he said. "Dear me--I'm sorry to hear that! I hope your husband
+will not catch cold, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
+
+******
+
+Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy
+washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
+
+Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
+
+"Time for you to dress," she cried out cheerfully, "and I've got a
+little bit of fire for you to dress by."
+
+As he exclaimed at her extravagance, "Well, 'twill be pleasant for
+me, too; keep me company-like while you're out; and make the room
+nice and warm when you come in. You'll be fair perished, even
+walking that short way," she said.
+
+And then, while her husband was dressing, Mrs. Bunting went upstairs
+and cleared away Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+
+The lodger said no word while she was so engaged--no word at all.
+
+He was sitting away from the table, rather an unusual thing for him
+to do, and staring into the fire, his hands on his knees.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn. Somehow, a
+great rush of pity, as well as of horror, came over Mrs. Bunting's
+heart. He was such a--a--she searched for a word in her mind, but
+could only find the word "gentle"--he was such a nice, gentle
+gentleman, was Mr. Sleuth. Lately he had again taken to leaving his
+money about, as he had done the first day or two, and with some
+concern his landlady had seen that the store had diminished a good
+deal. A very simple calculation had made her realise that almost the
+whole of that missing money had come her way, or, at any rate, had
+passed through her hands.
+
+Mr. Sleuth never stinted himself as to food, or stinted them, his
+landlord and his landlady, as to what he had said he would pay.
+And Mrs. Bunting's conscience pricked her a little, for he hardly
+ever used that room upstairs--that room for which he had paid extra
+so generously. If Bunting got another job or two through that nasty
+man in Baker Street,--and now that the ice had been broken between
+them it was very probable that he would do so, for he was a very
+well-trained, experienced waiter--then she thought she would tell
+Mr. Sleuth that she no longer wanted him to pay as much as he was
+now doing.
+
+She looked anxiously, deprecatingly, at his long, bent back.
+
+"Good-night, sir," she said at last.
+
+Mr. Sleuth turned round. His face looked sad and worn.
+
+"I hope you'll sleep well, sir."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure I shall sleep well. But perhaps I shall take a
+little turn first. Such is my way, Mrs. Bunting; after I have been
+studying all day I require a little exercise."
+
+"Oh, I wouldn't go out to-night," she said deprecatingly. "'Tisn't
+fit for anyone to be out in the bitter cold."
+
+"And yet--and yet"--he looked at her attentively--"there will
+probably be many people out in the streets to-night."
+
+"A many more than usual, I fear, sir."
+
+"Indeed?" said Mr. Sleuth quickly. "Is it not a strange thing,
+Mrs. Bunting, that people who have all day in which to amuse
+themselves should carry their revels far into the night?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't thinking of revellers, sir; I was thinking"--she
+hesitated, then, with a gasping effort Mrs. Bunting brought out the
+words, "of the police."
+
+"The police?" He put up his right hand and stroked his chin two or
+three times with a nervous gesture. "But what is man--what is man's
+puny power or strength against that of God, or even of those over
+whose feet God has set a guard?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked at his landlady with a kind of triumph lighting up
+his face, and Mrs. Bunting felt a shuddering sense of relief. Then
+she had not offended her lodger? She had not made him angry by that,
+that--was it a hint she had meant to convey to him?
+
+"Very true, sir," she said respectfully. "But Providence means us
+to take care o' ourselves too." And then she closed the door behind
+her and went downstairs.
+
+But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go on, down to the kitchen. She
+came into her sitting-room, and, careless of what Bunting would think
+the next morning, put the tray with the remains of the lodger's meal on
+her table. Having done that, and having turned out the gas in the
+passage and the sitting-room, she went into her bedroom and closed the
+door.
+
+The fire was burning brightly and clearly. She told herself that
+she did not need any other light to undress by.
+
+What was it made the flames of the fire shoot up, shoot down, in
+that queer way? But watching it for awhile, she did at last doze
+off a bit.
+
+And then--and then Mrs. Bunting woke with a sudden thumping of her
+heart. Woke to see that the fire was almost out--woke to hear a
+quarter to twelve chime out--woke at last to the sound she had been
+listening for before she fell asleep--the sound of Mr. Sleuth,
+wearing his rubber-soled shoes, creeping downstairs, along the
+passage, and so out, very, very quietly by the front door.
+
+But once she was in bed Mrs. Bunting turned restless. She tossed
+this way and that, full of discomfort and unease. Perhaps it was
+the unaccustomed firelight dancing on the walls, making queer shadows
+all round her, which kept her so wide awake.
+
+She lay thinking and listening--listening and thinking. It even
+occurred to her to do the one thing that might have quieted her
+excited brain--to get a book, one of those detective stories of
+which Bunting had a slender store in the next room, and then,
+lighting the gas, to sit up and read.
+
+No, Mrs. Bunting had always been told it was very wrong to read in
+bed, and she was not in a mood just now to begin doing anything that
+she had been told was wrong. . . .
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+It was a very cold night--so cold, so windy, so snow-laden was the
+atmosphere, that everyone who could do so stayed indoors.
+
+Bunting, however, was now on his way home from what had proved a
+really pleasant job. A remarkable piece of luck had come his way
+this evening, all the more welcome because it was quite unexpected!
+The young lady at whose birthday party he had been present in
+capacity of waiter had come into a fortune that day, and she had had
+the gracious, the surprising thought of presenting each of the hired
+waiters with a sovereign!
+
+This gift, which had been accompanied by a few kind words, had gone
+to Bunting's heart. It had confirmed him in his Conservative
+principles; only gentlefolk ever behaved in that way; quiet,
+old-fashioned, respectable, gentlefolk, the sort of people of whom
+those nasty Radicals know nothing and care less!
+
+But the ex-butler was not as happy as he should have been.
+Slackening his footsteps, he began to think with puzzled concern of
+how queer his wife had seemed lately. Ellen had become so nervous,
+so "jumpy," that he didn't know what to make of her sometimes. She
+had never been really good-tempered--your capable, self-respecting
+woman seldom is--but she had never been like what she was now. And
+she didn't get better as the days went on; in fact she got worse.
+Of late she had been quite hysterical, and for no reason at all!
+Take that little practical joke of young Joe Chandler. Ellen knew
+quite well he often had to go about in some kind of disguise, and yet
+how she had gone on, quite foolish-like--not at all as one would
+have expected her to do.
+
+There was another queer thing about her which disturbed him in more
+senses than one. During the last three weeks or so Ellen had taken
+to talking in her sleep. "No, no, no!" she had cried out, only the
+night before. "It isn't true--I won't have it said--it's a lie!"
+And there had been a wail of horrible fear and revolt in her usually
+quiet, mincing voice.
+
+******
+
+Whew! it was cold; and he had stupidly forgotten his gloves.
+
+He put his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and began walking
+more quickly.
+
+As he tramped steadily along, the ex-butler suddenly caught sight
+of his lodger walking along the opposite side of the solitary street
+--one of those short streets leading off the broad road which
+encircles Regent's Park.
+
+Well! This was a funny time o' night to be taking a stroll for
+pleasure, like!
+
+Glancing across, Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth's tall, thin figure
+was rather bowed, and that his head was bent toward the ground. His
+left arm was thrust into his long Inverness cape, and so was quite
+hidden, but the other side of the cape bulged out, as if the lodger
+were carrying a bag or parcel in the hand which hung down straight.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was walking rather quickly, and as he walked he talked
+aloud, which, as Bunting knew, is not unusual with gentlemen who live
+much alone. It was clear that he had not yet become aware of the
+proximity of his landlord.
+
+Bunting told himself that Ellen was right. Their lodger was
+certainly a most eccentric, peculiar person. Strange, was it not,
+that that odd, luny-like gentleman should have made all the
+difference to his, Bunting's, and Mrs. Bunting's happiness and
+comfort in life?
+
+Again glancing across at Mr. Sleuth, he reminded himself, not for
+the first time, of this perfect lodger's one fault--his odd dislike
+to meat, and to what Bunting vaguely called to himself, sensible food.
+
+But there, you can't have everything! The more so that the lodger
+was not one of those crazy vegetarians who won't eat eggs and cheese.
+No, he was reasonable in this, as in everything else connected with
+his dealings with the Buntings.
+
+As we know, Bunting saw far less of the lodger than did his wife.
+Indeed, he had been upstairs only three or four times since Mr.
+Sleuth had been with them, and when his landlord had had occasion
+to wait on him the lodger had remained silent. Indeed, their
+gentleman had made it very clear that he did not like either the
+husband or wife to come up to his rooms without being definitely
+asked to do so.
+
+Now, surely, would be a good opportunity for a little genial
+conversation? Bunting felt pleased to see his lodger; it increased
+his general comfortable sense of satisfaction.
+
+So it was that the butler, still an active man for his years,
+crossed over the road, and, stepping briskly forward, began trying
+to overtake Mr. Sleuth. But the more he hurried along, the more the
+other hastened, and that without ever turning round to see whose
+steps he could hear echoing behind him on the now freezing pavement.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's own footsteps were quite inaudible--an odd circumstance,
+when you came to think of it--as Bunting did think of it later,
+lying awake by Mrs. Bunting's side in the pitch darkness. What it
+meant of course, was that the lodger had rubber soles on his shoes.
+Now Bunting had never had a pair of rubber-soled shoes sent down to
+him to clean. He had always supposed the lodger had only one pair of
+outdoor boots.
+
+The two men--the pursued and the pursuer--at last turned into the
+Marylebone Road; they were now within a few hundred yards of home.
+Plucking up courage, Bunting called out, his voice echoing freshly
+on the still air:
+
+"Mr. Sleuth, sir? Mr. Sleuth!"
+
+The lodger stopped and turned round.
+
+He had been walking so quickly, and he was in so poor a physical
+condition, that the sweat was pouring down his face.
+
+"Ah! So it's you, Mr. Bunting? I heard footsteps behind me, and
+I hurried on. I wish I'd known that it was you; there are so many
+queer characters about at night in London."
+
+"Not on a night like this, sir. Only honest folk who have business
+out of doors would be out such a night as this. It is cold, sir!"
+
+And then into Bunting's slow and honest mind there suddenly crept
+the query as to what on earth Mr. Sleuth's own business out could be
+on this bitter night.
+
+"Cold?" the lodger repeated; he was panting a little, and his words
+came out sharp and quick through his thin lips. "I can't say that
+I find it cold, Mr. Bunting. When the snow falls, the air always
+becomes milder."
+
+"Yes, sir; but to-night there's such a sharp east wind. Why, it
+freezes the very marrow in one's bones! Still, there's nothing like
+walking in cold weather to make one warm, as you seem to have found,
+sir."
+
+Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth kept his distance in a rather strange
+way; he walked at the edge of the pavement, leaving the rest of it,
+on the wall side, to his landlord.
+
+"I lost my way," he said abruptly. "I've been over Primrose Hill to
+see a friend of mine, a man with whom I studied when I was a lad,
+and then, coming back, I lost my way."
+
+Now they had come right up to the little gate which opened on the
+shabby, paved court in front of the house--that gate which now was
+never locked.
+
+Mr. Sleuth, pushing suddenly forward, began walking up the flagged
+path, when, with a "By your leave, sir," the ex-butler, stepping
+aside, slipped in front of his lodger, in order to open the front
+door for him.
+
+As he passed by Mr. Sleuth, the back of Bunting's bare left hand
+brushed lightly against the long Inverness cape the lodger was
+wearing, and, to Bunting's surprise, the stretch of cloth against
+which his hand lay for a moment was not only damp, damp maybe from
+stray flakes of snow which had settled upon it, but wet--wet and
+gluey.
+
+Bunting thrust his left hand into his pocket; it was with the other
+that he placed the key in the lock of the door.
+
+The two men passed into the hall together.
+
+The house seemed blackly dark in comparison with the lighted-up
+road outside, and as he groped forward, closely followed by the
+lodger, there came over Bunting a sudden, reeling sensation of
+mortal terror, an instinctive, assailing knowledge of frightful
+immediate danger.
+
+A stuffless voice--the voice of his first wife, the long-dead
+girl to whom his mind so seldom reverted nowadays--uttered into
+his ear the words, "Take care!"
+
+And then the lodger spoke. His voice was harsh and grating,
+though not loud.
+
+"I'm afraid, Mr. Bunting, that you must have felt something dirty,
+foul, on my coat? It's too long a story to tell you now, but I
+brushed up against a dead animal, a creature to whose misery some
+thoughtful soul had put an end, lying across a bench on Primrose
+Hill."
+
+"No, sir, no. I didn't notice nothing. I scarcely touched you,
+sir."
+
+It seemed as if a power outside himself compelled Bunting to utter
+these lying words. "And now, sir, I'll be saying good-night to you,"
+he said.
+
+Stepping back he pressed with all the strength that was in him
+against the wall, and let the other pass him. There was a pause,
+and then--"Good-night," returned Mr. Sleuth, in a hollow voice.
+Bunting waited until the lodger had gone upstairs, and then,
+lighting the gas, he sat down there, in the hall. Mr. Sleuth's
+landlord felt very queer--queer and sick.
+
+He did not draw his left hand out of his pocket till he heard Mr.
+Sleuth shut the bedroom door upstairs. Then he held up his left
+hand and looked at it curiously; it was flecked, streaked with
+pale reddish blood.
+
+Taking off his boots, he crept into the room where his wife lay
+asleep. Stealthily he walked across to the wash-hand-stand, and
+dipped a hand into the water-jug.
+
+"Whatever are you doing? What on earth are you doing?" came a
+voice from the bed, and Bunting started guiltily.
+
+"I'm just washing my hands."
+
+"Indeed, you're doing nothing of the sort! I never heard of such
+a thing--putting your hand into the water in which I was going to
+wash my face to-morrow morning!"
+
+"I'm very sorry, Ellen," he said meekly; "I meant to throw it away.
+You don't suppose I would have let you wash in dirty water, do you?"
+
+She said no more, but, as he began undressing himself, Mrs. Bunting
+lay staring at him in a way that made her husband feel even more
+uncomfortable than he was already.
+
+At last he got into bed. He wanted to break the oppressive silence
+by telling Ellen about the sovereign the young lady had given him,
+but that sovereign now seemed to Bunting of no more account than if
+it had been a farthing he had picked up in the road outside.
+
+Once more his wife spoke, and he gave so great a start that it shook
+the bed.
+
+"I suppose that you don't know that you've left the light burning in
+the hall, wasting our good money?" she observed tartly.
+
+He got up painfully and opened the door into the passage. It was as
+she had said; the gas was flaring away, wasting their good money--or,
+rather, Mr. Sleuth's good money. Since he had come to be their lodger
+they had not had to touch their rent money.
+
+Bunting turned out the light and groped his way back to the room, and
+so to bed. Without speaking again to each other, both husband and
+wife lay awake till dawn.
+
+The next morning Mr. Sleuth's landlord awoke with a start; he felt
+curiously heavy about the limbs, and tired about the eyes.
+
+Drawing his watch from under his pillow, he saw that it was seven
+o'clock. Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the
+blind a little to one side. It was snowing heavily, and, as is the
+way when it snows, even in London, everything was strangely,
+curiously still. After he had dressed he went out into the passage.
+As he had at once dreaded and hoped, their newspaper was already
+lying on the mat. It was probably the sound of its being pushed
+through the letter-box which had waked him from his unrestful
+sleep.
+
+He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then,
+shutting the door behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper
+wide open on the table, and bent over it.
+
+As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression
+of intense relief shone upon his stolid face. The item of news he
+had felt certain would be printed in big type on the middle sheet
+was not there.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Feeling amazingly light-hearted, almost light-headed, Bunting lit
+the gas-ring to make his wife her morning cup of tea.
+
+While he was doing it, he suddenly heard her call out:
+
+"Bunting!" she cried weakly. "Bunting!" Quickly he hurried in
+response to her call. "Yes," he said. "What is it, my dear? I
+won't be a minute with your tea." And he smiled broadly, rather
+foolishly.
+
+She sat up and looked at him, a dazed expression on her face.
+
+"What are you grinning at?" she asked suspiciously.
+
+"I've had a wonderful piece of luck," he explained. "But you was
+so cross last night that I simply didn't dare tell you about it."
+
+"Well, tell me now," she said in a low voice.
+
+"I had a sovereign given me by the young lady. You see, it was her
+birthday party, Ellen, and she'd come into a nice bit of money, and
+she gave each of us waiters a sovereign."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no comment. Instead, she lay back and closed her
+eyes.
+
+"What time d'you expect Daisy?" she asked languidly. "You didn't
+say what time Joe was going to fetch her, when we was talking about
+it yesterday."
+
+"Didn't I? Well, I expect they'll be in to dinner."
+
+"I wonder, how long that old aunt of hers expects us to keep her?"
+said Mrs. Bunting thoughtfully. All the cheer died out of Bunting's
+round face. He became sullen and angry. It would be a pretty thing
+if he couldn't have his own daughter for a bit--especially now that
+they were doing so well!
+
+"Daisy'll stay here just as long as she can," he said shortly.
+"It's too bad of you, Ellen, to talk like that! She helps you all
+she can; and she brisks us both up ever so much. Besides, 'twould
+be cruel--cruel to take the girl away just now, just as she and
+that young chap are making friends-like. One would suppose that
+even you would see the justice o' that!"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting made no answer.
+
+Bunting went off, back into the sitting-room. The water was boiling
+now, so he made the tea; and then, as he brought the little tray in,
+his heart softened. Ellen did look really ill--ill and wizened.
+He wondered if she had a pain about which she wasn't saying anything.
+She had never been one to grouse about herself.
+
+"The lodger and me came in together last night," he observed
+genially. "He's certainly a funny kind of gentleman. It wasn't
+the sort of night one would have chosen to go out for a walk, now
+was it? And yet he must 'a been out a long time if what he said
+was true."
+
+"I don't wonder a quiet gentleman like Mr. Sleuth hates the
+crowded streets," she said slowly. "They gets worse every day--
+that they do! But go along now; I want to get up."
+
+He went back into their sitting-room, and, having laid the fire
+and put a match to it, he sat down comfortably with his newspaper.
+
+Deep down in his heart Bunting looked back to this last night with
+a feeling of shame and self-rebuke. Whatever had made such horrible
+thoughts and suspicions as had possessed him suddenly come into his
+head? And just because of a trifling thing like that blood. No
+doubt Mr. Sleuth's nose had bled--that was what had happened;
+though, come to think of it, he had mentioned brushing up against
+a dead animal.
+
+Perhaps Ellen was right after all. It didn't do for one to be
+always thinking of dreadful subjects, of murders and such-like. It
+made one go dotty--that's what it did.
+
+And just as he was telling himself that, there came to the door a
+loud knock, the peculiar rat-tat-tat of a telegraph boy. But before
+he had time to get across the room, let alone to the front door,
+Ellen had rushed through the room, clad only in a petticoat and
+shawl.
+
+"I'll go," she cried breathlessly. "I'll go, Bunting; don't you
+trouble."
+
+He stared at her, surprised, and followed her into the hall.
+
+She put out a hand, and hiding herself behind the door, took the
+telegram from the invisible boy. "You needn't wait," she said.
+"If there's an answer we'll send it out ourselves." Then she tore
+the envelope open--"Oh!" she said with a gasp of relief. "It's
+only from Joe Chandler, to say he can't go over to fetch Daisy this
+morning. Then you'll have to go."
+
+She walked back into their sitting-room. "There!" she said.
+"There it is, Bunting. You just read it."
+
+"Am on duty this morning. Cannot fetch Miss Daisy as arranged.--
+Chandler."
+
+"I wonder why he's on duty?" said Bunting slowly, uncomfortably.
+"I thought Joe's hours was as regular as clockwork--that nothing
+could make any difference to them. However, there it is. I suppose
+it'll do all right if I start about eleven o'clock? It may have
+left off snowing by then. I don't feel like going out again just
+now. I'm pretty tired this morning."
+
+"You start about twelve," said his wife quickly.
+
+"That'll give plenty of time."
+
+The morning went on quietly, uneventfully. Bunting received a
+letter from Old Aunt saying Daisy must come back next Monday, a
+little under a week from now. Mr. Sleuth slept soundly, or, at
+any rate, he made no sign of being awake; and though Mrs. Bunting
+often, stopped to listen, while she was doing her room, there
+came no sounds at all from overhead.
+
+Scarcely aware that it was so, both Bunting and his wife felt more
+cheerful than they had done for a long time. They had quite a
+pleasant little chat when Mrs. Bunting came and sat down for a bit,
+before going down to prepare Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+"Daisy will be surprised to see you--not to say disappointed!" she
+observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at
+the thought. And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made
+him stay on a little longer. "There's no such great hurry as that,"
+she said good-temperedly. "It'll do quite well if you're there by
+half-past twelve. I'll get dinner ready myself. Daisy needn't help
+with that. I expect Margaret has worked her pretty hard."
+
+But at last there came the moment when Bunting had to start, and
+his wife went with him to the front door. It was still snowing,
+less heavily, but still snowing. There were very few people coming
+and going, and only just a few cabs and carts dragging cautiously
+along through the slush.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was still in the kitchen when there came a ring and a
+knock at the door--a now very familiar ring and knock. "Joe thinks
+Daisy's home again by now!" she said, smiling to herself.
+
+Before the door was well open, she heard Chandler's voice. "Don't
+be scared this time, Mrs. Bunting!" But though not exactly scared,
+she did give a gasp of surprise. For there stood Joe, made up to
+represent a public-house loafer; and he looked the part to perfection,
+with his hair combed down raggedly over his forehead, his
+seedy-looking, ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and greenish-black pot hat.
+
+"I haven't a minute," he said a little breathlessly. "But I thought
+I'd just run in to know if Miss Daisy was safe home again. You got
+my telegram all right? I couldn't send no other kind of message."
+
+"She's not back yet. Her father hasn't been gone long after her."
+Then, struck by a look in his eyes, "Joe, what's the matter?" she
+asked quickly.
+
+There came a thrill of suspense in her voice, her face grew drawn,
+while what little colour there was in it receded, leaving it very
+pale.
+
+"Well," he said. "Well, Mrs. Bunting, I've no business to say
+anything about it--but I will tell you!"
+
+He walked in and shut the door of the sitting-room carefully behind
+him. "There's been another of 'em!" he whispered. "But this time
+no one is to know anything about it--not for the present, I mean,"
+he corrected himself hastily. "The Yard thinks we've got a clue--
+and a good clue, too, this time."
+
+"But where--and how?" faltered Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Well, 'twas just a bit of luck being able to keep it dark for the
+present"--he still spoke in that stifled, hoarse whisper. "The
+poor soul was found dead on a bench on Primrose Hill. And just by
+chance 'twas one of our fellows saw the body first. He was on his
+way home, over Hampstead way. He knew where he'd be able to get an
+ambulance quick, and he made a very clever, secret job of it. I
+'spect he'll get promotion for that!"
+
+"What about the clue?" asked Mrs. Bunting, with dry lips. "You said
+there was a clue?"
+
+"Well, I don't rightly understand about the clue myself. All I
+knows is it's got something to do with a public-house, 'The Hammer
+and Tongs,' which isn't far off there. They feels sure The Avenger
+was in the bar just on closing-time."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat down. She felt better now. It was natural
+the police should suspect a public-house loafer. "Then that's why you
+wasn't able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?"
+
+He nodded. "Mum's the word, Mrs. Bunting! It'll all be in the last
+editions of the evening newspapers--it can't be kep' out. There'd be
+too much of a row if 'twas!"
+
+"Are you going off to that public-house now?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, I am. I've got a awk'ard job--to try and worm something out
+of the barmaid."
+
+"Something out of the barmaid?" repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously.
+"Why, whatever for?"
+
+He came and stood close to her. "They think 'twas a gentleman," he
+whispered.
+
+"A gentleman?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression. "Whatever
+makes them think such a silly thing as that?"
+
+"Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a
+leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of
+milk. And what d'you think he did? Paid for it with a sovereign!
+He wouldn't take no change--just made the girl a present of it!
+That's why the young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to
+give him away. She won't tell now what he was like. She doesn't
+know what he's wanted for, and we don't want her to know just yet.
+That's one reason why nothing's being said public about it. But
+there! I really must be going now. My time'll be up at three
+o'clock. I thought of coming in on the way back, and asking you for
+a cup o' tea, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Do," she said. "Do, Joe. You'll be welcome," but there was no
+welcome in her tired voice.
+
+She let him go alone to the door, and then she went down to her
+kitchen, and began cooking Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+The lodger would be sure to ring soon; and then any minute Bunting
+and Daisy might be home, and they'd want something, too. Margaret
+always had breakfast even when "the family" were away, unnaturally
+early.
+
+As she bustled about Mrs. Bunting tried to empty her mind of all
+thought. But it is very difficult to do that when one is in a state
+of torturing uncertainty. She had not dared to ask Chandler what
+they supposed that man who had gone into the public-house was really
+like. It was fortunate, indeed, that the lodger and that inquisitive
+young chap had never met face to face.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth's bell rang--a quiet little tinkle. But when
+she went up with his breakfast the lodger was not in his sitting-room.
+
+Supposing him to be still in his bedroom, Mrs. Bunting put the cloth
+on the table, and then she heard the sound of his footsteps coming
+down the stairs, and her quick ears detected the slight whirring
+sound which showed that the gas-stove was alight. Mr. Sleuth had
+already lit the stove; that meant that he would carry out some
+elaborate experiment this afternoon.
+
+"Still snowing?" he said doubtfully. "How very, very quiet and
+still London is when under snow, Mrs. Bunting. I have never known
+it quite as quiet as this morning. Not a sound, outside or in. A
+very pleasant change from the shouting which sometimes goes on in
+the Marylebone Road."
+
+"Yes," she said dully. "It's awful quiet to-day--too quiet to my
+thinking. 'Tain't natural-like."
+
+The outside gate swung to, making a noisy clatter in the still air.
+
+"Is that someone coming in here?" asked Mr. Sleuth, drawing a quick,
+hissing breath. "Perhaps you will oblige me by going to the window
+and telling me who it is, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+And his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"It's only Bunting, sir--Bunting and his daughter."
+
+"Oh! Is that all?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth hurried after her, and she shrank back a little. She
+had never been quite so near to the lodger before, save on that
+first day when she had been showing him her rooms.
+
+Side by side they stood, looking out of the window. And, as if
+aware that someone was standing there, Daisy turned her bright face
+up towards the window and smiled at her stepmother, and at the
+lodger, whose face she could only dimly discern.
+
+"A very sweet-looking young girl," said Mr. Sleuth thoughtfully.
+And then he quoted a little bit of poetry, and this took Mrs.
+Bunting very much aback.
+
+"Wordsworth," he murmured dreamily. "A poet too little read
+nowadays, Mrs. Bunting; but one with a beautiful feeling for nature,
+for youth, for innocence."
+
+"Indeed, sir?" Mrs. Bunting stepped back a little. "Your breakfast
+will be getting cold, sir, if you don't have it now."
+
+He went back to the table, obediently, and sat down as a child
+rebuked might have done.
+
+And then his landlady left him.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting cheerily. "Everything went off quite all right.
+And Daisy's a lucky girl--that she is! Her Aunt Margaret gave her
+five shillings."
+
+But Daisy did not look as pleased as her father thought she ought
+to do.
+
+"I hope nothing's happened to Mr. Chandler," she said a little
+disconsolately. "The very last words he said to me last night was
+that he'd be there at ten o'clock. I got quite fidgety as the time
+went on and he didn't come."
+
+"He's been here," said Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+
+"Been here?" cried her husband. "Then why on earth didn't he go and
+fetch Daisy, if he'd time to come here?"
+
+"He was on the way to his job," his wife answered. "You run along,
+child, downstairs. Now that you are here you can make yourself
+useful."
+
+And Daisy reluctantly obeyed. She wondered what it was her
+stepmother didn't want her to hear.
+
+"I've something to tell you, Bunting."
+
+"Yes?" He looked across uneasily. "Yes, Ellen?"
+
+"There's been another o' those murders. But the police don't want
+anyone to know about it--not yet. That's why Joe couldn't go over
+and fetch Daisy. They're all on duty again."
+
+Bunting put out his hand and clutched hold of the edge of the
+mantelpiece. He had gone very red, but his wife was far too much
+concerned with her own feelings and sensations to notice it.
+
+There was a long silence between them. Then he spoke, making a
+great effort to appear unconcerned.
+
+"And where did it happen?" he asked. "Close to the other one?"
+
+She hesitated, then: "I don't know. He didn't say. But hush!"
+she added quickly. "Here's Daisy! Don't let's talk of that horror
+in front of her-like. Besides, I promised Chandler I'd be mum."
+
+And he acquiesced.
+
+"You can be laying the cloth, child, while I go up and clear away
+the lodger's breakfast." Without waiting for an answer, she hurried
+upstairs.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had left the greater part of the nice lemon sole untouched.
+"I don't feel well to-day," he said fretfully. "And, Mrs. Bunting?
+I should be much obliged if your husband would lend me that paper I
+saw in his hand. I do not often care to look at the public prints,
+but I should like to do so now."
+
+She flew downstairs. "Bunting," she said a little breathlessly,
+"the lodger would like you just to lend him the Sun."
+
+Bunting handed it over to her. "I've read it through," he observed.
+"You can tell him that I don't want it back again."
+
+On her way up she glanced down at the pink sheet. Occupying a third
+of the space was an irregular drawing, and under it was written, in
+rather large characters:
+
+"We are glad to be able to present our readers with an authentic
+reproduction of the footprint of the half-worn rubber sole which
+was almost certainly worn by The Avenger when he committed his
+double murder ten days ago."
+
+She went into the sitting-room. To her relief it was empty.
+
+"Kindly put the paper down on the table," came Mr. Sleuth's muffled
+voice from the upper landing.
+
+She did so. "Yes, sir. And Bunting don't want the paper back
+again, sir. He says he's read it." And then she hurried out of
+the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+All afternoon it went on snowing; and the three of them sat there,
+listening and waiting--Bunting and his wife hardly knew for what;
+Daisy for the knock which would herald Joe Chandler.
+
+And about four there came the now familiar sound.
+
+Mrs. Bunting hurried out into the passage, and as she opened the
+front door she whispered, "We haven't said anything to Daisy yet.
+Young girls can't keep secrets."
+
+Chandler nodded comprehendingly. He now looked the low character
+he had assumed to the life, for he was blue with cold, disheartened,
+and tired out.
+
+Daisy gave a little cry of shocked surprise, of amusement, of
+welcome, when she saw how cleverly he was disguised.
+
+"I never!" she exclaimed. "What a difference it do make, to be
+sure! Why, you looks quite horrid, Mr. Chandler."
+
+And, somehow, that little speech of hers amused her father so much
+that he quite cheered up. Bunting had been very dull and quiet
+all that afternoon.
+
+"It won't take me ten minutes to make myself respectable again,"
+said the young man rather ruefully.
+
+His host and hostess, looking at him eagerly, furtively, both came
+to the conclusion that he had been unsuccessful--that he had failed,
+that is, in getting any information worth having. And though, in a
+sense, they all had a pleasant tea together, there was an air of
+constraint, even of discomfort, over the little party.
+
+Bunting felt it hard that he couldn't ask the questions that were
+trembling on his lips; he would have felt it hard any time during
+the last month to refrain from knowing anything Joe could tell him,
+but now it seemed almost intolerable to be in this queer kind of
+half suspense. There was one important fact he longed to know,
+and at last came his opportunity of doing so, for Joe Chandler rose
+to leave, and this time it was Bunting who followed him out into
+the hall.
+
+"Where did it happen?" he whispered. "Just tell me that, Joe?"
+
+"Primrose Hill," said the other briefly. "You'll know all about it
+in a minute or two, for it'll be all in the last editions of the
+evening papers. That's what's been arranged."
+
+"No arrest I suppose?"
+
+Chandler shook his head despondently. "No," he said, "I'm inclined
+to think the Yard was on a wrong tack altogether this time. But one
+can only do one's best. I don't know if Mrs. Bunting told you I'd
+got to question a barmaid about a man who was in her place just
+before closing-time. Well, she's said all she knew, and it's as
+clear as daylight to me that the eccentric old gent she talks about
+was only a harmless luny. He gave her a sovereign just because she
+told him she was a teetotaller!" He laughed ruefully.
+
+Even Bunting was diverted at the notion. "Well, that's a queer
+thing for a barmaid to be!" he exclaimed. "She's niece to the people
+what keeps the public," explained Chandler; and then he went out of
+the front door with a cheerful "So long!"
+
+When Bunting went back into the sitting-room Daisy had disappeared.
+She had gone downstairs with the tray. "Where's my girl?" he said
+irritably.
+
+"She's just taken the tray downstairs."
+
+He went out to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called out sharply,
+"Daisy! Daisy, child! Are you down there?"
+
+"Yes, father," came her eager, happy voice.
+
+"Better come up out of that cold kitchen."
+
+He turned and came back to his wife. "Ellen, is the lodger in? I
+haven't heard him moving about. Now mind what I says, please! I
+don't want Daisy to be mixed up with him."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't seem very well to-day," answered Mrs. Bunting
+quietly. "'Tain't likely I should let Daisy have anything to do
+with him. Why, she's never even seen him. 'Tain't likely I should
+allow her to begin waiting on him now."
+
+But though she was surprised and a little irritated by the tone in
+which Bunting had spoken, no glimmer of the truth illumined her mind.
+So accustomed had she become to bearing alone the burden of her awful
+secret, that it would have required far more than a cross word or
+two, far more than the fact that Bunting looked ill and tired, for
+her to have come to suspect that her secret was now shared by another,
+and that other her husband.
+
+Again and again the poor soul had agonised and trembled at the
+thought of her house being invaded by the police, but that was only
+because she had always credited the police with supernatural powers
+of detection. That they should come to know the awful fact she kept
+hidden in her breast would have seemed to her, on the whole, a
+natural thing, but that Bunting should even dimly suspect it appeared
+beyond the range of possibility.
+
+And yet even Daisy noticed a change in her father. He sat cowering
+over the fire--saying nothing, doing nothing.
+
+"Why, father, ain't you well?" the girl asked more than once.
+
+And, looking up, he would answer, "Yes, I'm well enough, my girl,
+but I feels cold. It's awful cold. I never did feel anything like
+the cold we've got just now."
+
+    *    *    *
+
+At eight the now familiar shouts and cries began again outside.
+
+"The Avenger again!" "Another horrible crime!" "Extra speshul
+edition!"--such were the shouts, the exultant yells, hurled through
+the clear, cold air. They fell, like bombs into the quiet room.
+
+Both Bunting and his wife remained silent, but Daisy's cheeks grew
+pink with excitement, and her eye sparkled.
+
+"Hark, father! Hark, Ellen! D'you hear that?" she exclaimed
+childishly, and even clapped her hands. "I do wish Mr. Chandler
+had been here. He would 'a been startled!"
+
+"Don't, Daisy!" and Bunting frowned.
+
+Then, getting up, he stretched himself. "It's fair getting on my
+mind," he said, "these horrible things happening. I'd like to get
+right away from London, just as far as I could--that I would!"
+
+"Up to John-o'-Groat's?" said Daisy, laughing. And then, "Why,
+father, ain't you going out to get a paper?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose I must."
+
+Slowly he went out of the room, and, lingering a moment in the hall,
+he put on his greatcoat and hat. Then he opened the front door,
+and walked down the flagged path. Opening the iron gate, he stepped
+out on the pavement, then crossed the road to where the newspaper-boys
+now stood.
+
+The boy nearest to him only had the Sun--a late edition of the paper
+he had already read. It annoyed Bunting to give a penny for a
+ha'penny rag of which he already knew the main contents. But there
+was nothing else to do.
+
+Standing under a lamp-post, he opened out the newspaper. It was
+bitingly cold; that, perhaps, was why his hand shook as he looked
+down at the big headlines. For Bunting had been very unfair to the
+enterprise of the editor of his favourite evening paper. This
+special edition was full of new matter--new matter concerning
+The Avenger.
+
+First, in huge type right across the page, was the brief statement
+that The Avenger had now committed his ninth crime, and that he had
+chosen quite a new locality, namely, the lonely stretch of rising
+ground known to Londoners as Primrose Hill.
+
+"The police," so Bunting read, "are very reserved as to the
+circumstances which led to the finding of the body of The Avenger's
+latest victim. But we have reason to believe that they possess
+several really important clues, and that one of them is concerned
+with the half-worn rubber sole of which we are the first to reproduce
+an outline to-day. (See over page.)"
+
+And Bunting, turning the sheet round about, saw the irregular outline
+he had already seen in the early edition of the Sun, that purporting
+to be a facsimile of the imprint left by The Avenger's rubber sole.
+
+He stared down at the rough outline which took up so much of the
+space which should have been devoted to reading matter with a queer,
+sinking feeling of terrified alarm. Again and again criminals had
+been tracked by the marks their boots or shoes had made at or near
+the scenes of their misdoings.
+
+Practically the only job Bunting did in his own house of a menial
+kind was the cleaning of the boots and shoes. He had already
+visualised early this very afternoon the little row with which he
+dealt each morning--first came his wife's strong, serviceable
+boots, then his own two pairs, a good deal patched and mended, and
+next to his own Mr. Sleuth's strong, hardly worn, and expensive
+buttoned boots. Of late a dear little coquettish high-heeled pair
+of outdoor shoes with thin, paperlike soles, bought by Daisy for
+her trip to London, had ended the row. The girl had worn these
+thin shoes persistently, in defiance of Ellen's reproof and advice,
+and he, Bunting, had only once had to clean her more sensible
+country pair, and that only because the others had become wet though
+the day he and she had accompanied young Chandler to Scotland Yard.
+
+Slowly he returned across the road. Somehow the thought of going
+in again, of hearing his wife's sarcastic comments, of parrying
+Daisy's eager questions, had become intolerable. So he walked
+slowly, trying to put off the evil moment when he would have to tell
+them what was in his paper.
+
+The lamp under which he had stood reading was not exactly opposite
+the house. It was rather to the right of it. And when, having
+crossed over the roadway, he walked along the pavement towards his
+own gate, he heard odd, shuffling sounds coming from the inner side
+of the low wall which shut off his little courtyard from the pavement.
+
+Now, under ordinary circumstances Bunting would have rushed forward
+to drive out whoever was there. He and his wife had often had
+trouble, before the cold weather began, with vagrants seeking shelter
+there. But to-night he stayed outside, listening intently, sick
+with suspense and fear.
+
+Was it possible that their place was being watched--already? He
+thought it only too likely. Bunting, like Mrs. Bunting, credited
+the police with almost supernatural powers, especially since he
+had paid that visit to Scotland Yard.
+
+But to Bunting's amazement, and, yes, relief, it was his lodger who
+suddenly loomed up in the dim light.
+
+Mr. Sleuth must have been stooping down, for his tall, lank form
+had been quite concealed till he stepped forward from behind the
+low wall on to the flagged path leading to the front door.
+
+The lodger was carrying a brown paper parcel, and, as he walked
+along, the new boots he was wearing creaked, and the tap-tap of
+hard nail-studded heels rang out on the flat-stones of the narrow
+path.
+
+Bunting, still standing outside the gate, suddenly knew what it was
+his lodger had been doing on the other side of the low wall. Mr.
+Sleuth had evidently been out to buy himself another pair of new
+boots, and then he had gone inside the gate and had put them on,
+placing his old footgear in the paper in which the new pair had
+been wrapped.
+
+The ex-butler waited--waited quite a long time, not only until Mr.
+Sleuth had let himself into the house, but till the lodger had had
+time to get well away, upstairs.
+
+Then he also walked up the flagged pathway, and put his latchkey in
+the door. He lingered as long over the job of hanging his hat and
+coat up in the hall as he dared, in fact till his wife called out
+to him. Then he went in, and throwing the paper down on the table,
+he said sullenly: "There it is! You can see it all for yourself--
+not that there's very much to see," and groped his way to the fire.
+
+His wife looked at him in sharp alarm. "Whatever have you done to
+yourself?" she exclaimed. "You're ill--that's what it is, Bunting.
+You got a chill last night!"
+
+"I told you I'd got a chill," he muttered. "'Twasn't last night,
+though; 'twas going out this morning, coming back in the bus.
+Margaret keeps that housekeeper's room o' hers like a hothouse--
+that's what she does. 'Twas going out from there into the biting
+wind, that's what did for me. It must be awful to stand about in
+such weather; 'tis a wonder to me how that young fellow, Joe Chandler,
+can stand the life--being out in all weathers like he is."
+
+Bunting spoke at random, his one anxiety being to get away from what
+was in the paper, which now lay, neglected, on the table.
+
+"Those that keep out o' doors all day never do come to no harm,"
+said his wife testily. "But if you felt so bad, whatever was you
+out so long for, Bunting? I thought you'd gone away somewhere!
+D'you mean you only went to get the paper?"
+
+"I just stopped for a second to look at it under the lamp," he
+muttered apologetically.
+
+"That was a silly thing to do!"
+
+"Perhaps it was," he admitted meekly.
+
+Daisy had taken up the paper. "Well, they don't say much," she
+said disappointedly. "Hardly anything at all! But perhaps Mr.
+Chandler 'll be in soon again. If so, he'll tell us more about it."
+
+"A young girl like you oughtn't to want to know anything about
+murders," said her stepmother severely. "Joe won't think any the
+better of you for your inquisitiveness about such things. If I
+was you, Daisy, I shouldn't say nothing about it if he does come in
+--which I fair tell you I hope he won't. I've seen enough of that
+young chap to-day."
+
+"He didn't come in for long--not to-day," said Daisy, her lip
+trembling.
+
+"I can tell you one thing that'll surprise you, my dear"--Mrs.
+Bunting looked significantly at her stepdaughter. She also wanted
+to get away from that dread news--which yet was no news.
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy, rather defiantly. "What is it, Ellen?"
+
+"Maybe you'll be surprised to hear that Joe did come in this morning.
+He knew all about that affair then, but he particular asked that
+you shouldn't be told anything about it."
+
+"Never!" cried Daisy, much mortified.
+
+"Yes," went on her stepmother ruthlessly. "You just ask your father
+over there if it isn't true."
+
+"'Tain't a healthy thing to speak overmuch about such happenings,"
+said Bunting heavily.
+
+"If I was Joe," went on Mrs. Bunting, quickly pursuing her advantage,
+"I shouldn't want to talk about such horrid things when I comes in
+to have a quiet chat with friends. But the minute he comes in that
+poor young chap is set upon--mostly, I admit, by your father," she
+looked at her husband severely. "But you does your share, too,
+Daisy! You asks him this, you asks him that--he's fair puzzled
+sometimes. It don't do to be so inquisitive."
+
+******
+
+And perhaps because of this little sermon on Mrs. Bunting's part
+when young Chandler did come in again that evening, very little was
+said of the new Avenger murder.
+
+Bunting made no reference to it at all, and though Daisy said a
+word, it was but a word. And Joe Chandler thought he had never
+spent a pleasanter evening in his life--for it was he and Daisy
+who talked all the time, their elders remaining for the most part
+silent.
+
+Daisy told of all that she had done with Aunt Margaret. She
+described the long, dull hours and the queer jobs her aunt set her
+to do--the washing up of all the fine drawing-room china in a big
+basin lined with flannel, and how terrified she (Daisy) had been
+lest there should come even one teeny little chip to any of it.
+Then she went on to relate some of the funny things Aunt Margaret
+had told her about "the family."
+
+There came a really comic tale, which hugely interested and delighted
+Chandler. This was of how Aunt Margaret's lady had been taken in by
+an impostor--an impostor who had come up, just as she was stepping
+out of her carriage, and pretended to have a fit on the doorstep.
+Aunt Margaret's lady, being a soft one, had insisted on the man
+coming into the hall, where he had been given all kinds of
+restoratives. When the man had at last gone off, it was found that
+he had "wolfed" young master's best walking-stick, one with a fine
+tortoise-shell top to it. Thus had Aunt Margaret proved to her lady
+that the man had been shamming, and her lady had been very angry--
+near had a fit herself!
+
+"There's a lot of that about," said Chandler, laughing.
+"Incorrigible rogues and vagabonds--that's what those sort of people
+are!"
+
+And then he, in his turn, told an elaborate tale of an exceptionally
+clever swindler whom he himself had brought to book. He was very
+proud of that job, it had formed a white stone in his career as a
+detective. And even Mrs. Bunting was quite interested to hear about
+it.
+
+Chandler was still sitting there when Mr. Sleuth's bell rang. For
+awhile no one stirred; then Bunting looked questioningly at his wife.
+
+"Did you hear that?" he said. "I think, Ellen, that was the lodger's
+bell."
+
+She got up, without alacrity, and went upstairs.
+
+"I rang," said Mr. Sleuth weakly, "to tell you I don't require any
+supper to-night, Mrs. Bunting. Only a glass of milk, with a lump
+of sugar in it. That is all I require--nothing more. I feel very
+very far from well"--and he had a hunted, plaintive expression on
+his face. "And then I thought your husband would like his paper
+back again, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+Mrs. Bunting, looking at him fixedly, with a sad intensity of gaze
+of which she was quite unconscious, answered, "Oh, no, sir!
+Bunting don't require that paper now. He read it all through."
+Something impelled her to add, ruthlessly, "He's got another paper
+by now, sir. You may have heard them come shouting outside. Would
+you like me to bring you up that other paper, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth shook his head. "No," he said querulously. "I much
+regret now having asked for the one paper I did read, for it
+disturbed me, Mrs. Bunting. There was nothing of any value in it--
+there never is in any public print. I gave up reading newspapers
+years ago, and I much regret that I broke though my rule to-day."
+
+As if to indicate to her that he did not wish for any more
+conversation, the lodger then did what he had never done before in
+his landlady's presence. He went over to the fireplace and
+deliberately turned his back on her.
+
+She went down and brought up the glass of milk and the lump of
+sugar he had asked for.
+
+Now he was in his usual place, sitting at the table, studying the
+Book.
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went back to the others they were chatting
+merrily. She did not notice that the merriment was confined to the
+two young people.
+
+"Well?" said Daisy pertly. "How about the lodger, Ellen? Is he
+all right?"
+
+"Yes," she said stiffly. "Of course he is!"
+
+"He must feel pretty dull sitting up there all by himself--awful
+lonely-like, I call it," said the girl.
+
+But her, stepmother remained silent.
+
+"Whatever does he do with himself all day?" persisted Daisy.
+
+"Just now he's reading the Bible," Mrs. Bunting answered, shortly
+and dryly.
+
+"Well, I never! That's a funny thing for a gentleman to do!"
+
+And Joe, alone of her three listeners, laughed--a long hearty peal
+of amusement.
+
+"There's nothing to laugh at," said Mrs. Bunting sharply. "I should
+feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected with the
+Bible."
+
+And poor Joe became suddenly quite serious. This was the first time
+that Mrs. Bunting had ever spoken really nastily to him, and he
+answered very humbly, "I beg pardon. I know I oughtn't to have
+laughed at anything to do with the Bible, but you see, Miss Daisy
+said it so funny-like, and, by all accounts, your lodger must be a
+queer card, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"He's no queerer than many people I could mention," she said quickly;
+and with these enigmatic words she got up, and left the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+Each hour of the days that followed held for Bunting its full meed
+of aching fear and suspense.
+
+The unhappy man was ever debating within himself what course he
+should pursue, and, according to his mood and to the state of his
+mind at any particular moment, he would waver between various
+widely-differing lines of action.
+
+He told himself again and again, and with fretful unease, that the
+most awful thing about it all was that he wasn't sure. If only he
+could have been sure, he might have made up his mind exactly what
+it was he ought to do.
+
+But when telling himself this he was deceiving himself, and he was
+vaguely conscious of the fact; for, from Bunting's point of view,
+almost any alternative would have been preferable to that which to
+some, nay, perhaps to most, householders would have seemed the only
+thing to do, namely, to go to the police. But Londoners of Bunting's
+class have an uneasy fear of the law. To his mind it would be ruin
+for him and for his Ellen to be mixed up publicly in such a terrible
+affair. No one concerned in the business would give them and their
+future a thought, but it would track them to their dying day, and,
+above all, it would make it quite impossible for them ever to get
+again into a good joint situation. It was that for which Bunting,
+in his secret soul, now longed with all his heart.
+
+No, some other way than going to the police must be found--and he
+racked his slow brain to find it.
+
+The worst of it was that every hour that went by made his future
+course more difficult and more delicate, and increased the awful
+weight on his conscience.
+
+If only he really knew! If only he could feel quite sure! And
+then he would tell himself that, after all, he had very little to
+go upon; only suspicion--suspicion, and a secret, horrible
+certainty that his suspicion was justified.
+
+And so at last Bunting began to long for a solution which he knew
+to be indefensible from every point of view; he began to hope, that
+is, in the depths of his heart, that the lodger would again go out
+one evening on his horrible business and be caught--red-handed.
+
+But far from going out on any business, horrible or other, Mr.
+Sleuth now never went out at all. He kept upstairs, and often spent
+quite a considerable part of his day in bed. He still felt, so he
+assured Mrs. Bunting, very far from well. He had never thrown off
+the chill he had caught on that bitter night he and his landlord
+had met on their several ways home.
+
+Joe Chandler, too, had become a terrible complication to Daisy's
+father. The detective spent every waking hour that he was not on
+duty with the Buntings; and Bunting, who at one time had liked him
+so well and so cordially, now became mortally afraid of him.
+
+But though the young man talked of little else than The Avenger,
+and though on one evening he described at immense length the
+eccentric-looking gent who had given the barmaid a sovereign,
+picturing Mr. Sleuth with such awful accuracy that both Bunting and
+Mrs. Bunting secretly and separately turned sick when they listened
+to him, he never showed the slightest interest in their lodger.
+
+At last there came a morning when Bunting and Chandler held a strange
+conversation about The Avenger. The young fellow had come in earlier
+than usual, and just as he arrived Mrs. Bunting and Daisy were
+starting out to do some shopping. The girl would fain have stopped
+behind, but her stepmother had given her a very peculiar, disagreeable
+look, daring her, so to speak, to be so forward, and Daisy had gone
+on with a flushed, angry look on her pretty face.
+
+And then, as young Chandler stepped through into the sitting-room,
+it suddenly struck Bunting that the young man looked unlike himself
+--indeed, to the ex-butler's apprehension there was something almost
+threatening in Chandler's attitude.
+
+"I want a word with you, Mr. Bunting," he began abruptly, falteringly.
+"And I'm glad to have the chance now that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Daisy
+are out."
+
+Bunting braced himself to hear the awful words--the accusation of
+having sheltered a murderer, the monster whom all the world was
+seeking, under his roof. And then he remembered a phrase, a
+horrible legal phrase--"Accessory after the fact." Yes, he had
+been that, there wasn't any doubt about it!
+
+"Yes?" he said. "What is it, Joe?" and then the unfortunate man
+sat down in his chair. "Yes?" he said again uncertainly; for young
+Chandler had now advanced to the table, he was looking at Bunting
+fixedly--the other thought threateningly. "Well, out with it,
+Joe! Don't keep me in suspense."
+
+And then a slight smile broke over the young man's face. "I don't
+think what I've got to say can take you by surprise, Mr. Bunting."
+
+And Bunting wagged his head in a way that might mean anything--yes
+or no, as the case might be.
+
+The two men looked at one another for what seemed a very, very long
+time to the elder of them. And then, making a great effort, Joe
+Chandler brought out the words, "Well, I suppose you know what it
+is I want to talk about. I'm sure Mrs. Bunting would, from a look
+or two she's lately cast on me. It's your daughter--it's Miss
+Daisy."
+
+And then Bunting gave a kind of cry, 'twixt a sob and a laugh.
+"My girl?" he cried. "Good Lord, Joe! Is that all you wants to
+talk about? Why, you fair frightened me--that you did!"
+
+And, indeed, the relief was so great that the room swam round as
+he stared across it at his daughter's lover, that lover who was
+also the embodiment of that now awful thing to him, the law. He
+smiled, rather foolishly, at his visitor; and Chandler felt a sharp
+wave of irritation, of impatience sweep over his good-natured soul.
+Daisy's father was an old stupid--that's what he was.
+
+And then Bunting grew serious. The room ceased to go round. "As
+far as I'm concerned," he said, with a good deal of solemnity, even
+a little dignity, "you have my blessing, Joe. You're a very likely
+young chap, and I had a true respect for your father."
+
+"Yes," said Chandler, "that's very kind of you, Mr. Bunting. But
+how about her--her herself?"
+
+Bunting stared at him. It pleased him to think that Daisy hadn't
+given herself away, as Ellen was always hinting the girl was doing.
+
+"I can't answer for Daisy," he said heavily. "You'll have to ask
+her yourself--that's not a job any other man can do for you, my lad."
+
+"I never gets a chance. I never sees her, not by our two selves,"
+said Chandler, with some heat. "You don't seem to understand, Mr.
+Bunting, that I never do see Miss Daisy alone," he repeated. "I
+hear now that she's going away Monday, and I've only once had the
+chance of a walk with her. Mrs. Bunting's very particular, not to
+say pernickety in her ideas, Mr. Bunting--"
+
+"That's a fault on the right side, that is--with a young girl,"
+said Bunting thoughtfully.
+
+And Chandler nodded. He quite agreed that as regarded other young
+chaps Mrs. Bunting could not be too particular.
+
+"She's been brought up like a lady, my Daisy has," went on Bunting,
+with some pride. "That Old Aunt of hers hardly lets her out of her
+sight."
+
+"I was coming to the old aunt," said Chandler heavily. "Mrs.
+Bunting she talks as if your daughter was going to stay with that
+old woman the whole of her natural life--now is that right? That's
+what I wants to ask you, Mr. Bunting,--is that right?"
+
+"I'll say a word to Ellen, don't you fear," said Bunting abstractedly.
+
+His mind had wandered off, away from Daisy and this nice young chap,
+to his now constant anxious preoccupation. "You come along
+to-morrow," he said, "and I'll see you gets your walk with Daisy.
+It's only right you and she should have a chance of seeing one
+another without old folk being by; else how's the girl to tell
+whether she likes you or not! For the matter of that, you hardly
+knows her, Joe--" He looked at the young man consideringly.
+
+Chandler shook his head impatiently. "I knows her quite as well as
+I wants to know her," he said. "I made up my mind the very first
+time I see'd her, Mr. Bunting."
+
+"No! Did you really?" said Bunting. "Well, come to think of it,
+I did so with her mother; aye, and years after, with Ellen, too.
+But I hope you'll never want no second, Chandler."
+
+"God forbid!" said the young man under his breath. And then he
+asked, rather longingly, "D'you think they'll be out long now, Mr.
+Bunting?"
+
+And Bunting woke up to a due sense of hospitality. "Sit down, sit
+down; do!" he said hastily. "I don't believe they'll be very long.
+They've only got a little bit of shopping to do."
+
+And then, in a changed, in a ringing, nervous tone, he asked, "And
+how about your job, Joe? Nothing new, I take it? I suppose you're
+all just waiting for the next time?"
+
+"Aye--that's about the figure of it." Chandler's voice had also
+changed; it was now sombre, menacing. "We're fair tired of it--
+beginning to wonder when it'll end, that we are!"
+
+"Do you ever try and make to yourself a picture of what the master's
+like?" asked Bunting. Somehow, he felt he must ask that.
+
+"Yes," said Joe slowly. "I've a sort of notion--a savage,
+fierce-looking devil, the chap must be. It's that description that
+was circulated put us wrong. I don't believe it was the man that
+knocked up against that woman in the fog--no, not one bit I don't.
+But I wavers, I can't quite make up my mind. Sometimes I think it's
+a sailor--the foreigner they talks about, that goes away for eight
+or nine days in between, to Holland maybe, or to France. Then,
+again, I says to myself that it's a butcher, a man from the Central
+Market. Whoever it is, it's someone used to killing, that's flat."
+
+"Then it don't seem to you possible--?" (Bunting got up and walked
+over to the window.) "You don't take any stock, I suppose, in that
+idea some of the papers put out, that the man is"--then he
+hesitated and brought out, with a gasp--"a gentleman?"
+
+Chandler looked at him, surprised. "No," he said deliberately.
+"I've made up my mind that's quite a wrong tack, though I knows that
+some of our fellows--big pots, too--are quite sure that the fellow
+what gave the girl the sovereign is the man we're looking for. You
+see, Mr. Bunting, if that's the fact--well, it stands to reason the
+fellow's an escaped lunatic; and if he's an escaped lunatic he's got
+a keeper, and they'd be raising a hue and cry after him; now,
+wouldn't they?"
+
+"You don't think," went on Bunting, lowering his voice, "that he
+could be just staying somewhere, lodging like?"
+
+"D'you mean that The Avenger may be a toff, staying in some
+West-end hotel, Mr. Bunting? Well, things almost as funny as that
+'ud be have come to pass." He smiled as if the notion was a funny
+one.
+
+"Yes, something o' that sort," muttered Bunting.
+
+"Well, if your idea's correct, Mr. Bunting--"
+
+"I never said 'twas my idea," said Bunting, all in a hurry.
+
+"Well, if that idea's correct then, 'twill make our task more
+difficult than ever. Why, 'twould be looking for a needle in a
+field of hay, Mr. Bunting! But there! I don't think it's
+anything quite so unlikely as that--not myself I don't." He
+hesitated. "There's some of us"--he lowered his voice--"that
+hopes he'll betake himself off--The Avenger, I mean--to another
+big city, to Manchester or to Edinburgh. There'd be plenty of
+work for him to do there," and Chandler chuckled at his own grim
+joke.
+
+And then, to both men's secret relief, for Bunting was now
+mortally afraid of this discussion concerning The Avenger and
+his doings, they heard Mrs. Bunting's key in the lock.
+
+Daisy blushed rosy-red with pleasure when she saw that young
+Chandler was still there. She had feared that when they got home
+he would be gone, the more so that Ellen, just as if she was doing
+it on purpose, had lingered aggravatingly long over each small
+purchase.
+
+"Here's Joe come to ask if he can take Daisy out for a walk,"
+blurted out Bunting.
+
+"My mother says as how she'd like you to come to tea, over at
+Richmond," said Chandler awkwardly, "I just come in to see whether
+we could fix it up, Miss Daisy." And Daisy looked imploringly at
+her stepmother.
+
+"D'you mean now--this minute?" asked Mrs. Bunting tartly.
+
+"No, o' course not"--Bunting broke in hastily. "How you do go on,
+Ellen!"
+
+"What day did your mother mention would be convenient to her?"
+asked Mrs. Bunting, looking at the young man satirically.
+
+Chandler hesitated. His mother had not mentioned any special day
+--in fact, his mother had shown a surprising lack of anxiety to
+see Daisy at all. But he had talked her round.
+
+"How about Saturday?" suggested Bunting. "That's Daisy's birthday.
+'Twould be a birthday treat for her to go to Richmond, and she's
+going back to Old Aunt on Monday."
+
+"I can't go Saturday," said Chandler disconsolately. "I'm on duty
+Saturday."
+
+"Well, then, let it be Sunday," said Bunting firmly. And his wife
+looked at him surprised; he seldom asserted himself so much in her
+presence.
+
+"What do you say, Miss Daisy?" said Chandler.
+
+"Sunday would be very nice," said Daisy demurely. And then, as the
+young man took up his hat, and as her stepmother did not stir, Daisy
+ventured to go out into the hall with him for a minute.
+
+Chandler shut the door behind them, and so was spared the hearing
+of Mrs. Bunting's whispered remark: "When I was a young woman folk
+didn't gallivant about on Sunday; those who was courting used to
+go to church together, decent-like--"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Daisy's eighteenth birthday dawned uneventfully. Her father gave
+her what he had always promised she should have on her eighteenth
+birthday--a watch. It was a pretty little silver watch, which
+Bunting had bought secondhand on the last day he had been happy--
+it seemed a long, long time ago now.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought a silver watch a very extravagant present but
+she was far too wretched, far too absorbed in her own thoughts, to
+trouble much about it. Besides, in such matters she had generally
+had the good sense not to interfere between her husband and his
+child.
+
+In the middle of the birthday morning Bunting went out to buy
+himself some more tobacco. He had never smoked so much as in the
+last four days, excepting, perhaps, the week that had followed on
+his leaving service. Smoking a pipe had then held all the exquisite
+pleasure which we are told attaches itself to the eating of forbidden
+fruit.
+
+His tobacco had now become his only relaxation; it acted on his
+nerves as an opiate, soothing his fears and helping him to think.
+But he had been overdoing it, and it was that which now made him
+feel so "jumpy," so he assured himself, when he found himself
+starting at any casual sound outside, or even when his wife spoke
+to him suddenly.
+
+Just now Ellen and Daisy were down in the kitchen, and Bunting
+didn't quite like the sensation of knowing that there was only
+one pair of stairs between Mr. Sleuth and himself. So he quietly
+slipped out of the house without telling Ellen that he was going
+out.
+
+In the last four days Bunting had avoided his usual haunts; above
+all, he had avoided even passing the time of day to his
+acquaintances and neighbours. He feared, with a great fear, that
+they would talk to him of a subject which, because it filled his
+mind to the exclusion of all else, might make him betray the
+knowledge--no, not knowledge, rather the--the suspicion--that
+dwelt within him.
+
+But to-day the unfortunate man had a curious, instinctive longing
+for human companionship--companionship, that is, other than that
+of his wife and of his daughter.
+
+This longing for a change of company finally led him into a small,
+populous thoroughfare hard by the Edgware Road. There were more
+people there than usual just now, for the housewives of the
+neighbourhood were doing their Saturday marketing for Sunday. The
+ex-butler turned into a small old-fashioned shop where he generally
+bought his tobacco.
+
+Bunting passed the time of day with the tobacconist, and the two
+fell into desultory talk, but to his customer's relief and surprise
+the man made no allusion to the subject of which all the
+neighbourhood must still be talking.
+
+And then, quite suddenly, while still standing by the counter, and
+before he had paid for the packet of tobacco he held in his hand,
+Bunting, through the open door, saw with horrified surprise that
+Ellen, his wife, was standing, alone, outside a greengrocer's shop
+just opposite.
+
+Muttering a word of apology, he rushed out of the shop and across
+the road.
+
+"Ellen!" he gasped hoarsely, "you've never gone and left my little
+girl alone in the house with the lodger?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting's face went yellow with fear. "I thought you was
+indoors," she cried. "You was indoors! Whatever made you come out
+for, without first making sure I'd stay in?"
+
+Bunting made no answer; but, as they stared at each other in
+exasperated silence, each now knew that the other knew.
+
+They turned and scurried down the crowded street. "Don't run," he
+said suddenly; "we shall get there just as quickly if we walk fast.
+People are noticing you, Ellen. Don't run."
+
+He spoke breathlessly, but it was breathlessness induced by fear
+and by excitement, not by the quick pace at which they were walking.
+
+At last they reached their own gate, and Bunting pushed past in
+front of his wife.
+
+After all, Daisy was his child; Ellen couldn't know how he was
+feeling.
+
+He seemed to take the path in one leap, then fumbled for a moment
+with his latchkey.
+
+Opening wide the door, "Daisy!" he called out, in a wailing voice,
+"Daisy, my dear! where are you?"
+
+"Here I am, father. What is it?"
+
+"She's all right." Bunting turned a grey face to his wife. "She's
+all right, Ellen."
+
+He waited a moment, leaning against the wall of the passage. "It
+did give me a turn," he said, and then, warningly, "Don't frighten
+the girl, Ellen."
+
+Daisy was standing before the fire in their sitting room, admiring
+herself in the glass.
+
+"Oh, father," she exclaimed, without turning round, "I've seen the
+lodger! He's quite a nice gentleman, though, to be sure, he does
+look a cure. He rang his bell, but I didn't like to go up; and so
+he came down to ask Ellen for something. We had quite a nice
+little chat--that we had. I told him it was my birthday, and he
+asked me and Ellen to go to Madame Tussaud's with him this
+afternoon." She laughed, a little self-consciously. "Of course,
+I could see he was 'centric, and then at first he spoke so funnily.
+'And who be you?' he says, threatening-like. And I says to him,
+'I'm Mr. Bunting's daughter, sir.' 'Then you're a very fortunate
+girl'--that's what he says, Ellen--'to 'ave such a nice
+stepmother as you've got. That's why,' he says, 'you look such
+a good, innocent girl.' And then he quoted a bit of the Prayer
+Book. 'Keep innocency,' he says, wagging his head at me. Lor'!
+It made me feel as if I was with Old Aunt again."
+
+"I won't have you going out with the lodger--that's flat."
+
+Bunting spoke in a muffled, angry tone. He was wiping his forehead
+with one hand, while with the other he mechanically squeezed the
+little packet of tobacco, for which, as he now remembered, he had
+forgotten to pay.
+
+Daisy pouted. "Oh, father, I think you might let me have a treat
+on my birthday! I told him that Saturday wasn't a very good day--
+at least, so I'd heard--for Madame Tussaud's. Then he said we
+could go early, while the fine folk are still having their dinners."
+She turned to her stepmother, then giggled happily. "He particularly
+said you was to come, too. The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you,
+Ellen; if I was father, I'd feel quite jealous!"
+
+Her last words were cut across by a tap-tap on the door.
+
+Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively. Was it
+possible that, in their agitation, they had left the front door
+open, and that someone, some merciless myrmidon of the law, had
+crept in behind them?
+
+Both felt a curious thrill of satisfaction when they saw that it
+was only Mr. Sleuth--Mr. Sleuth dressed for going out; the tall
+hat he had worn when he had first come to them was in his hand, but
+he was wearing a coat instead of his Inverness cape.
+
+"I heard you come in"--he addressed Mrs. Bunting in his high,
+whistling, hesitating voice--"and so I've come down to ask you if
+you and Miss Bunting will come to Madame Tussaud's now. I have
+never seen those famous waxworks, though I've heard of the place
+all my life."
+
+As Bunting forced himself to look fixedly at his lodger, a sudden
+doubt bringing with it a sense of immeasurable relief, came to
+Mr. Sleuth's landlord.
+
+Surely it was inconceivable that this gentle, mild-mannered
+gentleman could be the monster of cruelty and cunning that Bunting
+had now for the terrible space of four days believed him to be!
+
+He tried to catch his wife's eye, but Mrs. Bunting was looking away,
+staring into vacancy. She still, of course, wore the bonnet and
+cloak in which she had just been out to do her marketing. Daisy
+was already putting on her hat and coat.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Sleuth. Then Mrs. Bunting turned, and it seemed
+to his landlady that he was looking at her threateningly. "Well?"
+
+"Yes, sir. We'll come in a minute," she said dully.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+Madame Tussaud's had hitherto held pleasant memories for Mrs. Bunting.
+In the days when she and Bunting were courting they often spent there
+part of their afternoon-out.
+
+The butler had an acquaintance, a man named Hopkins, who was one of
+the waxworks staff, and this man had sometimes given him passes for
+"self and lady." But this was the first time Mrs. Bunting had been
+inside the place since she had come to live almost next door, as it
+were, to the big building.
+
+They walked in silence to the familiar entrance, and then, after
+the ill-assorted trio had gone up the great staircase and into the
+first gallery, Mr. Sleuth suddenly stopped short. The presence of
+those curious, still, waxen figures which suggest so strangely death
+in life, seemed to surprise and affright him.
+
+Daisy took quick advantage of the lodger's hesitation and unease.
+
+"Oh, Ellen," she cried, "do let us begin by going into the Chamber
+of Horrors! I've never been in there. Old Aunt made father promise
+he wouldn't take me the only time I've ever been here. But now that
+I'm eighteen I can do just as I like; besides, Old Aunt will never
+know."
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked down at her, and a smile passed for a moment over
+his worn, gaunt face.
+
+"Yes," he said, "let us go into the Chamber of Horrors; that's a
+good idea, Miss Bunting. I've always wanted to see the Chamber of
+Horrors."
+
+They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were
+then kept, and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where
+waxen effigies of dead criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband's
+old acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting
+the public to the Chamber of Horrors.
+
+"Well, you are a stranger," the man observed genially. "I do believe
+that this is the very first time I've seen you in here, Mrs. Bunting,
+since you was married!"
+
+"Yes," she said, "that is so. And this is my husband's daughter,
+Daisy; I expect you've heard of her, Mr. Hopkins. And this"--she
+hesitated a moment--"is our lodger, Mr. Sleuth."
+
+But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away. Daisy, leaving her
+stepmother's side, joined him.
+
+Two, as all the world knows, is company, three is none. Mrs.
+Bunting put down three sixpences.
+
+"Wait a minute," said Hopkins; "you can't go into the Chamber of
+Horrors just yet. But you won't have to wait more than four or
+five minutes, Mrs. Bunting. It's this way, you see; our boss is
+in there, showing a party round." He lowered his voice. "It's
+Sir John Burney--I suppose you know who Sir John Burney is?"
+
+"No," she answered indifferently, "I don't know that I ever heard
+of him."
+
+She felt slightly--oh, very sightly--uneasy about Daisy. She
+would have liked her stepdaughter to keep well within sight and
+sound, but Mr. Sleuth was now taking the girl down to the other
+end of the room.
+
+"Well, I hope you never will know him--not in any personal sense,
+Mrs. Bunting." The man chuckled. "He's the Commissioner of Police
+--the new one--that's what Sir John Burney is. One of the
+gentlemen he's showing round our place is the Paris Police boss--
+whose job is on all fours, so to speak, with Sir John's. The
+Frenchy has brought his daughter with him, and there are several
+other ladies. Ladies always likes horrors, Mrs. Bunting; that's
+our experience here. 'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors'--
+that's what they say the minute they gets into this here building!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him thoughtfully. It occurred to Mr. Hopkins
+that she was very wan and tired; she used to look better in the old
+days, when she was still in service, before Bunting married her.
+
+"Yes," she said; "that's just what my stepdaughter said just now.
+'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors'--that's exactly what she
+did say when we got upstairs."
+
+******
+
+A group of people, all talking and laughing together; were advancing,
+from within the wooden barrier, toward the turnstile.
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at them nervously. She wondered which of them
+was the gentleman with whom Mr. Hopkins had hoped she would never be
+brought into personal contact; she thought she could pick him out
+among the others. He was a tall, powerful, handsome gentleman, with
+a military appearance.
+
+Just now he was smiling down into the face of a young lady.
+"Monsieur Barberoux is quite right," he was saying in a loud,
+cheerful voice, "our English law is too kind to the criminal,
+especially to the murderer. If we conducted our trials in the
+French fashion, the place we have just left would be very much
+fuller than it is to-day. A man of whose guilt we are absolutely
+assured is oftener than not acquitted, and then the public taunt
+us with 'another undiscovered crime!'"
+
+"D'you mean, Sir John, that murderers sometimes escape scot-free?
+Take the man who has been committing all these awful murders this
+last month? I suppose there's no doubt he'll be hanged--if he's
+ever caught, that is!"
+
+Her girlish voice rang out, and Mrs. Bunting could hear every word
+that was said.
+
+The whole party gathered round, listening eagerly. "Well, no."
+He spoke very deliberately. "I doubt if that particular murderer
+ever will be hanged."
+
+"You mean that you'll never catch him?" the girl spoke with a touch
+of airy impertinence in her clear voice.
+
+"I think we shall end by catching him--because"--he waited a moment,
+then added in a lower voice--"now don't give me away to a newspaper
+fellow, Miss Rose--because now I think we do know who the murderer
+in question is--"
+
+Several of those standing near by uttered expressions of surprise and
+incredulity.
+
+"Then why don't you catch him?" cried the girl indignantly.
+
+"I didn't say we knew where he was; I only said we knew who he was,
+or, rather, perhaps I ought to say that I personally have a very
+strong suspicion of his identity."
+
+Sir John's French colleague looked up quickly. "De Leipsic and
+Liverpool man?" he said interrogatively.
+
+The other nodded. "Yes, I suppose you've had the case turned up?"
+
+Then, speaking very quickly, as if he wished to dismiss the subject
+from his own mind, and from that of his auditors, he went on:
+
+"Four murders of the kind were committed eight years ago--two in
+Leipsic, the others, just afterwards, in Liverpool,--and there were
+certain peculiarities connected with the crimes which made it clear
+they were committed by the same hand. The perpetrator was caught,
+fortunately for us, red-handed, just as he was leaving the house of
+his last victim, for in Liverpool the murder was committed in a
+house. I myself saw the unhappy man--I say unhappy, for there is
+no doubt at all that he was mad"--he hesitated, and added in a
+lower tone--"suffering from an acute form of religious mania.
+I myself saw him, as I say, at some length. But now comes the really
+interesting point. I have just been informed that a month ago this
+criminal lunatic, as we must of course regard him, made his escape
+from the asylum where he was confined. He arranged the whole
+thing with extraordinary cunning and intelligence, and we should
+probably have caught him long ago, were it not that he managed, when
+on his way out of the place, to annex a considerable sum of money
+in gold, with which the wages of the asylum staff were about to be
+paid. It is owing to that fact that his escape was, very wrongly,
+concealed--"
+
+He stopped abruptly, as if sorry he had said so much, and a moment
+later the party were walking in Indian file through the turnstile,
+Sir John Burney leading the way.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked straight before her. She felt--so she
+expressed it to her husband later--as if she had been turned to
+stone.
+
+Even had she wished to do so, she had neither the time nor the power
+to warn her lodger of his danger, for Daisy and her companion were
+now coming down the room, bearing straight for the Commissioner of
+Police. In another moment Mrs. Bunting's lodger and Sir John Burney
+were face to face.
+
+Mr. Sleuth swerved to one side; there came a terrible change over
+his pale, narrow face; it became discomposed, livid with rage and
+terror.
+
+But, to Mrs. Bunting's relief--yes, to her inexpressible relief
+--Sir John Burney and his friends swept on. They passed Mr. Sleuth
+and the girl by his side, unaware, or so it seemed to her, that
+there was anyone else in the room but themselves.
+
+"Hurry up, Mrs. Bunting," said the turnstile-keeper; "you and your
+friends will have the place all to yourselves for a bit." From an
+official he had become a man, and it was the man in Mr. Hopkins that
+gallantly addressed pretty Daisy Bunting: "It seems strange that a
+young lady like you should want to go in and see all those 'orrible
+frights," he said jestingly.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I trouble you to come over here for a moment?"
+
+The words were hissed rather than spoken by Mr. Sleuth's lips.
+
+His landlady took a doubtful step towards him.
+
+"A last word with you, Mrs. Bunting." The lodger's face was still
+distorted with fear and passion. "Do not think to escape the
+consequences of your hideous treachery. I trusted you, Mrs. Bunting,
+and you betrayed me! Put I am protected by a higher power, for
+I still have much to do." Then, his voice sinking to a whisper, he
+hissed out "Your end will be bitter as wormwood and sharp as a
+two-edged sword. Your feet shall go down to death, and your steps
+take hold on hell."
+
+Even while Mr. Sleuth was muttering these strange, dreadful words,
+he was looking round, glancing this way and that, seeking a way of
+escape.
+
+At last his eyes became fixed on a small placard placed above a
+curtain. "Emergency Exit" was written there. Mrs. Bunting thought
+he was going to make a dash for the place; but Mr. Sleuth did
+something very different. Leaving his landlady's side, he walked
+over to the turnstile, he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and
+then touched the man on the arm. "I feel ill," he said, speaking
+very rapidly; "very ill indeed! It is the atmosphere of this place.
+I want you to let me out by the quickest way. It would be a pity
+for me to faint here--especially with ladies about."
+
+His left hand shot out and placed what he had been fumbling for in
+his pocket on the other's bare palm. "I see there's an emergency
+exit over there. Would it be possible for me to get out that way?"
+
+"Well, yes, sir; I think so."
+
+The man hesitated; he felt a slight, a very sight, feeling of
+misgiving. He looked at Daisy, flushed and smiling, happy and
+unconcerned, and then at Mrs. Bunting. She was very pale; but
+surely her lodger's sudden seizure was enough to make her feel
+worried. Hopkins felt the half-sovereign pleasantly tickling his
+palm. The Paris Prefect of Police had given him only half-a-crown
+--mean, shabby foreigner!
+
+"Yes, sir; I can let you out that way," he said at last, "and p'raps
+when you're standing out in the air, on the iron balcony, you'll feel
+better. But then, you know, sir, you'll have to come round to the
+front if you wants to come in again, for those emergency doors only
+open outward."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Sleuth hurriedly. "I quite understand! If I
+feel better I'll come in by the front way, and pay another shilling
+--that's only fair."
+
+"You needn't do that if you'll just explain what happened here."
+
+The man went and pulled the curtain aside, and put his shoulder
+against the door. It burst open, and the light, for a moment,
+blinded Mr. Sleuth.
+
+He passed his hand over his eyes. "Thank you," he muttered, "thank
+you. I shall get all right out there."
+
+An iron stairway led down into a small stable yard, of which the
+door opened into a side street.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked round once more; he really did feel very ill--
+ill and dazed. How pleasant it would be to take a flying leap over
+the balcony railing and find rest, eternal rest, below.
+
+But no--he thrust the thought, the temptation, from him. Again a
+convulsive look of rage came over his face. He had remembered his
+landlady. How could the woman whom he had treated so generously have
+betrayed him to his arch-enemy?--to the official, that is, who had
+entered into a conspiracy years ago to have him confined--him, an
+absolutely sane man with a great avenging work to do in the world--
+in a lunatic asylum.
+
+He stepped out into the open air, and the curtain, falling-to behind
+him, blotted out the tall, thin figure from the little group of
+people who had watched him disappear.
+
+Even Daisy felt a little scared. "He did look bad, didn't he, now?"
+she turned appealingly to Mr. Hopkins.
+
+"Yes, that he did, poor gentleman--your lodger, too?" he looked
+sympathetically at Mrs. Bunting.
+
+She moistened her lips with her tongue. "Yes," she repeated dully,
+"my lodger."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+In vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughter
+to step through into the Chamber of Horrors. "I think we ought to
+go straight home," said Mr. Sleuth's landlady decidedly. And Daisy
+meekly assented. Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared by
+the lodger's sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling of
+hers was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on
+her stepmother's face.
+
+Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got
+home it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been
+taken.
+
+"I don't suppose he'll be long before he comes home," said Bunting
+heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. She
+looked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that
+there was something wrong--very wrong indeed.
+
+The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisy
+knew there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.
+
+About six o'clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas in
+Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance.
+Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay
+her Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly
+as he had left them, when he had come downstairs and suggested that
+ill-starred expedition to his landlord's daughter. She took a few
+steps forward, listening the while anxiously for the familiar sound
+of the click in the door which would tell her that the lodger had
+come back, and then she went over to the window and looked out.
+
+What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless,
+friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very little
+money on him!
+
+Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger's bedroom and opened the
+drawer of the looking-glass.
+
+Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns. If only he
+had taken his money out with him! She wondered painfully whether he
+had enough on his person to secure a good night's lodging, and then
+suddenly she remembered that which brought relief to her mind. The
+lodger had given something to that Hopkins fellow--either a sovereign
+or half a sovereign, she wasn't sure which.
+
+The memory of Mr. Sleuth's cruel words to her, of his threat, did
+not disturb her overmuch. It had been a mistake--all a mistake.
+Far from betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him--kept his awful
+secret as she could not have kept it had she known, or even dimly
+suspected, the horrible fact with which Sir John Burney's words had
+made her acquainted; namely, that Mr. Sleuth was victim of no
+temporary aberration, but that he was, and had been for years, a
+madman, a homicidal maniac.
+
+In her ears there still rang the Frenchman's half careless yet
+confident question, "De Leipsic and Liverpool man?"
+
+Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room,
+and taking a black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid the
+leaves of the Bible. Then she opened the Book, and looked at the
+page the pin had marked:--
+
+"My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . .
+There is none to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up my
+curtains."
+
+At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and
+as she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her
+stepmother.
+
+"I'll go down and start getting the lodger's supper ready for you,"
+said the girl good-naturedly. "He's certain to come in when he gets
+hungry. But he did look upset, didn't he, Ellen? Right down bad--
+that he did!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy
+to go down.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't never come back no more," she said sombrely, and
+then she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change which
+came over her husband's face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief,
+of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add,
+"That's to say, I don't suppose he will."
+
+And Bunting's face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look,
+the look it had worn the last few days, returned.
+
+"What makes you think he mayn't come back?" he muttered.
+
+"Too long to tell you now," she said. "Wait till the child's gone
+to bed."
+
+And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.
+
+And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where
+she now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her
+husband to follow her upstairs.
+
+Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on the
+door. And about this they had a few sharp whispered words.
+
+"You're never going to shut him out?" she expostulated angrily,
+beneath her breath.
+
+"I'm not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhaps
+walking in any minute."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't hurt Daisy, bless you! Much more likely to hurt
+me," and she gave a half sob.
+
+Bunting stared at her. "What do you mean?" he said roughly.
+"Come upstairs and tell me what you mean."
+
+And then, in what had been the lodger's sitting-room, Mrs. Bunting
+told her husband exactly what it was that had happened.
+
+He listened in heavy silence.
+
+"So you see," she said at last, "you see, Bunting, that 'twas me
+that was right after all. The lodger was never responsible for
+his actions. I never thought he was, for my part."
+
+And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly. "Depends on what you call
+responsible--" he began argumentatively.
+
+But she would have none of that. "I heard the gentleman say myself
+that he was a lunatic," she said fiercely. And then, dropping her
+voice, "A religious maniac--that's what he called him."
+
+"Well, he never seemed so to me," said Bunting stoutly. "He simply
+seemed to me 'centric--that's all he did. Not a bit madder than
+many I could tell you of." He was walking round the room restlessly,
+but he stopped short at last. "And what d'you think we ought to do
+now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently. "I don't think we ought
+to do nothing," she said. "Why should we?"
+
+And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashion
+that irritated her.
+
+"If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where he
+would get it! And his money, too? I hate to feel it's in there."
+
+"Don't you make any mistake--he'll come back for that," said Bunting,
+with decision.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head. She knew better. "Now," she said,
+"you go off up to bed. It's no use us sitting up any longer."
+
+And Bunting acquiesced.
+
+She ran down and got him a bedroom candle--there was no gas in the
+little back bedroom upstairs. And then she watched him go slowly up.
+
+Suddenly he turned and came down again. "Ellen," he said, in an
+urgent whisper, "if I was you I'd take the chain off the door, and
+I'd lock myself in--that's what I'm going to do. Then he can sneak
+in and take his dirty money away."
+
+Mrs. Bunting neither nodded nor shook her head. Slowly she went
+downstairs, and there she carried out half of Bunting's advice.
+She took, that is, the chain off the front door. But she did not
+go to bed, neither did she lock herself in. She sat up all night,
+waiting. At half-past seven she made herself a cup of tea, and
+then she went into her bedroom.
+
+Daisy opened her eyes.
+
+"Why, Ellen," she said, "I suppose I was that tired, and slept so
+sound, that I never heard you come to bed or get up--funny,
+wasn't it?"
+
+"Young people don't sleep as light as do old folks," Mrs. Bunting
+said sententiously.
+
+"Did the lodger come in after all? I suppose he's upstairs now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head. "It looks as if 'twould be a fine
+day for you down at Richmond," she observed in a kindly tone.
+
+And Daisy smiled, a very happy, confident little smile.
+
+******
+
+That evening Mrs. Bunting forced herself to tell young Chandler
+that their lodger had, so to speak, disappeared. She and Bunting
+had thought carefully over what they would say, and so well did
+they carry out their programme, or, what is more likely, so full
+was young Chandler of the long happy day he and Daisy had spent
+together, that he took their news very calmly.
+
+"Gone away, has he?" he observed casually. "Well, I hope he paid
+up all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes," said Mrs. Bunting hastily. "No trouble of that sort."
+
+And Bunting said shamefacedly, "Aye, aye, the lodger was quite an
+honest gentleman, Joe. But I feel worried, about him. He was such
+a poor, gentle chap--not the sort o' man one likes to think of as
+wandering about by himself."
+
+"You always said he was 'centric," said Joe thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes, he was that," said Bunting slowly. "Regular right-down queer.
+Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch," and, as he tapped his
+head significantly, both young people burst out laughing.
+
+"Would you like a description of him circulated?" asked Joe
+good-naturedly.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.
+
+"No, I don't think so. Not yet awhile at any rate. 'Twould upset
+him awfully, you see."
+
+And Joe acquiesced. "You'd be surprised at the number o' people
+who disappears and are never heard of again," he said cheerfully.
+And then he got up, very reluctantly.
+
+Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into
+the passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.
+
+When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting
+in his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round
+his neck.
+
+Then she bent down her head. "Father," she said, "I've a bit of
+news for you!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?"
+
+"Father, I'm engaged! Aren't you surprised?"
+
+"Well, what do you think?" said Bunting fondly. Then he turned
+round and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.
+
+"What'll Old Aunt say, I wonder?" he whispered.
+
+"Don't you worry about Old Aunt," exclaimed his wife suddenly.
+"I'll manage Old Aunt! I'll go down and see her. She and I have
+always got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy."
+
+"Yes," said Daisy a little wonderingly. "I know you have, Ellen."
+
+******
+
+Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many
+nights had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click
+of the lock which she at once hoped and feared would herald her
+lodger's return.
+
+As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the "Avenger"
+murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when
+a gardener, working in the Regent's Park, found a newspaper in which
+was wrapped, together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes,
+a long, peculiarly shaped knife. The fact, though of considerable
+interest to the police, was not chronicled in any newspaper, but
+about the same time a picturesque little paragraph went the round
+of the press concerning a small boxful of sovereigns which had been
+anonymously forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about "Old Aunt,"
+and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in a
+more philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her to
+do. She only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolks
+leave a house in charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure to
+follow--a remark which Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.
+
+
+Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an old
+lady, by whom they are feared as well as respected, and whom they
+make very comfortable.
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
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diff --git a/old/2014.zip b/old/2014.zip
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+
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+
+
+
+This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Lodger
+
+by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+
+
+
+"Lover and friend hast thou put far from me,
+and mine acquaintance into darkness."
+PSALM lxxxviii.  18
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+Robert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning,
+carefully-banked-up fire.
+
+The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house
+standing in a grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare,
+was exceptionally clean and well-cared-for.  A casual stranger,
+more particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly
+opening the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr.
+and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of
+comfortable married life.  Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep
+leather arm-chair, was clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance
+what he had been for many years of his life - a self-respecting
+man-servant.
+
+On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed
+chair, the marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they
+were there all the same - in her neat black stuff dress, and in
+her scrupulously clean, plain collar and cuffs.  Mrs. Bunting, as
+a single woman, had been what is known as a useful maid.
+
+But peculiarly true of average English life is the time-worn
+English proverb as to appearances being deceitful.  Mr. and Mrs.
+Bunting were sitting in a very nice room and in their time - how
+long ago it now seemed!  - both husband and wife had been proud of
+their carefully chosen belongings.  Everything in the room was
+strong and substantial, and each article of furniture had been
+bought at a well-conducted auction held in a private house.
+
+Thus the red damask curtains which now shut out the fog-laden,
+drizzling atmosphere of the Marylebone Road, had cost a mere song,
+and yet they might have been warranted to last another thirty years.
+A great bargain also had been the excellent Axminster carpet which
+covered the floor; as, again, the arm-chair in which Bunting now sat
+forward, staring into the dull, small fire.  In fact, that arm-chair
+had been an extravagance of Mrs. Bunting.  She had wanted her husband
+to be comfortable after the day's work was done, and she had paid
+thirty-seven shillings for the chair.  Only yesterday Bunting had
+tried to find a purchaser for it, but the man who had come to look at
+it, guessing their cruel necessities, had only offered them twelve
+shillings and sixpence for it; so for the present they were keeping
+their arm-chair.
+
+But man and woman want something more than mere material comfort,
+much as that is valued by the Buntings of this world.  So, on the
+walls of the sitting-room, hung neatly framed if now rather faded
+photographs - photographs of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's various former
+employers, and of the pretty country houses in which they had
+separately lived during the long years they had spent in a not
+unhappy servitude.
+
+But appearances were not only deceitful, they were more than
+usually deceitful with regard to these un-fortunate people.  In
+spite of their  good furniture - that substantial outward sign of
+respectability which is the last thing which wise folk who fall
+into trouble try to dispose of - they were almost at the end of
+their tether.  Already they had learnt to go hungry, and they were
+beginning to learn to go cold.  Tobacco, the last thing the sober
+man foregoes among his comforts, had been given up some time ago
+by Bunting.  And even Mrs. Bunting - prim, prudent, careful woman
+as she was in her way - had realised what this must mean to him.
+So well, indeed, had she understood that some days back she had
+crept out and bought him a packet of Virginia.
+
+Bunting had been touched - touched as he had not been for years by
+any woman's thought and love for him.  Painful tears had forced
+themselves into his eyes, and husband and wife had both felt in
+their odd, unemotional way, moved to the heart.
+
+Fortunately he never guessed - how could he have guessed, with his
+slow, normal, rather dull mind?  - that his poor Ellen had since
+more than once bitterly regretted that fourpence-ha'penny, for they
+were now very near the soundless depths which divide those who dwell
+on the safe tableland of security - those, that is, who are sure of
+making a respectable, if not a happy, living - and the submerged
+multitude who, through some lack in themselves, or owing to the
+conditions under which our strange civilisation has become organised,
+struggle rudderless till they die in workhouse, hospital, or prison.
+
+Had the Buntings been in a class lower than their own, had they
+belonged to the great company of human beings technically known to
+so many of us as the poor, there would have been friendly neighbours
+ready to help them, and the same would have been the case had they
+belonged to the class of smug, well-meaning, if unimaginative, folk
+whom they had spent so much of their lives in serving.
+
+There was only one person in the world who might possibly be brought
+to help them.  That was an aunt of Bunting's first wife.  With this
+woman, the widow of a man who had been well-to-do, lived Daisy,
+Bunting's only child by his first wife, and during the last long two
+days he had been trying to make up his mind to write to the old lady,
+and that though he suspected that she would almost certainly retort
+with a cruel, sharp rebuff.
+
+As to their few acquaintances, former fellow-servants, and so on,
+they had gradually fallen out of touch with them.  There was but
+one friend who often came to see them in their deep trouble.  This
+was a young fellow named Chandler, under whose grandfather Bunting
+had been footman years and years ago.  Joe Chandler had never gone
+into service; he was attached to the police; in fact not to put too
+fine a point upon it, young Chandler was a detective.
+
+When they had first taken the house which had brought them, so they
+both thought, such bad luck, Bunting had encouraged the young chap
+to come often, for his tales were well worth listening to - quite
+exciting at times.  But now poor Bunting didn't want to hear that
+sort of stories - stories of people being cleverly "nabbed," or
+stupidly allowed to escape the fate they always, from Chandler's
+point of view, richly deserved.
+
+But Joe still came very faithfully once or twice a week, so timing
+his calls that neither host nor hostess need press food upon him
+ - nay, more, he had done that which showed him to have a good and
+feeling heart.  He had offered his father's old acquaintance a loan,
+and Bunting, at last, had taken 30s.  Very little of that money
+now remained: Bunting still could jingle a few coppers in his pocket;
+and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.; that and the rent they would have to
+pay in five weeks, was all they had left.  Everything of the light,
+portable sort that would fetch money had been said.  Mrs. Bunting
+had a fierce horror of the pawnshop.  She had never put her feet in
+such a place, and she declared she never would - she would rather
+starve first.
+
+But she had said nothing when there had occurred the gradual
+disappearance of various little possessions she knew that Bunting
+valued, notably of the old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been
+given to him after the death of his first master, a master he had
+nursed faithfully and kindly through a long and terrible illness.
+There had also vanished a twisted gold tie-pin, and a large mourning
+ring, both gifts of former employers.
+
+When people are living near that deep pit which divides the secure
+from the insecure - when they see themselves creeping closer and
+closer to its dread edge - they are apt, however loquacious by
+nature, to fall into long silences.  Bunting had always been a
+talker, but now he talked no more.  Neither did Mrs. Bunting, but
+then she had always been a silent woman, and that was perhaps one
+reason why Bunting had felt drawn to her from the very first moment
+he had seen her.
+
+It had fallen out in this way.  A lady had just engaged him as
+butler, and he had been shown, by the man whose place he was to
+take, into the dining-room.  There, to use his own expression, he
+had discovered Ellen Green, carefully pouring out the glass of port
+wine which her then mistress always drank at 11.30 every morning.
+And as he, the new butler, had seen her engaged in this task, as he
+had watched her carefully stopper the decanter and put it back into
+the old wine-cooler, he had said to himself, "That is the woman for
+me!"
+
+But now her stillness, her - her dumbness, had got on the
+unfortunate man's nerves.  He no longer felt like going into the
+various little shops, close by, patronised by him in more prosperous
+days, and Mrs. Bunting also went afield to make the slender purchases
+which still had to be made every day or two, if they were to be
+saved from actually starving to death.  
+
+kept, looked as if it could, 
+aye, and would, keep any se-
+
+
+Suddenly, across the stillness of the dark November evening there
+came the muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting
+outside - boys crying the late afternoon editions of the evening
+papers.
+
+Bunting turned uneasily in his chair.  The giving up of a daily
+paper had been, after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation.  And
+the paper was an older habit than the tobacco, for servants are
+great readers of newspapers.
+
+As the shouts came through the closed windows and the thick damask
+curtains, Bunting felt a sudden sense of mind hunger fall upon him.
+
+It was a shame - a damned shame - that he shouldn't know what was
+happening in the world outside!  Only criminals are kept from hearing
+news  of what is going on beyond their prison walls.  And those
+shouts, those hoarse, sharp cries must portend that something really
+exciting had happened, something warranted to make a man forget for
+the moment his own intimate, gnawing troubles.
+
+He got up, and going towards the nearest window strained his eats to
+listen.  There fell on them, emerging now and again from the confused
+babe1 of hoarse shouts, the one clear word "Murder!"
+
+Slowly Bunting's brain pieced the loud, indistinct cries into some
+sort of connected order.  Yes, that was it - "Horrible Murder!
+Murder at St. Pancras!"  Bunting remembered vaguely another murder
+which had been committed near St. Pancras - that of an old lady by
+her servant-maid.  It had happened a great many years ago, but was
+still vividly remembered, as of special and natural interest, among
+the class to which he had belonged.
+
+The newsboys - for there were more than one of them, a rather unusual
+thing in the Marylebone Road - were coming nearer and nearer; now
+they had adopted another cry, but he could not quite catch what they
+were crying.  They were still shouting hoarsely, excitedly, but he
+could only hear a word or two now and then.  Suddenly "The Avenger!
+The Avenger at his work again!" broke on his ear.
+
+During the last fortnight four very curious and brutal murders had
+been committed in London and within a comparatively small area.
+
+The first had aroused no special interest - even the second had only
+been awarded, in the paper Bunting was still then taking in, quite a
+small paragraph.
+
+Then had come the third - and with that a wave of keen excitement,
+for pinned to the dress of the victim - a drunken woman - had been
+found a three-cornered piece of paper, on which was written, in red
+ink, and in printed characters, the words,
+
+"THE AVENGER"
+
+It was then realised, not only by those whose business it is to
+investigate such terrible happenings, but also by the vast world
+of men and women who take an intelligent interest in such sinister
+mysteries, that the same miscreant had committed all three crimes;
+and before that extraordinary fact had had time to soak well into
+the public mind there took place yet another murder, and again the
+murderer had been to special pains to make it clear that some
+obscure and terrible lust for vengeance possessed him.
+
+Now everyone was talking of The Avenger and his crimes!  Even the
+man who left their ha'porth of milk at the door each morning had
+spoken to Bunting about them that very day.
+
+******
+
+Bunting came back to the fire and looked down at his wife with mild
+excitement.  Then, seeing her pale, apathetic face, her look of
+weary, mournful absorption, a wave of irritation swept through him.
+He felt he could have shaken her!
+
+Ellen had hardly taken the trouble to listen when he, Bunting, had
+come back to bed that morning, and told her what the milkman had
+said.  In fact, she had been quite nasty about it, intimating that
+she didn't like hearing about such horrid things.
+
+It was a curious fact that though Mrs. Bunting enjoyed tales of
+pathos and sentiment, and would listen with frigid amusement to
+the details of a breach of promise action, she shrank from stories
+of immorality or of physical violence.  In the old, happy days,
+when they could afford to buy a paper, aye, and more than one paper
+daily, Bunting had often had to choke down his interest in some
+exciting "case" or "mystery" which was affording him pleasant mental
+relaxation, because any allusion to it sharply angered Ellen.
+
+But now he was at once too dull and too miserable to care how she
+felt.
+
+Walking away from the window he took a slow, uncertain step towards
+the door; when there he turned half round, and there came over his
+close-shaven, round face the rather sly, pleading look with which
+a child about to do something naughty glances at its parent.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting remained quite still; her thin, narrow shoulders
+just showed above the back of the chair on which she was sitting,
+bolt upright, staring before her as if into vacancy.
+
+Bunting turned round, opened the door, and quickly he went out into
+the dark hall - they had given up lighting the gas there some time
+ago - and opened the front door.
+
+Walking down the small flagged path outside, he flung open the iron
+gate which gave on to the damp pavement.  But there he hesitated.
+The coppers in his pocket seemed to have shrunk in number, and he
+remembered ruefully how far Ellen could make even four pennies go.
+
+Then a boy ran up to him with a sheaf of evening papers, and Bunting,
+being sorely tempted - fell.  "Give me a Sun," he said roughly, "Sun
+or Echo!',
+
+But the boy, scarcely stopping to take breath, shook his head.  "Only
+penny papers left," he gasped. "What'll yer 'ave, sir?"
+
+With an eagerness which was mingled with shame, Bunting drew a penny
+out of his pocket and took a paper - it was the Evening Standard - 
+from the boy's hand.
+
+Then, very slowly, he shut the gate and walked back through the raw,
+cold air, up the flagged path, shivering yet full of eager, joyful
+anticipation.
+
+Thanks to that penny he had just spent so recklessly he would pass
+a happy hour, taken, for once, out of his anxious, despondent,
+miserable self.  It irritated him shrewdly to know that these moments
+of respite from carking care would not be shared with his poor wife,
+with careworn, troubled Ellen.
+
+A hot wave of unease almost of remorse, swept over Bunting.  Ellen
+would never have spent that penny on herself - he knew that well
+enough - and if it hadn't been so cold, so foggy, so - so drizzly,
+he would have gone out again through the gate and stood under the
+street lamp to take his pleasure.  He dreaded with a nervous dread
+the glance of Ellen's cold, reproving light-blue eye.  That glance
+would tell him that he had had no business to waste a penny on a
+paper, and that well he knew it!
+
+Suddenly the door in front of him opened, and he beard a familiar
+voice saying crossly, yet anxiously, "What on earth are you doing
+out there, Bunting?  Come in - do!  You'll catch your death of cold!
+I don't want to have you ill on my hands as well as everything else!"
+Mrs. Bunting rarely uttered so many words at once nowadays.
+
+He walked in through the front door of his cheerless house.  "I
+went out to get a paper," he said sullenly.
+
+After all, he was master.  He had as much right to spend the money
+as she had; for the matter of that the money on which they were now
+both living had been lent, nay, pressed on him - not on Ellen - by
+that decent young chap, Joe Chandler.  And he, Bunting, had done
+all he could; he had pawned everything he could pawn, while Ellen,
+so he resentfully noticed, still wore her wedding ring.
+
+He stepped past her heavily, and though she said nothing, he knew
+she grudged him his coming joy.  Then, full of rage with her and
+contempt for himself, and giving himself the luxury of a mild, a
+very mild, oath - Ellen had very early made it clear she would
+have no swearing in her presence - he lit the hall gas full-flare.
+
+"How can we hope to get lodgers if they can't even see the card?"
+he shouted angrily.
+
+And there was truth in what he said, for now that he had lit the
+gas, the oblong card, though not the word "Apartments" printed on
+it, could be plainly seen out-lined against the old-fashioned
+fanlight above the front door.
+
+Bunting went into the sitting-room, silently followed by his wife,
+and then, sitting down in his nice arm-chair, he poked the little
+banked-up fire.  It was the first time Bunting had poked the fire
+for many a long day, and this exertion of marital authority made
+him feel better.  A man has to assert himself sometimes, and he,
+Bunting, had not asserted himself enough lately.
+
+A little colour came into Mrs. Bunting's pale face.  She was not
+used to be flouted in this way.  For Bunting, when not thoroughly
+upset, was the mildest of men.
+
+She began moving about the room, flicking off an imperceptible
+touch of dust here, straightening a piece of furniture there.
+
+But her hands trembled - they trembled with excitement, with
+self-pity, with anger.  A penny?  It was dreadful - dreadful to
+have to worry about a penny!  But they had come to the point when
+one has to worry about pennies.  Strange that her husband didn't
+realise that.
+
+Bunting looked round once or twice; he would have liked to ask Ellen
+to leave off fidgeting, but he was fond of peace, and perhaps, by
+now, a little bit ashamed of himself, so he refrained from remark,
+and she soon gave over what irritated him of her own accord.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting did not come and sit down as her husband would have
+liked her to do.  The sight of him, absorbed in his paper as he was,
+irritated her, and made her long to get away from him.  Opening the
+door which separated the sitting-room from the bedroom behind, and
+ - shutting out the aggravating vision of Bunting sitting comfortably
+by the now brightly burning fire, with the Evening Standard spread
+out before him - she sat down in the cold darkness, and pressed her
+hands against her temples.
+
+Never, never had she felt so hopeless, so - so broken as now.  Where
+was the good of having been an upright, conscientious, self-respecting
+woman all her life long, if it only led to this utter, degrading
+poverty and wretchedness?  She and Bunting were just past the age
+which gentlefolk think proper in a married couple seeking to enter
+service together, unless, that is, the wife happens to be a professed
+cook.  A cook and a butler can always get a nice situation.  But Mrs.
+Bunting was no cook.  She could do all right the simple things any
+lodger she might get would require, but that was all.
+
+Lodgers?  How foolish she had been to think of taking lodgers!  For
+it had been her doing.  Bunting bad been like butter in her hands.
+
+Yet they had begun well, with a lodging-house in a seaside place.
+There they had prospered, not as they had hoped to do, but still
+pretty well; and then had come an epidemic of scarlet fever, and
+that had meant ruin for them, and for dozens, nay, hundreds, of
+other luckless people.  Then had followed a business experiment
+which had proved even more disastrous, and which had left them in
+debt - in debt to an extent they could never hope to repay, to a
+good-natured former employer.
+
+After that, instead of going back to service, as they might have
+done, perhaps, either together or separately, they had made up
+their minds to make one last effort, and they had taken over, with
+the trifle of money that remained to them, the lease of this house
+in the Marylebone Road.
+
+In former days, when they had each been leading the sheltered,
+impersonal, and, above all, financially easy existence which is
+the compensation life offers to those men and women who deliberately
+take upon themselves the yoke of domestic service, they had both
+lived in houses overlooking Regent's Park.  It had seemed a wise
+plan to settle in the same neighbourhood, the more so that Bunting,
+who had a good appearance, had retained the kind of connection
+which enables a man to get a job now and again as waiter at private
+parties.
+
+But life moves quickly, jaggedly, for people like the Buntings.
+Two of his former masters had moved to another part of London, and
+a caterer in Baker Street whom he had known went bankrupt.
+
+And now?  Well, just now Bunting could not have taken a job had
+one been offered him, for he had pawned his dress clothes.  He had
+not asked his wife's permission to do this, as so good a husband
+ought to have done.  e had just gone out and done it.  And she had
+not had the heart to say anything; nay, it was with part of the
+money that he had handed her silently the evening he did it that
+she had bought that last packet of tobacco.
+
+And then, as Mrs. Bunting sat there thinking these painful thoughts,
+there suddenly came to the front door the sound of a loud, tremulous,
+uncertain double knock.
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Mr. Bunting jumped nervously to her feet.  She stood for a moment
+listening in the darkness, a darkness made the blacker by the line
+of light under the door behind which sat Bunting reading his paper.
+
+And then it came again, that loud, tremulous, uncertain double
+knock; not a knock, so the listener told herself, that boded any
+good.  Would-be lodgers gave sharp, quick, bold, confident raps.
+No; this must be some kind of beggar.  The queerest people came at
+all hours, and asked - whining or threatening - for money.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had had some sinister experiences with men and women
+ - especially women - drawn from that nameless, mysterious class
+made up of the human flotsam and jetsam which drifts about every
+great city.  But since she had taken to leaving the gas in the
+passage unlit at night she had been very little troubled with that
+kind of visitors, those human bats which are attracted by any kind
+of light but leave alone those who live in darkness.
+
+She opened the door of the sitting-room.  It was Bunting's place
+to go to the front door, but she knew far better than he did how
+to deal with difficult or obtrusive callers.  Still, somehow, she
+would have liked him to go to-night.  But Bunting sat on, absorbed
+in his newspaper; all he did at the sound of the bedroom door
+opening was to look up and say, "Didn't you hear a knock?"
+
+Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
+
+Slowly she opened the front door.
+
+On the top of the thee steps which led up to the door, there stood
+the long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an
+old-fashioned top hat.  He waited for a few seconds blinking at her,
+perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage.  Mrs.
+Bunting's trained perception told her at once that this man, odd as
+he looked, was a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class with
+whom her former employment had brought her in contact.
+
+"Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?" he asked, and there was
+something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
+
+"Yes, sir," she said uncertainly - it was a long, long time since
+anyone had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they
+could think of taking into their respectable house.
+
+Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger
+walked past her, and so into the hall.
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held a
+narrow bag in his left hand.  It was quite a new bag, made of strong
+brown leather.
+
+"I am looking for some quiet rooms," he said; then he repeated the
+words, "quiet rooms," in a dreamy, absent way, and as he uttered
+them he looked nervously round him.
+
+Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had been carefully
+furnished, and was very clean.
+
+There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the stranger's weary
+feet fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red drugget, which
+matched in colour the flock-paper on the walls.
+
+A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a superior
+lodging-house keeper.
+
+"You'd find my rooms quite quiet, sir," she said gently.  "And just
+now I have four to let.  The house is empty, save for my husband
+and me, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice.  It seemed too
+good to be true, this sudden coming of a possible lodger, and of a
+lodger who spoke in the pleasant, courteous way and voice which
+recalled to the poor Woman her happy, far-off days of youth and
+of security.
+
+"That sounds very suitable," he said.  "Four rooms?  Well, perhaps
+I ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should like to see
+all four before I make my choice."
+
+How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit the
+gas!  But for that circumstance this gentleman would have passed
+them by.
+
+She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitation
+that the front door was still open; and it was the stranger whom
+she already in her mind described as "the lodger," who turned and
+rather quickly walked down the passage and shut it.
+
+"Oh, thank you, sir!" she exclaimed.  "I'm sorry you should have
+had the trouble."
+
+For a moment their eyes met.  "It's not safe to leave a front door
+open in London," he said, rather sharply.  "I hope you do not often
+do that.  It would be so easy for anyone to slip in."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset.  The stranger had still spoken
+courteously, but he was evidently very much put out.
+
+"I assure you, sir, I never lave my front door open," she answered
+hastily.  "You needn't be at all afraid of that!"
+
+And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came the
+sound of Bunting coughing - it was just a little, hard cough, but
+Mrs. Bunting's future lodger started violently.
+
+"Who's that?" he said, putting out a hand and clutching her arm.
+"Whatever was that?"
+
+"Only my husband, sir.  He went out to buy a paper a few minutes
+ago, and the cold just caught him, I suppose."
+
+"Your husband - ?" he looked at her intently, suspiciously.  "What
+ - what, may I ask, is your husband's occupation?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting drew herself up.  The question as to Bunting's
+occupation was no one's business but theirs.  Still, it wouldn't do
+for her to show offence.  "He goes out waiting," she s4d stiffly.
+"He was a gentleman's servant, sir.  He could, of course, valet you
+should you require him to do so."
+
+And then she turned and led the way up the steep, narrow staircase.
+
+At the top of the first flight of stairs was what Mrs. Bunting, to
+herself, called the drawing-room floor.  It consisted of a
+sitting-room in front, and a bedroom behind.  She opened the door
+of the sitting-room and quickly lit the chandelier.
+
+This, front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps a little
+over-encumbered with furniture.  Covering the floor was a green
+carpet simulating moss; four chairs were placed round the table
+which occupied the exact middle of the apartment, and in the
+corner, opposite the door giving on to the landing, was a roomy,
+old-fashioned chiffonnier.
+
+On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight engravings, portraits
+of early Victorian belles, clad in lace and tarletan ball dresses,
+clipped from an old Book of Beauty.  Mrs. Bunting was very fond of
+these pictures; she thought they gave the drawing-room a note of
+elegance and refinement.
+
+As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad, glad indeed, that
+she had summoned up sufficient energy, two days ago, to give the
+room a thorough turn-out.
+
+It had remained for a long time in the state in which it had been
+left by its last dishonest, dirty occupants when they had been
+scared into going away by Bunting's rough threats of the police.
+But now it was in apple-pie order, with one paramount exception,
+of which Mrs. Bunting was painfully aware.  There were no white
+curtains to the windows, but that omission could soon be remedied
+if this gentleman really took the lodgings.
+
+But what was this - ?  The stranger was looking round him rather
+dubiously.  "This is rather - rather too grand for me," he said at
+last "I should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er - "
+
+" - Bunting," she said softly.  "Bunting, sir."
+
+And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again came down and
+settled on her sad, burdened heart.  Perhaps she had been mistaken,
+after all - or rather, she had not been mistaken in one sense, but
+perhaps this gentleman was a poor gentleman - too poor, that is, to
+afford the rent of more than one room, say eight or ten shillings
+a week; eight or ten shlllings a week would be very little use to
+her and Bunting, though better than nothing at all.
+
+"Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?"
+
+"No," he said, "no.  I think I should like to see what you have
+farther up the house, Mrs.  - ," and then, as if making a prodigious
+mental effort, he brought out her name, "Bunting," with a kind of
+gasp.
+
+"The two top rooms were, of course, immediately above the
+drawing-room floor.  But they looked poor and mean, owing to the fact
+that they were bare of any kind of ornament.  Very little trouble had
+been taken over their arrangement; in fact, they bad been left in much
+the same condition as that in which the Buntings had found them.
+
+For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a nice, genteel
+sitting-room out of an apartment of which the principal features
+are a sink and a big gas stove.  The gas stove, of an obsolete
+pattern, was fed by a tiresome, shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+It had been the property of the people from whom the Buntings had
+taken over the lease of the house, who, knowing it to be of no
+monetary value, had thrown it in among the humble fittings they
+had left behind.
+
+What furniture there was in the room was substantial and clean, as
+everything belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be, but it was a
+bare, uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady now felt sorry
+that she had done nothing to make it appear more attractive.
+
+To her surprise, however, her companion's dark, sensitive,
+hatchet-shaped face became irradiated with satisfaction.  "Capital!
+Capital!" he exclaimed, for the first time putting down the bag he
+held at his feet, and rubbing his long, thin hands together with a
+quick, nervous movement.
+
+"This is just what I have been looking for."  He walked with long,
+eager strides towards the gas stove.  "First-rate - quite first-rate!
+Exactly what I wanted to find!  You must understand, Mrs. - er - 
+Bunting, that I am a man of science.  I make, that is, all sorts of 
+experiments, and I often require the - ah, well, the presence of
+great heat."
+
+He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a little, towards the
+stove.  "This, too, will be useful - exceedingly useful, to me," and
+he touched the edge of the stone sink with a lingering, caressing
+touch.
+
+He threw his head back and passed his hand over his high, bare
+forehead; then, moving towards a chair, he sat down - wearily.
+"I'm tired," he muttered in a low voice, "tired - tired!  I've been
+walking about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find nothing to sit
+down upon.  They do not put benches for tired men in the London
+streets.  They do so on the Continent.  In some ways they are far
+more humane on the Continent than they are in England, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Indeed, sir," she said civilly; and then, after a nervous glance,
+she asked the question of which the answer would mean so much to her,
+"Then you mean to take my rooms, sir?"
+
+"This room, certainly," he said, looking round.  "This room is
+exactly what I have been looking for, and longing for, the last
+few days;" and then hastily he added, "I mean this kind of place
+is what I have always wanted to possess, Mrs. Bunting.  You would
+be surprised if you knew how difficult it is to get anything of
+the sort.  But now my weary search has ended, and that is a relief
+ - a very, very great relief to me!"
+
+He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy, abstracted air.  And
+then, "Where's my bag?" he asked suddenly, and there came a note of
+sharp, angry fear in his voice.  He glared at the quiet woman
+standing before him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting felt a tremor of
+fright shoot through her.  It seemed a pity that Bunting was so far
+away, right down the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has always been a
+perquisite, as it were the special luxury, of the well-born and of
+the well-educated.  Scholars, as she well knew, are never quite like
+other people, and her new lodger was undoubtedly a scholar.  "Surely
+I had a bag when I came in?" he said in a scared, troubled voice.
+
+"Here it is, sir," she said soothingly, and, stooping, picked it
+up and handed it to him.  And as she did so she noticed that the
+bag was not at all heavy; it was evidently by no means full.
+
+He took it eagerly from her.  "I beg your pardon," he muttered.
+"But there is something in that bag which is very precious to me
+ - something I procured with infinite difficulty, and which I could
+never get again without running into great danger, Mrs. Bunting.
+That must be the excuse for my late agitation."
+
+"About terms, sir?" she said a little timidly, returning to the
+subject which meant so much, so very much to her.
+
+"About terms?" he echoed.  And then there came a pause.  "My name
+is Sleuth," he said suddenly, -  "S-l-e-u-t-h.  Think of a hound,
+Mrs. Bunting, and you'll never forget my name.  I could provide you
+with a reference - " (he gave her what she described to herself as
+a funny, sideways look), "but I should prefer you to dispense with
+that, if you don't mind.  I am quite willing to pay you - we1l, shall
+we say a month in advance?"
+
+A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting's cheeks.  She felt sick with
+relief - nay,'with a joy which was almost pain.  She had not known
+till that moment how hungry she was - how eager for- a good meal.
+"That would be all right, sir," she murmured.
+
+"And what are you going to charge me?"  There had come a kindly,
+almost a friendly note into his voice.  "With attendance, mind!  I
+shall expect you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask if
+you can cook, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir," she said.  "I am a plain cook.  What would you say
+to twenty-five shillings a week, sir?"  She looked at him
+deprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on falteringly,
+"You see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would have the best
+of attendance and careful cooking - and my husband, sir - he would
+be pleased to valet you."
+
+"I shouldn't want anything of that sort done for me," said Mr.
+Sleuth hastily.  "I prefer looking after my own clothes.  I am used
+to waiting on myself.  But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike to
+sharing lodgings - "
+
+She interrupted eagerly, "I could let you have the use of the two
+floors for the same price - that is, until we get another lodger.
+I shouldn't like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir.  It's
+such a poor little room.  You could do as you say, sir - do your work
+and your experiments up here, and then have your meals in the
+drawing-room."
+
+"Yes," he said hesitatingly, "that sounds a good plan.  And if I
+offered you two pounds, or two guineas?  Might I then rely on your
+not taking another lodger?"
+
+"Yes," she said quietly.  "I'd be very glad only to have you to
+wait on, sir."
+
+"I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting?
+I don't like to be disturbed while I'm working."
+
+He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, "I suppose
+you have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir, there's a key - a very nice little key.  The people
+who lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door."
+She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a round
+disk had been fitted above the old keyhole.
+
+He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if
+absorbed in thought, "Forty-two shillings a week?  Yes, that will
+suit me perfectly.  And I'll begin now by paying my first month's
+rent in advance.  Now, four times forty-two shillings is" - he
+jerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for the first
+time he smiled, a queer, wry smile - "why, just eight pounds eight
+shillings, Mrs. Bunting!"
+
+He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his long
+cape-like coat and took out a handful of sovereigns.  Then he began
+putting these down in a row on the bare wooden table which stood in
+the centre of the room.  "Here's five - six - seven - eight - nine
+ - ten pounds.  You'd better keep the odd change, Mrs. Bunting,
+for I shall want you to do some shopping for me to-morrow morning.
+I met with a misfortune to-day."  But the new lodger did not speak
+as if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on his spirits.
+
+"Indeed, sir.  I'm sorry to hear that."  Mrs. Bunting's heart was
+going thump - thump - thump.  She felt extraordinarily moved, dizzy
+with relief and joy.
+
+"Yes, a very great misfortune!  I lost my luggage, the few things
+I managed to bring away with me."  His voice dropped suddenly.  "I
+shouldn't have said that," he muttered.  "I was a fool to say that!"
+Then, more loudly, "Someone said to me, 'You can't go into a
+lodging-house without any luggage.  They wouldn't take you in.'  But
+you have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I'm grateful for - for the
+kind way you have met me - "  He looked at her feelingly, appealingly,
+and Mrs. Bunting was touched.  She was beginning to feel very kindly
+towards her new lodger.
+
+"I hope I know a gentleman when I see one," she said, with a break
+in her staid voice,
+
+"I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs. Bunting."
+Again he looked at her appealingly.
+
+"I expect you'd like to wash your hands now, sir.  And would you tell
+me what you'd like for supper?  We haven't much in the house."
+
+"Oh, anything'll do," he said hastily.  "I don't want you to go out
+for me.  It's a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting.  If you have a
+little bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite satisfied."
+
+"I have a nice sausage," she said hesitatingly.
+
+It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morning
+for Bunting's supper; as to herself, she had been going to content
+herself with a little bread and cheese.  But now - wonderful, almost,
+intoxicating thought - she could send Bunting out to get anything
+they both liked.  The ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfort
+and good cheer.
+
+"A sausage?  No, I fear that will hardly do.  I never touch flesh
+meat," he said; "it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage,
+Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Is it indeed, sir?"  She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly,
+"And will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?"
+
+A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth's
+pale face.
+
+"Certainly not.  I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting.
+I had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer - "
+
+"So I am, sir, lifelong.  And so's Bunting been since we married."
+She might have said, had she been a woman given to make such
+confidences, that she had made Buntlng abstain very early in their
+acquaintance.  That he had given in about that had been the thing
+that first made her believe, that he was sincere in all the nonsense
+that he talked to her, in those far-away days of his courting.  Glad
+she was now that he had taken the pledge as a younger man; hut for
+that nothing would have kept him from the drink during the bad times
+they had gone through.
+
+And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth the nice bedroom
+which opened out of the drawing-room.  It was a replica of Mrs.
+Bunting's own room just underneath, excepting that everything up
+here had cost just a little more, and was therefore rather better
+in quality.
+
+The new lodger looked round him with such a strange expression of
+content and peace stealing over his worn face.  "A haven of rest,"
+he muttered; and then, "'He bringeth them to their desired haven.'
+Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled.  It was the first time anyone
+had quoted the Bible to her for many a long day.  But it seemed to
+set the seal, as it were, on Mr. Sleuth's respectability.
+
+What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal with only one
+lodger, and that a gentleman, instead of with a married couple!
+Very peculiar married couples had drifted in and out of Mr. and
+Mrs. Bunting's lodgings, not only here, in London, but at the
+seaside.
+
+How unlucky they had been, to be sure!  Since they had come to
+London not a single pair of lodgers had been even moderately
+respectable and kindly.  The last lot had belonged to that horrible
+underworld of men and women who, having, as the phase goes, seen
+better days, now only keep their heads above water with the help of
+petty fraud.
+
+"I'll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir, and some clean
+towels," she said, going to the door.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round.  "Mrs. Bunting " - and as
+he spoke he stammered a little - " I - I don't want you to interpret
+the word attendance too liberally.  You need not run yourself off
+your feet for me.  I'm accustomed to look after myself."
+
+And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself dismissed  - even a
+little snubbed.  "All right, sir," she said.  "I'll only just let
+you know when I've your supper ready."
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+But what was a little snub compared with the intense relief and joy
+of going down and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortune
+which had fallen their way?
+
+Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down the steep stairs.
+In the hall, however, she pulled herself together, and tried to still
+her agitation.  She had always disliked and despised any show of
+emotion; she called such betrayal of feeling "making a fuss."
+
+Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood for a moment
+looking at her husband's bent back, and she realised, with a pang
+of pain, how the last few weeks had aged him.
+
+Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife, stood up.  He
+put the paper he had been holding down on to the table: "Well," he
+said, "well, who was it, then?"
+
+He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who ought to have
+answered the door and done all that parleying of which he had heard
+murmurs.
+
+And then in a moment his wife's hand shot out, and the ten sovereigns
+fell in a little clinking heap on the table.
+
+"Look there!" she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in her
+voice.  "Look there, Bunting!"
+
+And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.
+
+He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusion
+that his wile had just had in a furniture dealer, and that this
+ten pounds represented all their nice furniture upstairs.  If that
+were so, then it was the beginning of the end.  That furniture in
+the first-floor front had cost - Ellen had reminded him of the fact
+bitterly only yesterday - seventeen pounds nine shillings, and
+every single item had been a bargain.  It was too bad that she had
+only got ten pounds for it.
+
+Yet he hadn't the heart to reproach her.
+
+He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting that
+troubled, rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thought
+had happened.
+
+"We've a new lodger!" she cried.  "And - and, Bunting?  He's quite
+the gentleman!  He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, at
+two guineas a week."
+
+"No, never!"
+
+Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there,
+fascinated by the little heap of gold.  "But there's ten sovereigns
+here," he said suddenly.
+
+"Yes, the gentleman said I'd have to buy some things for him
+to-morrow.  And, oh, Bunting, he's so well spoken, I really felt
+that - I really felt that - " and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a step
+or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron over
+her face burst into gasping sobs.
+
+Bunting patted her back timidly.  "Ellen?" he said, much moved by her
+agitation, "Ellen?  Don't take on so, my dear - "
+
+"I won't," she sobbed, "I - I won't!  I'm a  fool - I know I am!
+But, oh, I didn't think we was ever going to have any luck again!"
+
+And then she told him - or rather tried to tell him -  what the
+lodger was like.  Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing
+she did impress on her husband's mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was
+eccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric - that is, in a
+harmless way - and that he must be humoured.
+
+"He says he doesn't want to be waited on much," she said at last
+wiping her eyes, "but I can see he will want a good bit of looking
+after, all the same, poor gentleman."
+
+And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound
+of a loud ring.  It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled
+again and again.
+
+Bunting looked at his wife eagerly.  "I think I'd better go up, eh,
+Ellen?" he said.  He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger.
+For the matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something
+again.
+
+"Yes," she answered, "you go up!  Don't keep him waiting!  I wonder
+what it is he wants?  I said I'd let him know when his supper was
+ready."
+
+A moment later Bunting came down again.  There was an odd smile on
+his face.  "Whatever d'you think he wanted?" he whispered
+mysteriously.  And as she said nothing, he went on, "He's asked me
+for the loan of a Bible!"
+
+"Well, I don't see anything so out of the way in that," she said
+hastily, "'specially if he don't fell well.  I'll take it up to him."
+
+And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows,
+Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her
+as a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she had
+lived for several years.
+
+"He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper," said
+Bunting; and, then, "Ellen?  He's a queer-looking cove - not like
+any gentleman I ever had to do with."
+
+"He is a gentleman," said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.
+
+"Oh, yes, that's all right." But still he looked at her doubtfully.
+"I asked him if he'd like me to just put away his clothes.  But,
+Ellen, he said he hadn't got any clothes!"
+
+"No more he hasn't;" she spoke quickly, defensively.  "He had the
+misfortune to lose his luggage.  He's one dishonest folk 'ud take
+advantage of."
+
+"Yes, one can see that with half an eye," Buntlng agreed.
+
+And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Bunting
+put down on a little bit of paper the things she wanted her husband
+to go out and buy for her.  She handed him the list, together with
+a sovereign.  "Be as quick as you can," she said, "for I feel a bit
+hungry.  I'll be going down now to see about Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+He only wants a glass of milk and two eggs.  I'm glad I've never
+fallen to bad eggs!"
+
+"Sleuth," echoed Bunting, staring at her.  "What a queer name!
+How d'you spell it - S-l-u-t-h?"
+
+"No," she shot out, "S-l-e - u - t - h."
+
+"Oh,'' he said doubtfully.
+  
+"He said, 'Think of a hound and  you'll never forget my name,'"
+and Mrs. Bunting smiled.
+
+When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: "We'll now be able
+to pay young Chandler back some o' that thirty shillings.  I am
+glad."  She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.
+
+And then each went about his and her business - Bunting out into
+the drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.
+
+The lodger's tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and
+daintily arranged.  Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.
+
+Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly
+remembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible.  Putting the tray down
+in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book;
+but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it
+was worth while to make two journeys.  But, no, she thought she
+could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and
+taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.
+
+But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped
+the tray.  She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy
+thud to the ground.
+
+The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the
+early Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud,
+with their faces to the wall!
+
+For a moment she was really too surprised to speak.  Putting the
+tray down on the table, she stooped and picked up the Book.  It
+troubled her that the should have fallen to the ground; but really
+she hadn't been able to help it - it was mercy that the tray hadn't
+fallen, too.
+
+Mr. Sleuth got up.  "I - I have taken the liberty to arrange the
+room as I should wish it to be," he said awkwardly.  "You see,
+Mrs. - er - Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these women's eyes
+followed me about.  It was a most unpleasant sensation, and gave
+me quite an eerie feeling."
+
+The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of the
+table.  She made no answer to her lodger's remark, for the good
+reason that she did not know what to say.
+
+Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth.  After what seemed a
+long pause, he spoke again.
+
+"I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting," he spoke with some agitation.
+"As a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls about
+me for a long time."  And then, at last his landlady answered him,
+in a composed, soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear.
+"I quite understand, sir.  And when Bunting comes in he shall take
+the pictures all down.  We have plenty of space in our own rooms
+for them."
+
+"Thank you - thank you very much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.
+
+"And I have brought you up my Bible, sir.  I understood you wanted
+the loan of it?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing
+himself, he said, "Yes, yes, I do.  There is no reading like the Book.
+There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of
+body too - "
+
+"Very true, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what really
+looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut
+the door.
+
+She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for
+Bunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up.  And as she
+did so there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident of
+her long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, had
+maided a dear old lady.
+
+The old lady had a favourite nephew - a bright, jolly young gentleman,
+who was learning to paint animals in Paris.  And one morning Mr.
+Algernon - that was his rather peculiar Christian name - had had the
+impudence to turn to the wall six beautiful engravings of paintings
+done by the famous Mr. Landseer!
+
+Mrs. Bunting remembered all the circumstances as if they had only
+occurred yesterday, and yet she had not thought of them for years.
+
+It was quite early; she had come down - for in those days maids
+weren't thought so much of as they are now, and she slept with the
+upper housemaid, and it was the upper housemaid's duty to be down
+very early - and, there, in the dining-room, she had found Mr.
+Algernon engaged in turning each engraving to the wall!  Now, his
+aunt thought all the world of those pictures, and Ellen had felt
+quite concerned, for it doesn't do for a young gentleman to put
+himself wrong with a kind aunt.
+
+"Oh, sir," she had exclaimed in dismay, "whatever are you doing?"
+And even now she could almost hear his merry voice, as he had
+answered, "I am doing my duty, fair Helen" - he had always called
+her "fair Helen" when no one was listening.  "How can I draw ordinary
+animals when I see these half-human monsters staring at me all the
+time I am having my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner?"  That was
+what Mr. Algernon had said in his own saucy way, and that was what
+he repeated in a more serious, respectful manner to his aunt, when
+that dear old lady had come downstairs.  In fact he had declared,
+quite soberly, that the beautiful animals painted by Mr. Landseer
+put his eye out!
+
+But his aunt had been very much annoyed - in fact, she had made him
+turn the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there he
+just had to put up with what he called "those half-human monsters."
+Mrs. Bunting, sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth's
+odd behaviour over, was glad to recall that funny incident of her
+long-gone youth.  It seemed to prove that her new lodger was not so
+strange as he appeared to be.  Still, when Bunting came in, she did
+not tell him the queer thing which had happened.  She told herself
+that she would be quite able to manage the taking down of the
+pictures in the drawing-room herself.
+
+But before getting ready their own supper, Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+went upstairs to dear away, and when on the staircase she heard the
+sound of - was it talking, in the drawing-room?  Startled, she
+waited a moment on the landing outside the drawing-room door, then
+she realised that it was only the lodger reading aloud to himself.
+There was something very awful in the words which rose and fell on
+her listening ears:
+
+"A strange woman is a narrow gate.  She also lieth in wait as for
+a prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men."
+
+She remained where she was, her hand on the handle of ,the door,
+and again there broke on her shrinking ears that curious, high,
+sing-song voice, "Her house is the way to hell, going down to
+the chambers of death."
+
+It made the listener feel quite queer.  But at last she summoned up
+courage, knocked, and walked in.
+
+"I'd better clear away, sir, had I not?" she said.  And Mr. Sleuth
+nodded.
+
+Then he got up and dosed the Book.  "I think I'll go to bed now,"
+he said.  "I am very, very tired.  I've had a long and a very
+weary day, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+After he had disappeared into the back room, Mrs. Bunting climbed
+up on a chair and unhooked the pictures which had so offended Mr.
+Sleuth.  Each left an unsightly mark on the wall - but that, after
+all, could not be helped.
+
+Treading softly, so that Bunting should not hear her, she carried
+them down, two by two, and stood them behind her bed.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Mrs. Bunting woke up the next morning feeling happier than she had
+felt for a very, very long time.
+
+For just one moment she could not think why she felt so different
+ - and then she suddenly remembered.
+
+How comfortable it was to know that upstairs, just over her head,
+lay, in the well-found bed she had bought with such satisfaction at
+an auction held in a Baker Street house, a lodger who was paying two
+guineas a week!  Something seemed to tell her that Mr. Sleuth would
+be "a permanency." In any case, it wouldn't be her fault if he
+wasn't.  As to his - his queerness, well, there's always something
+funny in everybody.  But after she had got up, and as the morning
+wore itself away, Mrs. Bunting grew a little anxious, for there
+came no sound at all from the new lodger's rooms.  At twelve,
+however, the drawing-room bell rang.  Mrs. Bunting hurried upstairs.
+She was painfully anxious to please and satisfy Mr. Sleuth.  His
+coming had only been in the nick of time to save them from terrible
+disaster.
+
+She found her lodger up, and fully dressed.  He was sitting at the
+round table which occupied the middle of the sitting-room, and his
+landlady's large Bible lay open before him.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting came in, he looked up, and she was troubled to see
+how tired and worn he seemed.
+
+"You did not happen," he asked, "to have a Concordance, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She shook her head; she had no idea what a Concordance could be,
+but she was quite sure that she had nothing of the sort about.
+
+And then her new lodger proceeded to tell her what it was he
+desired her to buy for him.  She had supposed the bag he had
+brought with him to contain certain little necessaries of
+civilised life - such articles, for instance, as a comb and brush,
+a set of razors, a toothbrush, to say nothing of a couple of
+nightshirts - but no, that was evidently not so, for Mr. Sleuth
+required all these things to be bought now.
+
+After having cooked him a nice breakfast Mrs. Bunting hurried
+out to purchase the things of which he was in urgent need.
+
+How pleasant it was to feel that there was money in her purse
+again - not only someone else's' money, but money she was now in
+the very act of earning so agreeably.
+
+Mrs. Bunting first made her way to a little barber's shop close by.
+It was there she purchased the brush and comb and the razors.  It
+was a funny, rather smelly little place, and she hurried as much as
+she could, the more so that the foreigner who served her insisted
+on telling her some of the strange, peculiar details of this
+Avenger murder which had taken place forty-eight hours before, and
+in which Bunting took such a morbid interest.
+
+The conversation upset Mrs. Bunting.  She didn't want to think of
+anything painful or disagreeable on such a day as this.
+
+Then she came back and showed the lodger her various purchases.  Mr.
+Sleuth was pleased with everything, and thanked her most courteously.
+But when she suggested doing his bedroom he frowned, and looked
+quite put out.
+
+"Please wait till this evening," he said hastily.  "It is my custom
+to stay at home all day.  I only care to walk about the streets when
+the lights are lit.  You must bear with me, Mrs. Bunting, if I seem
+a little, just a little, unlike the lodgers you have been accustomed
+to.  And I must ask you to understand that I must not be disturbed
+when thinking out my problems - "  He broke off short, sighed, then
+added solemnly, "for mine are the great problems of life and death."
+
+And Mrs. Bunting willingly fell in with his wishes.  In spite of her
+prim manner and love of order, Mr. Sleuth's landlady was a true woman
+ - she had, that is, an infinite patience with masculine vagaries
+and oddities.
+
+
+When she was downstairs again, Mr. Sleuth's landlady met with a
+surprise; but it was quite a pleasant surprise.  While she had
+been upstairs, talking to the lodger, Bunting's young friend, Joe
+Chandler, the detective, had come in, and as she walked into the
+sitting-room she saw that her husband was pushing half a sovereign
+across the table towards Joe.
+
+Joe Chandler's fair, good-natured face was full of satisfaction:
+not at seeing his money again, mark you, but at the news Bunting
+had evidently been telling him - that news of the sudden wonderful
+change in their fortunes, the coming of an ideal lodger.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't want me to do his bedroom till he's gone out!"
+she exclaimed.  And then she sat down for a bit of a rest.
+
+It was a comfort to know that the lodger was eating his good
+breakfast?  and there was no need to think of him for the present.
+In a few minutes she would be going down to make her own and
+Bunting's dinner, and she told Joe Chandler that he might as well
+stop and have a bite with them.
+
+Her heart warmed to the young man, for Mrs. Bunting was in a mood
+which seldom surprised her - a mood to be pleased with anything
+and everything.  Nay, more.  When Bunting began to ask Joe Chandler
+about the last of those awful Avenger murders, she even listened
+with a certain languid interest to all he had to say.
+
+In the morning paper which Bunting had begun taking again that
+very day three columns were devoted to the extraordinary mystery
+which was now beginning to be the one topic of talk all over London,
+West and East, North and South.  Bunting had read out little bits
+about it while they ate their breakfast, and in spite of herself
+Mrs. Bunting had felt thrilled and excited.
+
+"They do say," observed Bunting cautiously, "They do say, Joe, that
+the police have a clue they won't say nothing about?"  He looked
+expectantly at his visitor.  To Bunting the fact that Chandler was
+attached to the detective section of the Metropolitan Police
+invested the young man with a kind of sinister glory - especially
+just now, when these awful and mysterious crimes were amazing and
+terrifying the town.
+
+"Them who says that says wrong," answered Chandler slowly, and a
+look of unease, of resentment came over his fair, stolid face.
+"'Twould make a good bit of difference to me if the Yard had a clue."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting interposed.  "Why that, Joe?" she said,
+smiling indulgently; the young man's keenness about his work pleased
+her.  And in his slow, sure way Joe Chandler was very keen, and took
+his job very seriously.  He put his whole heart and mind into it.
+
+"Well, 'tis this way," he explained.  "From to-day I'm on this
+business myself.  You see, Mrs. Bunting, the Yard's nettled - that's
+what it is, and we're all on our mettle - that we are.  I was right
+down sorry for the poor chap who was on point duty in the street
+where the last one happened - "
+
+"No!" said Bunting incredulously.  "You don't mean there was a
+policeman there, within a few yards?"
+
+That fact hadn't been recorded in his newspaper.
+
+Chandler nodded.  "That's exactly what I do mean, Mr. Bunting!  The
+man is near off his head, so I'm told.  He did hear a yell, so he
+says, but he took no notice - there are a good few yells in that
+part o' London, as you can guess.  People always quarrelling and
+rowing at one another in such low parts."
+
+"Have you seen the bits of grey paper on which the monster writes
+his name?" inquired Bunting eagerly.
+
+Public imagination had been much stirred by the account of those
+three-cornered pieces of grey paper, pinned to the victims' skirts,
+on which was roughly written in red ink and in printed characters 
+the words "The Avenger."
+
+His round, fat face was full of questioning eagerness.  He put his
+elbows on the table, and stared across expectantly at the young man.
+
+"Yes, I have," said Joe briefly.
+
+"A funny kind of visiting card, eh!" Bunting laughed; the notion
+struck him as downright comic.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting coloured.  "It isn't a thing to make a joke about,"
+she said reprovingly.
+
+And Chandler backed her up.  "No, indeed," he said feelingly.  "I'll
+never forget what I've been made to see over this job.  And as for
+that grey bit of paper, Mr. Bunting - or, rather, those grey bits of
+paper " - he corrected himself hastily - " you know they've three of
+them now at the Yard - well, they gives me the horrors!"
+
+And then he jumped up.  "That reminds me that I oughtn't to be
+wasting my time in pleasant company - "
+
+"Won't you stay and have a bit of dinner?" said Mrs. Bunting
+solicitously.
+
+But the detective shook his head.  "No," he said, "I had a bite
+before I came out.  Our job's a queer kind of job, as you know.  A
+lot's left to our discretion, so to speak, but it don't leave us
+much time for lazing about, I can tell you."
+
+When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate
+carelessness he inquired, "Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London
+again soon?"
+
+Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened.  He was very, very
+fond of his only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom.  "No,"
+he said, "I'm afraid not Joe.  Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady,
+keeps Daisy pretty tightly tied to her apron-string.  She was quite
+put about that week the child was up with us last June."
+
+"Indeed?  Well, so long!"
+
+After his wife had let their friend out, Bunting said cheerfully,
+"Joe seems to like our Daisy, eh, Ellen?"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head scornfully.  She did not exactly
+dislike the girl, though she did not hold with the way Bunting's
+daughter was being managed by that old aunt of hers - an idle,
+good-for-nothing way, very different from the fashion in which
+she herself had been trained at the Foundling, for Mrs. Bunting
+as a little child bad known no other home, no other family than
+those provided by good Captain Coram.
+
+"Joe Chandler's too sensible a young chap to be thinking of girls
+yet awhile," she said tartly.
+
+"No doubt you're right," Bunting agreed.  "Times be changed.  In my
+young days chaps always had time for that.  'Twas just a notion that
+came into my head, hearing him asking, anxious-like, after her."
+
+******
+
+About five o'clock, after the street lamps were well alight, Mr.
+Sleuth went out, and that same evening there came two parcels
+addressed to his landlady.  These parcels contained clothes.  But
+it was quite clear to Mrs. Bunting's eyes that they were not new
+clothes.  In fact, they had evidently been bought in some good
+second-hand clothes-shop.  A funny thing for a real gentleman like
+Mr. Sleuth to do!  It proved that he had given up all hope of
+getting back his lost luggage.
+
+When the lodger had gone out he had not taken his bag with him, of
+that Mrs. Bunting was positive.  And yet, though she searched high
+and low for it, she could not find the place where Mr. Sleuth kept
+it.  And at last, had it not been that she was a very clear-headed
+woman, with a good memory, she would have been disposed to think
+that the bag had never existed, save in her imagination.
+
+But no, she could not tell herself that!  She remembered exactly
+how it had looked when Mr. Sleuth had first stood, a strange,
+queer-looking figure of a man, on her doorstep.
+
+She further remembered how he had put the bag down on the floor of
+the top front room, and then, forgetting what he had done, how he
+had asked her eagerly, in a tone of angry fear, where the bag was
+ - only to find it safely lodged at his feet!
+
+As time went on Mrs. Bunting thought a great deal about that bag,
+for, strange and amazing fact, she never saw Mr. Sleuth's bag again.
+But, of course, she soon formed a theory as to its whereabouts.
+The brown leather bag which had formed Mr. Sleuth's only luggage
+the afternoon of his arrival was almost certainly locked up in the
+lower part of the drawing-room chiffonnier.  Mr. Sleuth evidently
+always carried the key of the little corner cupboard about his
+person; Mrs. Bunting had also had a good hunt for that key, but,
+as was the case with the bag, the key disappeared, and she never
+saw either the one or the other again.
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next few
+days.  Already life was settling down into a groove.  Waiting on
+Mr. Sleuth was just what Mrs. Bunting could manage to do easily,
+and without tiring herself.
+
+It had at once become clear that the lodger preferred to be waited
+on only by one person, and that person his landlady.  He gave her
+very little trouble.  Indeed, it did her good having to wait on the
+lodger; it even did her good that he was not like other gentlemen;
+for the fact occupied her mind, and in a way it amused her.  The
+more so that whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of those
+tiresome, disagreeable ways with which landladies are only too
+familiar, and which seem peculiar only to those human beings who
+also happen to be lodgers.  To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth did
+not ask to be called unduly early.  Bunting and his Ellen had fallen
+into the way of lying rather late in the morning, and it was a great
+comfort not to have to turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea at
+seven, or even half-past seven.  Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything
+before eleven.
+
+But odd he certainly was.
+
+The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought in
+a book of which the queer name was Cruden's Concordance.  That and
+the Bible - Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was a
+relation between the two books - seemed to be the lodger's only
+reading.  He spent hours each day, generally after he had eaten
+the breakfast which also served for luncheon, poring over the Old
+Testament and over that, strange kind of index to the Book.
+
+As for the delicate and yet the all-important question of money,
+Mr. Sleuth was everything - everything that the most exacting
+landlady could have wished.  Never had there been a more confiding
+or trusting gentleman.  On the very first day he had been with them 
+he had allowed his money - the considerable sum of one hundred and
+eighty-four sovereigns - to lie about wrapped up in little pieces
+of rather dirty newspaper on his dressing-table.  That had quite
+upset Mrs. Bunting.  She had allowed herself respectfully to point
+out to him that what he was doing was foolish, indeed wrong.  But
+as only answer he had laughed, and she had been startled when the
+loud, unusual and discordant sound had issued from his thin lips.
+
+"I know those I can trust," he had answered, stuttering rather, as
+was his way when moved.  "And - and I assure you, Mrs. Bunting, that
+I hardly have to speak to a human being - especially to a woman"
+(and he had drawn in his breath with a hissing sound) "before I
+know exactly what manner of person is before me."
+
+It hadn't taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodger
+had a queer kind of fear and dislike of women.  When she was doing
+the staircase and landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth reading
+aloud to himself passages in the Bible that were very uncomplimentary
+to her sex.  But Mrs. Bunting had no very great opinion of her sister
+woman, so that didn't put her out.  Besides, where one's lodger is
+concerned, a dislike of women is better than - well, than the other
+thing.
+
+In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about the
+lodger's funny ways?  Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric.  If he
+hadn't been, as Bunting funnily styled it, "just a leetle touched
+upstairs," he wouldn't be here, living this strange, solitary life
+in lodgings.  He would be living in quite a different sort of way
+with some of his relatives, or with a friend of his own class.
+
+There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back  - as even the
+least imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of our
+own past lives which becomes for any reason poignantly memorable
+ - wondered how soon it was that she had discovered that her
+lodger was given to creeping out of the house at a time when
+almost all living things prefer to sleep.
+
+She brought herself to believe - but I am inclined to doubt whether
+she was right in so believing - that the first time she became aware
+of this strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth's happened to be
+during the night which preceded the day on which she had observed a
+very curious circumstance.  This very curious circumstance was the
+complete disappearance of one of Mr. Sleuth's three suits of clothes.
+
+It always passes my comprehension how people can remember, over any
+length of time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that is
+natural enough, but the day, the hour, the minute when these
+happenings took place!  Much as she thought about it afterwards,
+even Mrs. Bunting never quite made up her mind whether it was during
+the fifth or the sixth night of Mr. Sleuth's stay under her roof
+that she became aware that he had gone out at two in the morning and
+had only come in at five.
+
+But that there did come such a night is certain - as certain as is
+the fact that her discovery coincided with various occurrences
+which were destined to remain retrospectively memorable.
+
+******
+
+It was intensely dark, intensely quiet - the darkest quietest hour
+of the night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep,
+dreamless sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar.  She
+knew at once what those sounds were.  They were those made by Mr.
+Sleuth, first coming down the stairs, and walking on tiptoe - she
+was sure it was.  on tiptoe - past her door, and finally softly
+shutting the front door behind him.
+
+Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go to
+sleep again.  There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Bunting
+should waken up too, till she heard Mr. Sleuth, three hours later,
+creep back into the house and so up to bed.
+
+Then, and not till then, she slept again.  But in the morning she
+felt very tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad when
+Bunting good-naturedly suggested that he should go out and do their
+little bit of marketing.
+
+The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter of
+catering it was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth,
+and that though he always tried to appear pleased.  This perfect
+lodger had one serious fault from the point of view of those who
+keep lodgings.  Strange to say, he was a vegetarian.  He would not
+eat meat in any form.  He sometimes, however, condescended to a
+chicken, and when he did so condescend he generously intimated that
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were welcome to a share in it.
+
+Now to-day - this day of which the happenings were to linger in Mrs.
+Bunting's mind so very long, and to remain so very vivid, it had
+been arranged that Mr. Sleuth was to have some fish for his lunch,
+while what he left was to be "done up" to serve for his simple supper.
+
+Knowing that Bunting would be out for at least an hour, for he was
+a gregarious soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops he
+frequented, Mrs. Bunting rose and dressed in a leisurely manner;
+then she went and "did" her front sitting-room.
+
+She felt languid and dull, as one is apt to feel after a broken
+night, and it was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was not
+likely to ring before twelve.
+
+But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through the
+quiet l1ouse.  She knew it for the front door bell.
+
+Mrs. Bunting frowned.  No doubt the ring betokened one of those
+tiresome people who come round for old, bottles and such-like
+fal-lals.
+
+She went slowly, reluctantly to the door.  And then her face cleared,
+for it was that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waiting
+outside.
+
+He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quickly
+through the moist, foggy air.
+
+"Why, Joe?" said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly.  "Come in - do!  Bunting's
+out, but he won't be very long now.  You've been quite a stranger
+these last few days."
+
+"Well, you know why, Mrs. Bunting - "
+
+She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he could mean.  Then,
+suddenly she remembered.  Why, of course, Joe was on a big job just
+now - the job of trying to catch The Avenger!  Her husband had
+alluded to the fact again and again when reading out to her little
+bits from the halfpenny evening paper he was taking again.
+
+She led the way to the sitting-room.  It was a good thing Bunting
+had insisted on lighting the fire before he went out, for now the
+room was nice and warm - and it was just horrible outside.  She had
+felt a chill go right through her as she had stood, even for that
+second, at the front door.
+
+And she hadn't been alone to feel it, for, "I say, it is jolly to
+be in here, out of that awful cold!" exclaimed Chandler, sitting
+down heavily in Bunting's easy chair.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting bethought herself that the young man was tired,
+as well as cold.  He was pale, almost pallid under his usual healthy,
+tanned complexion - the complexion of the man who lives much out of
+doors.
+
+"Wouldn't you like me just to make you a cup of tea?" she said
+solicitously.
+
+"Well, to tell truth, I should be right down thankful for one, Mrs.
+Bunting!"  Then he looked round, and again he said her name, "Mrs.
+Bunting - ?"  
+
+He spoke in so odd, so thick a tone that she turned quickly.  "Yes,
+what is it, Joe?" she asked.  And then, in sudden terror, "You've
+never come to tell me that anything's happened to Bunting?  He's
+not had an accident?"
+
+"Goodness, no!  Whatever made you think that?  But - but, Mrs.
+Bunting, there's been another of them!"
+
+His voice dropped almost to a whisper.  He was staring at her with
+unhappy, it seemed to her terror-filled, eyes.
+
+"Another of them?"  She looked at him, bewildered  - at a loss.
+And then what he meant flashed across her - " another of them"
+meant another of these strange, mysterious, awful murders.
+
+But her relief for the moment was so great - for she really had
+thought for a second that he had come to give her ill news of
+Bunting - that the, feeling that she did experience on hearing
+this piece of news was actually pleasurable, though she would
+have been much shocked had that fact been brought to her notice.
+
+Almost in spite of herself, Mrs. Bunting had become keenly interested
+in the amazing series of crimes which was occupying the imagination
+of the whole of London's nether-world.  Even her refined mind had
+busied itself for the last two or three days with the strange problem
+so frequently presented to it by Bunting - for Bunting, now that they
+were no longer worried, took an open, unashamed, intense interest in
+"The Avenger" and his doings.
+
+She took the kettle off the gas-ring.  "It's a pity Bunting isn't
+here," she said, drawing in her breath.  "He'd a-liked so much to
+hear you tell  all about it, Joe."
+
+As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
+
+But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him.  "Why,
+you do look bad!" she exclaimed.
+
+And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad - very bad indeed.
+
+"I can't help it," he said, with a kind of gasp.  "It was your
+saying that about my telling you all about it that made me turn
+queer.  You see, this time I was one of the first there, and it
+fairly turned me sick - that it did.  Oh, it was too awful, Mrs.
+Bunting!  Don't talk of it."
+
+He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
+
+She looked at him with sympathetic interest. "Why, Joe," she said,
+"I never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see,
+that anything could upset you like that."
+
+"This isn't like anything there's ever been before," he said.  "And
+then - then - oh, Mrs. Bunting, 'twas I that discovered the piece of
+paper this time."
+
+"Then it is true," she cried eagerly.  "It is The Avenger's bit of
+paper!  Bunting always said it was.  He never believed in that
+practical joker."
+
+"I did," said Chandler reluctantly.  "You see, there are some queer
+fellows even - even - " (he lowered his voice, and looked round him
+as if the walls had ears) - "even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, and
+these murders have fair got on our nerves."
+
+"No, never!" she said.  "D'you think that a Bobby might do a thing
+like that?"
+
+He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn't worth answering.
+Then, "It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while
+the poor soul was still warm he shuddered - " that brought me out
+West this morning.  One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince
+Albert Terrace, and I had to go and tell him all about it.  They
+never offered me a bit or a sup - I think they might have done that,
+don't you, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Yes," she said absently.  "Yes, I do think so."
+
+"But, there, I don't know that I ought to say that," went on Chandler.
+"He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like to
+me while I was telling him."
+
+"Have a bit of something now?" she said suddenly.
+
+"Oh, no, I couldn't eat anything," he said hastily.  "I don't feel
+as if I could ever eat anything any more."
+
+"That'll only make you ill."  Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly,
+for she was a sensible woman.  And to please her he took a bite
+out of the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
+
+"I expect you're right," he said.  "And I've a goodish heavy day
+in front of me.  Been up since four, too - "
+
+"Four?" she said.  "Was it then they found - " she hesitated a
+moment, and then said, "it?"
+
+He nodded.  "It was just a chance I was near by.  If I'd been half
+a minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have
+knocked up against that -  that monster.  But two or three people
+do think they saw him slinking away."
+
+"What was he like?" she asked curiously.
+
+"Well, that's hard to answer.  You see, there was such an awful
+fog.  But there's one thing they all agree about.  He was carrying
+a bag - "
+
+"A bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice.  "Whatever sort of
+bag might it have been, Joe?"
+
+There had come across her-just right in her middle, like - such a
+strange sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.
+
+ She was at a loss to account for it,
+
+"Just a hand-bag," said Joe Chandler vaguely.  "A woman I spoke to
+ - cross-examining her, like - who was positive she had seen him,
+said, 'Just a tall, thin shadow - that's what he was, a tall, thin
+shadow of a man - with a bag."'
+
+"With a bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.  "How very strange
+and peculiar - "
+
+"Why, no, not strange at all.  He has to carry the thing he does
+the deed with in something, Mrs. Bunting.  We've always wondered how
+he hid it.  They generally throws the knife or fire-arms away, you
+know."
+
+"Do they, indeed?" Mrs. Bunting still spoke in that absent, wondering
+way.  She was thinking that she really must try and see what the
+lodger had done with his bag.  It was possible - in fact, when one
+came to think of it, it was very probable - that he had just lost
+it, being so forgetful a gentleman, on one of the days he had gone
+out, as she knew he was fond of doing, into the Regent's Park.
+
+"There'll be a description circulated in an hour or two," went on
+Chandler.  "Perhaps that'll help catch him.  There isn't a London
+man or woman, I don't suppose, who wouldn't give a good bit to lay
+that chap by the heels.  Well, I suppose I must be going now."
+
+"Won't you wait a bit longer for Bunting?" she said hesitatingly.
+
+"No, I can't do that.  But I'll come in, maybe, either this evening
+or to-morrow, and tell you any more that's happened.  Thanks kindly
+for the tea.  It's made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Well, you've had enough to unman you, Joe."
+
+"Aye, that I have," he said heavily.
+
+A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife had
+quite a little tiff - the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuth
+became their lodger.
+
+It fell out this way.  When he heard who had been there, Bunting
+was angry that Mrs. Bunting hadn't got more details of the horrible
+occurrence which had taken place that morning, out of Chandler.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Ellen, that you can't even tell me where it
+happened?" he said indignantly.  "I suppose you put Chandler off
+ - that's what you did!  Why, whatever did he come here for,
+excepting to tell us all about it?"
+
+"He came to have something to eat and drink," snapped out Mrs.
+Bunting.  "That's what the poor lad came for, if you wants to know.
+He could hardly speak of it at all - he felt so bad.  In fact, he
+didn't say a word about it until he'd come right into the room and
+sat down.  He told me quite enough!"
+
+"Didn't he tell you if the piece of paper on which the murderer had
+written his name was square or three-cornered?" demanded Bunting.
+
+"No; he did not.  And that isn't the sort of thing I should have
+cared to ask him."
+
+"The more fool you!"  And then he stopped abruptly.  The newsboys
+were coming down the Marylebone Road, shouting out the awful
+discovery which had been made that morning - that of The Avenger's
+fifth murder.  Bunting went out to buy a paper, and his wife took
+the things he had brought in down to the kitchen.
+
+The noise the newspaper-sellers made outside had evidently wakened
+Mr. Sleuth, for his landlady hadn't been in the kitchen ten minutes
+before his bell rang.
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell rang again.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's breakfast was quite ready, but for the first time since
+he had been her lodger Mrs. Bunting did not answer the summons at
+once.  But when there came the second imperative tinkle - for
+electric hells had not been fitted into that old-fashioned house - 
+she made up her mind to go upstairs.
+
+As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting,
+sitting comfortably in their parlour, heard his wile stepping heavily
+under the load of the well-laden tray.
+
+"Wait a minute!" he called out.  "I'll help you, Ellen," and he came
+out and took the tray from her.
+
+She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-room
+floor landing.
+
+There she stopped him.  "Here," she whispered quickly, "you give me
+that, Bunting.  The lodger won't like your going in to him."  And
+then, as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, she
+added in a rather acid tone, "You might open the door for me, at
+any rate!  How can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray on
+my hands?"
+
+She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised - rather
+put out.  Ellen wasn't exactly what you'd call a lively, jolly woman,
+but when things were going well - as now - she was generally equable
+enough.  He supposed she was still resentful of the way he had
+spoken to her about young Chandler and the new Avenger murder.
+
+However, he was always for peace, so he opened the drawing-room door,
+and as soon as he had started going downstairs Mrs. Bunting walked
+into the room.
+
+And then at once there came over her the queerest feeling of relief,
+of lightness of heart.
+
+As usual, the lodger was sitting at his old place, reading the Bible.
+
+Somehow - she could not have told you why, she would not willingly
+have told herself - she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth looking
+different.  But no, he appeared to be exactly the same - in fact,
+as he glanced up at her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted up
+his thin, pallid face.
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting," he said genially, "I overslept myself this
+morning, but I feel all the better for the rest."
+
+"I'm glad of that, sir," she answered, in a low voice.  "One of the
+ladies I once lived with used to say, 'Rest is an old-fashioned
+remedy, but it's the best remedy of all."
+
+Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden's Concordance off
+the table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady
+laying the cloth.
+
+Suddenly he spoke again.  He was not often so talkative in the
+morning.  "I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you
+outside the door just now?"
+
+"Yes, sir.  Bunting helped me up with the tray."
+
+"I'm afraid I give you a good deal of trouble," he said hesitatingly.
+
+But she answered quickly, "Oh, no, sir!  Not at all, sir!  I was
+only saying yesterday that we've never had a lodger that gave us as
+little trouble as you do, sir."
+
+"I'm glad of that.  I am aware that my habits are somewhat peculiar."
+
+He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of
+denial to this observation.  But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and
+truthful woman.  It never occurred to her to question his statement.
+Mr. Sleuth's habits were somewhat peculiar.  Take that going out at
+night, or rather in the early morning, for instance?  So she remained
+silent.
+
+After she had laid the lodger's breakfast on the table she prepared
+to leave the room.  "I suppose I'm not to do your room till you goes
+out, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply.  "No, no!" he said.  "I never
+want my room done when I am engaged in studying the Scriptures, Mrs.
+Bunting.  But I am not going out to-day.  I shall be carrying out a
+somewhat elaborate experiment - upstairs.  If I go out at all" he
+waited a moment, and again he looked at her fixedly " - I shall wait
+till night-time to do so."  And then, coming back to the matter in
+hand, he added hastily, "Perhaps you could do my room when I go
+upstairs, about five o'clock - if that time is convenient to you,
+that is?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir!  That'll do nicely!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she did so she took herself
+wordlessly, ruthlessly to task, but she did not face - even in her
+inmost heart - the strange tenors and tremors which had so shaken
+her.  She only repeated to herself again and again, "I've got upset
+ - that's what I've done," and then she spoke aloud, "I must get
+myself a dose at the chemist's next time I'm out.  That's what I
+must do."
+
+And just as she murmured the word "do," there came a loud double
+knock on the front door.
+
+It was only the postman's knock, but the postman was an unfamiliar
+visitor in that house, and Mrs. Bunting started violently.  She was
+nervous, that's what was the matter with her, - so she told herself
+angrily.  No doubt this was a letter for Mr. Sleuth; the lodger must
+have relations and acquaintances somewhere in the world.  All
+gentlefolk have.  But when she picked the small envelope off the
+hall floor, she saw it was a letter from Daisy, her husband's daughter.
+
+"Bunting!" she called out sharply.  "Here's a letter for you."
+
+She opened the door of their sitting-room and looked in.  Yes, there
+was her husband, sitting back comfortably in his easy chair, reading
+a paper.  And as she saw his broad, rather rounded back, Mrs. Bunting
+felt a sudden thrill of sharp irritation.  There he was, doing
+nothing - in fact, doing worse than nothing - wasting his time
+reading all about those horrid crimes.
+
+She sighed - a long, unconscious sigh.  Bunting was getting into
+idle ways, bad ways for a man of his years.  But how could she
+prevent it?  He had been such an active, conscientious sort of man
+when they had first made acquaintance. . .
+
+She also could remember, even more clearly than Bunting did himself,
+that first meeting of theirs in the dining-room of No. 90 Cumberland
+Terrace.  As she had stood there, pouring out her mistress's glass of
+port wine, she had not been too much absorbed in her task to have a
+good out-of-her-eye look at the spruce, nice, respectable-looking
+fellow who was standing over by the window.  How superior he had
+appeared even then to the man she already hoped he would succeed as
+butler!
+
+To-day, perhaps because she was not feeling quite herself, the past
+rose before her very vividly, and a lump came into her throat.
+
+Putting the letter addressed to her husband on the table, she closed
+the door softly, and went down into the kitchen; there were various
+little things to put away and clean up, as well as their dinner to
+cook.  And all the time she was down there she fixed her mind
+obstinately, determinedly on Bunting and on the problem of Bunting.
+She wondered what she'd better do to get him into good ways again.
+
+Thanks to Mr. Sleuth, their outlook was now moderately bright.  A
+week ago everything had seemed utterly hopeless.  It seemed as if
+nothing could save them from disaster.  But everything was now
+changed!
+
+Perhaps it would be well for her to go and see the new proprietor
+of that registry office, in Baker Street, which had lately changed
+hands.  It would be a good thing for Bunting to get even an
+occasional job - for the matter of that he could now take up a
+fairly regular thing in the way of waiting.  Mrs. Bunting knew that
+it isn't easy to get a man out of idle ways once he has acquired
+those ways.
+
+When, at last, she went upstairs again she felt a little ashamed of
+what she had been thinking, for Bunting had laid the cloth, and laid
+it very nicely, too, and brought up the two chairs to the table.
+
+"Ellen?" he cried eagerly, "here's news!  Daisy's coming to-morrow!
+There's scarlet fever in their house.  Old Aunt thinks she'd better
+come away for a few days.  So, you see, she'll be here for her
+birthday.  Eighteen, that's what she be on the nineteenth!  It do
+make me feel old - that it do!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting put down the tray.  "I can't have the girl here just
+now," she said shortly.  "I've just as much to do as I can manage.
+The lodger gives me more trouble than you seem to think for."
+
+"Rubbish!" he said sharply.  "I'll help you with the lodger.  It's
+your own fault you haven't had help with him before.  Of course,
+Daisy must come here.  Whatever other place could the girl go to?"
+
+Bunting felt pugnacious - so cheerful as to be almost light-hearted.
+But as he looked across at his wife his feeling of satisfaction
+vanished.  Ellen's face was pinched and drawn to-day; she looked ill
+ - ill and horribly tired.  It was very aggravating of her to go and
+behave like this - just when they were beginning to get on nicely
+again.
+
+"For the matter of that," he said suddenly, "Daisy'll be able to help
+you with the work, Ellen, and she'll brisk us both up a bit."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer.  She sat down heavily at the table.
+And then she said languidly, "You might as well show me the girl's
+letter."
+
+He handed it across to her, and she read it slowly to herself.
+
+"DEAR FATHER (it ran) - I hope this finds you as well at it leaves
+me.  Mrs. Puddle's youngest has got scarlet fever, and Aunt thinks
+I had better come away at once, just to stay with you for a few
+days.  Please tell Ellen I won't give her no trouble.  I'll start
+at ten if I don't hear nothing. - Your loving daughter,
+
+
+"Yes, I suppose Daisy will have to come here," Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+"It'll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her life."
+
+And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to content
+himself.
+
+******
+
+Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by.  When dusk fell Mr.
+Sleuth's landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor.  She
+remembered that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
+
+He was a tidy man, was the lodger; he did not throw his things
+about as so many gentlemen do, leaving them all over the place.
+No, he kept everything scrupulously tidy.  His clothes, and the
+various articles Mrs. Bunting had bought for him during the first
+two days he had been there, were carefully arranged in the chest
+of drawers.  He had lately purchased a pair of boots.  Those he
+had arrived in were peculiar-looking footgear, buff leather shoes
+with rubber soles, and he had told his landlady on that very first
+day that he never wished them to go down 
+to be cleaned.
+
+A funny idea - a funny habit that, of going out for a walk after
+midnight in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk were
+glad to be at home, snug in bed.  But then Mr. Sleuth himself
+admitted that he was a funny sort of gentleman.
+
+After she had done his bedroom the landlady went into the
+sitting-room and gave it a good dusting.  This room was not kept
+quite as nice as she would have liked it to be.  Mrs. Bunting
+longed to give the drawing-room something of a good turn out; but
+Mr. Sleuth disliked her to be moving about in it when he himself
+was in his bedroom; and when up he sat there almost all the time.
+Delighted as he had seemed to be with the top room, he only used
+it when making his mysterious experiments, and never during the
+day-time.
+
+And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier with
+longing eyes - she even gave that pretty little piece of furniture
+a slight shake.  If only the doors would fly open, as the locked
+doors of old cupboards sometimes do, even after they have been
+securely fastened, how pleased she would be, how much more
+comfortable somehow she would feel!
+
+But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret.
+
+******
+
+About eight o'clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, just
+for a few minutes' chat.  He had recovered from his agitation of the
+morning, but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Bunting
+listened in silence, intensely interested in spite of herself, while
+he and Bunting talked.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I'm as right as a trivet now!  I've had a good rest
+ - laid down all this afternoon.  You see, the Yard thinks there's
+going to be something on to-night.  He's always done them in pairs."
+
+"So he has," exclaimed Hunting wonderingly.  "So he has!  Now, I
+never thought o' that.  Then you think, Joe, that the monster'll be
+on the job again to-night?"
+
+Chandler nodded.  "Yes.  And I think there's a very good chance of
+his being caught too - "
+
+"I suppose there'll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?"
+
+"I should think there will be!  How many of our men d'you think
+there'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
+
+Bunting shook his head.  "I don't know," he said helplessly.
+
+"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice."
+
+"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
+
+"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting.
+
+"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
+
+And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!" incredulously.
+
+"Yes, that there will.  You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!"
+Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket.  "Just
+listen to this:
+
+"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to
+the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any
+surprise at the information that a popular attack has been organised
+on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.  There is even
+talk of an indignation mass meeting.'
+
+"What d'you think of that?  That's not a pleasant thing for a
+gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
+
+"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't catch him, now
+doesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
+
+"I don't think it's queer at all," said young Chandler crossly.
+"Now you just listen again!  Here's a bit of the truth for once - 
+in a newspaper."  And slowly he read out:
+
+"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind
+man's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes
+bandaged.  Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through
+the slums of a great city."'
+
+"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting.  "Your hands aren't tied,
+and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
+
+"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr. Bunting.  We haven't
+got the same facilities - no, not a quarter of them - that the
+French 'tecs have."
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: "What was that
+word, Joe - 'perpetrators'?  I mean that first bit you read out."
+
+"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
+
+"Then do they think there's more than one of them?" she said, and
+a look of relief came over her thin face.
+
+"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said Chandler.
+"They say it can't be the work of one man."
+
+"What do you think, Joe?"
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think.  I'm fair puzzled."
+
+He got up.  "Don't you come to the door.  I'll shut it all right.
+So long!  See you to-morrow, perhaps."  As he had done the other
+evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door.  "Any
+news of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
+
+"Yes; she's coming to-morrow," said her father.  "They've got scarlet
+fever at her place.  So Old Aunt thinks she'd better clear out."
+
+
+The husband and wife went to bed early that night, but Mrs. Bunting
+found she could not sleep.  She lay wide awake, hearing the hours,
+the half-hours, the quarters chime out from the belfry of the old
+church close by.
+
+And then, just as she was dozing off - it must have been about one
+o'clock - she heard the sound she had half unconsciously been
+expecting to hear, that of the lodger's stealthy footsteps coming
+down the stairs just outside her room.
+
+He crept along the passage and let himself out very, very quietly.
+
+But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did not hear him
+come in again, for she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
+
+Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next morning; odder
+still, it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of bed, and going
+out into the passage, picked up the newspaper which had just been
+pushed through the letter-box.
+
+But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go back at once into
+her bedroom.  Instead she lit the gas in the passage, and leaning
+up against the wall to steady herself, for she was trembling with
+cold and fatigue, she opened the paper.
+
+Yes, there was the heading she sought:
+
+The AVENGER Murders"
+
+But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that followed:
+
+"Up to the time of going to press there is little new to report
+concerning the extraordinary series of crimes which are amazing,
+and, indeed, staggering not only London, hut the whole civilised
+world, and which would seem to be the work of some woman-hating
+teetotal fanatic.  Since yesterday morning, when the last of these
+dastardly murders was committed, no reliable clue to the perpetrator,
+or perpetrators, has been obtained, though several arrests were made
+in the course of the day.  In every case, however, those arrested
+were able to prove a satisfactory alibi."
+
+And then, a little lower down
+
+"The excitement grows and grows.  It is not too much to say that
+even a stranger to London would know that something very unusual
+was in the air.  As for the place where the murder was committed
+last night - "
+
+"Last night!" thought Mrs. Bunting, startled; and then she realised
+that "last night," in this connection, meant the night before last.
+
+She began the sentence again:
+
+"As for the place where the murder was committed last night, all
+approaches to it were still blocked up to a late hour by hundreds
+of onlookers, though, of course, nothing now remains in the way of
+traces of the tragedy."
+
+Slowly and carefully Mrs. Bunting folded the paper up again in its
+original creases, and then she stooped and put it back down on the
+mat where she had found it.  She then turned out the gas, and going
+back into bed she lay down by her still sleeping husband.
+
+"Anything the matter?" Bunting murmured, and stirred uneasily.
+"Anything the matter, Ellen?"
+
+She answered in a whisper, a whisper thrilling with a strange
+gladness, "No, nothing, Bunting - nothing the matter!  Go to sleep
+again, my dear."
+
+They got up an hour later, both in a happy, cheerful mood.  Bunting
+rejoiced at the thought of his daughter's coming, and even Daisy's
+stepmother told herself that it would be pleasant having the girl
+about the house to help her a bit.
+
+About ten o'clock Bunting went out to do some shopping.  He brought
+back with him a nice little bit of pork for Daisy's dinner, and
+three mince-pies.  He even remembered to get some apples for the
+sauce.
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+Just as twelve was striking a four-wheeler drew up to the gate.
+
+It brought Daisy - pink-cheeked, excited, laughing-eyed Daisy - a
+sight to gladden any father's heart.
+
+"Old Aunt said I was to have a cab if the weather was bad," she
+cried out joyously.
+
+There was a bit of a wrangle over the fare.  King's Cross, as all
+the world knows, is nothing like two miles from the Marylebone Road,
+but the man clamoured for one and sixpence, and hinted darkly that
+he had done the young lady a favour in bringing her at all.
+
+While he and Bunting were having words, Daisy, leaving them to it,
+walked up the flagged path to the door where her stepmother was
+awaiting her.
+
+As they were exchanging a rather frigid kiss, indeed, 'twas a mere
+peck on Mrs. Bunting's part, there fell, with startling suddenness,
+loud cries on the still, cold air.  Long-drawn and wailing, they
+sounded strangely sad as they rose and fell across the distant roar
+of traffic in the Edgware Road.
+
+"What's that?" exclaimed Bunting wonderingly.  "Why, whatever's
+that?"
+
+The cabman lowered his voice.  "Them's 'a-crying out that 'orrible
+affair at King's Cross.  He's done for two of 'em this time!  That's
+what I meant when I said I might 'a got a better fare.  I wouldn't
+say nothink before little missy there, but folk 'ave been coming
+from all over London the last five or six hours; plenty of toffs,
+too - but there, there's nothing to see now!"
+
+"What?  Another woman murdered last night?"
+
+Bunting felt tremendously thrilled.  What had the five thousand
+constables been about to let such a dreadful thing happen?
+
+The cabman stared at him, surprised.  "Two of 'em, I tell yer - 
+within a few yards of one another.  He 'ave - got a nerve -  But,
+of course, they was drunk.  He are got a down on the drink!"
+
+"Have they caught him?" asked Bunting perfunctorily.
+
+"Lord, no!  They'll never catch 'im!  It must 'ave happened hours
+and hours ago - they was both stone cold.  One each end of a little
+passage what ain't used no more.  That's why they didn't find 'em
+before."
+
+The hoarse cries were coming nearer and nearer - two news vendors
+trying to outshout each other.
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross!" they yelled exultingly.
+"The Avenger again!"
+
+And Bunting, with his daughter's large straw hold-all in his hand,
+ran forward into the roadway and recklessly gave a boy a penny for
+a halfpenny paper.
+
+He felt very much moved and excited.  Somehow his acquaintance with
+young Joe Chandler made these murders seem a personal affair.  He
+hoped that Chandler would come in soon and tell them all about it,
+as he had done yesterday morning when he, Bunting, had unluckily
+been out.
+
+As be walked back into the little hall, he heard Daisy's voice - 
+high, voluble, excited - giving her stepmother a long account of
+the scarlet fever case, and how at first Old Aunt's neighbours had
+thought it was not scarlet fever at all, but just nettlerash.
+
+But as Bunting pushed open the door of the sitting-room, there
+came a note of sharp alarm in his daughter's voice, and he heard
+her cry, "Why, Ellen, whatever is the matter?  You do look bad!"
+and his wife's muffled answer, "Open the window - do."
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross - a clue at last!" yelled
+the newspaper-boys triumphantly.
+
+And then, helplessly, Mrs. Bunting began to laugh.  She laughed,
+and laughed, and laughed, rocking herself to and fro as if in an
+ecstasy of mirth.
+
+"Why, father, whatever's the matter with her?"
+
+Daisy looked quite scared.
+
+"She's in 'sterics - that's what it is," he said shortly.
+"I'll just get the water-jug.  Wait a minute!"
+
+Bunting felt very put out.  Ellen was ridiculous - that's what she
+was, to be so easily upset.
+
+The lodger's bell suddenly pealed through the quiet house.  Either
+that sound, or maybe the threat of the water-jug, had a magical
+effect on Mrs. Bunting.  She rose to her feet, still shaking all
+over, but mentally composed.
+
+"I'll go up," she skid a little chokingly.  "As for you, child,
+just run down into the kitchen.  You'll find a piece of pork
+roasting in the oven.  You might start paring the apples for the
+sauce."
+
+As Mrs. Bunting went upstairs her legs felt as if they were made
+of cotton wool.  She put out a trembling hand, and clutched at the
+banister for support.  But soon, making a great effort over herself,
+she began to feel more steady; and after waiting for a few moments
+on the landing, she knocked at the door of the drawing-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's voice answered her from the bedroom.  "I'm not well,"
+he called out querulously; "I think I've caught a chill.  I should
+be obliged if you would kindly bring me up a cup of tea, and put it
+outside my door, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Very well, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting turned and went downstairs.  She still felt queer and
+giddy, so instead of going into the kitchen, she made the lodger his
+cup of tea over her sitting-room gas-ring.
+
+During their midday dinner the husband and wile had a little
+discussion as to where Daisy should sleep.  It had been settled
+that a bed should be made up for her in the top back room, but
+Mrs. Bunting saw reason to change this plan.  "I think 'twould be
+better if Daisy were to sleep with me, Bunting, and you was to
+sleep upstairs."
+
+Bunting felt and looked rather surprised, but he acquiesced.  Ellen
+was probably right; the girl would be rather lonely up there, and,
+after all, they didn't know much about the lodger, though he seemed
+a respectable gentleman enough.
+
+Daisy was a good-natured girl; she liked London, and wanted to make
+herself useful to her stepmother.  "I'll wash up; don't you bother to
+come downstairs," she said cheerfully.
+
+Bunting began to walk up and down the room.  His wife gave him a
+furtive glance; she wondered what he was thinking about.
+
+"Didn't you get a paper?" she said at last.
+
+"Yes, of course I did," he answered hastily.  "But I've put it away.
+I thought you'd rather not look at it, as you're that nervous."
+
+Again she glanced at him quickly, furtively, but he seemed just as
+usual - he evidently meant just what he said and no more.
+
+"I thought they was shouting something in the street - I mean just
+before I was took bad."
+
+It was now Bunting's turn to stare at his wife quickly and rather
+furtively.  He had felt sure that her sudden attack of queerness, 
+of hysterics - call it what you might - had been due to the shouting
+outside.  She was not the only woman in London who had got the
+Avenger murders on her nerves.  His morning paper said quite a lot
+of women were afraid to go out alone.  Was it possible that the
+curious way she had been taken just now had had nothing to do with
+the shouts and excitement outside?
+
+"Don't you know what it was they were calling out?" he asked slowly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked across at him.  She would have given a very
+great deal to be able to lie, to pretend that she did not know what
+those dreadful cries had portended.  But when it came to the point
+she found she could not do so.
+
+"Yes," she said dully.  "I heard a word here and there.  There's
+been another murder, hasn't there?"
+
+"Two other murders," he said soberly.  
+
+"Two?  That's worse news!"  She turned so pale - a sallow
+greenish-white - that Bunting thought she was again going queer.
+
+"Ellen?" he said warningly, "Ellen, now do have a care!  I can't
+think what's come over, you about these murders.  Turn your mind
+away from them, do!  We needn't talk about them - not so much,
+that is "
+
+"But I wants to talk about them," cried Mrs. Bunting hysterically.
+
+The husband and wife were standing, one each side of the table,
+the man with his back to the fire, the woman with her back to the
+door.
+
+Bunting, staring across at his wife, felt sadly perplexed and
+disturbed.  She really did seem ill; even her slight, spare figure
+looked shrunk.  For the first time, so he told himself ruefully,
+Ellen was beginning to look her full age.  Her slender hands - she
+had kept the pretty, soft white hands of the woman who has never
+done rough work - grasped the edge of the table with a convulsive
+movement.
+
+Bunting didn't at all like the look of her.  "Oh, dear," he said
+to himself, "I do hope Ellen isn't going to be ill!  That would be
+a to-do just now."
+
+"Tell me about it," she commanded, in a low voice.  " Can't you see
+I'm waiting to hear?  Be quick now, Bunting!"
+
+"There isn't very much to tell," he said reluctantly.  "There's
+precious little in this paper, anyway.  But the cabman what brought
+Daisy told me - "
+
+"Well?"
+
+"What I said just now.  There's two of 'em this time, and they'd
+both been drinking heavily, poor creatures."
+
+"Was it where the others was done?" she asked looking at her husband
+fearfully.
+
+"No," he said awkwardly.  "No, it wasn't, Ellen.  It was a good bit
+farther West - in fact, not so very far from here.  Near King's Cross
+ - that's how the cabman knew about it, you see.  They seems to have
+been done in a passage which isn't used no more."  And then, as he
+thought his wife's eyes were beginning to look rather funny, he added
+hastily.  "There, that's enough for the present!  We shall soon be
+hearing a lot more about it from Joe Chandler.  He's pretty sure to
+come in some time to-day."
+
+"Then the five thousand constables weren't no use?" said Mrs.
+Bunting slowly.
+
+She had relaxed her grip of the table, and was standing more
+upright.
+
+"No use at all," said Bunting briefly.  "He is artful and no mistake
+about it.  But wait a minute - " he turned and took up the paper
+which he had laid aside, on a chair.  "Yes they says here that they
+has a clue."
+
+"A clue, Bunting?"  Mrs. Bunting spoke in a soft, weak, die-away
+voice, and again, stooping somewhat, she grasped the edge of the
+table.
+
+But her husband was not noticing her now.  He was holding the paper
+close up to his eyes, and he read from it, in a tone of considerable
+satisfaction:
+
+"'It is gratifying to be able to state that the police at last
+believe they are in possession of a clue which will lead to the
+arrest of the - '" and then Bunting dropped the paper and rushed
+round the table.
+
+His wife, with a curious sighing moan, had slipped down on to the
+floor, taking with her the tablecloth as she went.  She lay there
+in what appeared to be a dead faint.  And Bunting, scared out of
+his wits, opened the door and screamed out, "Daisy!  Daisy!  Come
+up, child.  Ellen's took bad again."
+
+And Daisy, hurrying in, showed an amount of sense and resource
+which even at this anxious moment roused her fond father's
+admiration.
+
+"Get a wet sponge, Dad - quick!" she cried, "a sponge, - and, if
+you've got such a thing, a drop o' brandy.  I'll see after her!"
+And then, after he had got the little medicine flask, "I can't think
+what's wrong with Ellen," said Daisy wonderingly.  "She seemed quite
+all right when I first came in.  She was listening, interested-like,
+to what I was telling her, and then, suddenly - well, you saw how
+she was took, father?  'Taint like Ellen this, is now?"
+
+"No," he whispered.  "No, 'taint.  But you see, child, we've been
+going through a pretty bad time - worse nor I should ever have let
+you know of, my dear.  Ellen's just feeling it now - that's what it
+is.  She didn't say nothing, for Ellen's a good plucked one, but
+it's told on her - it's told on her!"
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting, sitting up, slowly opened her eyes, and
+instinctively put her hand up to her head to see if her hair was
+all right.
+
+She hadn't really been quite "off."  It would have been better for
+her if she had.  She had simply had an awful feeling that she
+couldn't stand  up - more, that she must fall down.  Bunting's words
+touched a most unwonted chord in the poor woman's heart, and the
+eyes which she opened were full of tears.  She had not thought her
+husband knew how she had suffered during those weeks of starving
+and waiting.
+
+But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment.  To her
+such betrayal betokened "foolishness," and so all she said was,
+"There's no need to make a fuss!  I only turned over a little queer.
+I never was right off, Daisy."
+
+Pettishly she pushed away the glass in which Bunting had hurriedly
+poured a little brandy.  "I wouldn't touch such stuff - no, not if
+I was dying!" she exclaimed.
+
+Putting out a languid hand, she pulled herself up, with the help of
+the table, on to her feet.  "Go down again to the kitchen, child";
+but there was a sob, a kind of tremor in her voice.
+
+"You haven't been eating properly, Ellen - that's what's the matter
+with you," said Bunting suddenly.  "Now I come to think of it, you
+haven't eat half enough these last two days.  I always did say - in
+old days many a time I telled you - that a woman couldn't live on
+air.  But there, you never believed me!"
+
+Daisy stood looking from one to the other, a shadow over her bright,
+pretty face.  "I'd no idea you'd had such a bad time, father," she
+said feelingly.  "Why didn't you let me know about it?  I might have
+got something out of Old Aunt."
+
+"We didn't want anything of that sort," said her stepmother hastily.
+"But of course - well, I expect I'm still feeling the worry now.  I
+don't seem able to forget it.  Those days of waiting, of - of - "
+she restrained herself; another moment and the word "starving" would
+have left her lips.
+
+"But everything's all right now," said Bunting eagerly, all right,
+thanks to Mr. Sleuth, that is."
+
+"Yes," repeated his wife, in a low, strange tone of voice.  "Yes,
+we're all right now, and as you say, Bunting, it's all along of
+Mr. Sleuth."
+
+She walked across to a chair and sat down on it.  "I'm just a little
+tottery still," she muttered.
+
+And Daisy, looking at her, turned to her father and said in a
+whisper, but not so low but that Mrs. Bunting heard her, "Don't you
+think Ellen ought to see a doctor, father?  He might give her
+something that would pull her round."
+
+"I won't see no doctor!" said Mrs. Bunting with sudden emphasis.  "I
+saw enough of doctors in my last place.  Thirty-eight doctors in ten
+months did my poor missis have.  Just determined on having 'em she
+was!  Did they save her?  No!  She died just the same!  Maybe a bit
+sooner."
+
+"She was a freak, was your last mistress, Ellen," began Bunting
+aggressively.
+
+Ellen had insisted on staying on in that place till her poor mistress
+died.  They might have been married some months before they were
+married but for that fact.  Bunting had always resented it.
+
+His wife smile wanly.  "We won't have no words about that," she said,
+and again she spoke in a softer, kindlier tone than usual.  "Daisy?
+If you won't go down to the kitchen again, then I must" - she turned
+to her stepdaughter, and the girl flew out of the room.
+
+"I think the child grows prettier every minute," said Bunting fondly.
+
+"Folks are too apt to forget that beauty is but skin deep," said his
+wife.  She was beginning to feel better.  "But still, I do agree,
+Bunting, that Daisy's well enough.  And she seems more willing, too."
+
+"I say, we mustn't forget the lodger's dinner," Bunting spoke
+uneasily.  "It's a bit of fish to-day, isn't it?  Hadn't I better
+just tell Daisy to see to it, and then I can take it up to him, as
+you're not feeling quite the thing, Ellen?"
+
+"I'm quite well enough to take up Mr. Sleuth's luncheon," she said
+quickly.  It irritated her to hear her husband speak of the lodger's
+dinner.  They had dinner in the middle of the day, but Mr. Sleuth
+had luncheon.  However odd he might be, Mrs. Bunting never forgot
+her lodger was a gentleman.
+
+"After all, he likes me to wait on him, doesn't he?  I can manage
+all right.  Don't you worry," she added after a long pause.
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+Perhaps because his luncheon was served to him a good deal later
+than usual, Mr. Sleuth ate his nice piece of steamed sole upstairs
+with far heartier an appetite than his landlady had eaten her nice
+slice of roast pork downstairs.
+
+"I hope you're feeling a little better, sir," Mrs. Bunting had forced
+herself to say when she first took in his tray.
+
+And he had answered plaintively, querulously, "No, I can't say I
+feel well to-day, Mrs. Bunting.  I am tired - very tired.  And as I
+lay in bed I seemed to hear so many sounds - so much crying and
+shouting.  I trust the Marylebone Road is not going to become a noisy
+thoroughfare, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I don't think that.  We're generally reckoned very
+quiet indeed, sir."
+
+She waited a moment - try as she would, she could not allude to what
+those unwonted shouts and noises had betokened.  "I expect you've
+got a chill, sir," she said suddenly.  "If I was you, I shouldn't
+go out this afternoon; I'd just stay quietly indoors.  There's a lot
+of rough people about - "  Perhaps there was an undercurrent of
+warning, of painful pleading, in her toneless voice which penetrated
+in some way to the brain of the lodger, for Mr. Sleuth looked up, and
+an uneasy, watchful look came into his luminous grey eyes.
+
+"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bunting.  But I think I'll take your
+advice.  That is, I will stay quietly at home, I am never at a loss
+to know what to do with myself so long as I can study the Book of
+Books."
+
+"Then you're not afraid about your eyes, sir?" said Mrs. Bunting
+curiously.  Somehow she was beginning to feel better.  It comforted
+her to be up here, talking to Mr. Sleuth, instead of thinking about
+him downstairs.  It seemed to banish the terror which filled her
+soul - aye, and her body, too - at other times.  When she was with
+him Mr. Sleuth was so gentle, so reasonable, so - so grateful.
+
+Poor kindly, solitary Mr. Sleuth!  This kind of gentleman surely
+wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a human being.  Eccentric - so much
+must be admitted.  But Mrs. Bunting had seen a good deal of eccentric
+folk, eccentric women rather than eccentric men, in her long career
+as useful maid.
+
+Being at ordinary times an exceptionally sensible, well-balanced
+woman, she had never, in old days, allowed her mind to dwell on
+certain things she had learnt as to the aberrations of which human
+nature is capable - even well-born, well-nurtured, gentle human
+nature - as exemplified in some of the households where she had
+served.  It would, indeed, be unfortunate if she now became morbid
+or - or hysterical.
+
+So it was in a sharp, cheerful voice, almost the voice in which she
+had talked during the first few days of Mr. Sleuth's stay in her
+house, that she exclaimed, "Well, sir, I'll be up again to clear
+away in about half an hour.  And if you'll forgive me for saying so,
+I hope you will stay in and have a rest to-day.  Nasty, muggy weather
+ - that's what it is!  If there's any little thing you want, me or
+Bunting can go out and get it."
+
+******
+
+It must have been about four o'clock when there came a ring at the
+front door.
+
+The three were sitting chatting together, for Daisy had washed up
+ - she really was saving her stepmother a good bit of trouble - and
+the girl was now amusing her elders by a funny account of Old Aunt's
+pernickety ways.
+
+"Whoever can that be?" said Bunting, looking up.  "It's too early
+for Joe Chandler, surely."
+
+"I'll go," said his wife, hurriedly jumping up from her chair.
+"I'll go!  We don't want no strangers in here."
+
+And as she stepped down the short bit of passage she said to herself,
+"A clue?  What clue?"
+
+But when she opened the front door a glad sigh of relief broke from
+her.  "Why, Joe?  We never thought 'twas you!  But you're very
+welcome, I'm sure.  Come in."
+
+And Chandler came in, a rather sheepish look on his good-looking,
+fair young face.
+  
+"I thought maybe that Mr. Bunting would like to know - " he began,
+in a loud, cheerful voice, and Mrs. Bunting hurriedly checked him.
+She didn't want the lodger upstairs to hear what young Chandler
+might be going to say.
+
+"Don't talk so loud," she said a little sharply.  "The lodger is
+not very well to-day.  He's had a cold," she added hastily, "and
+during the last two or three days he hasn't been able to go out."
+
+She wondered at her temerity, her - her hypocrisy, and that moment,
+those few words, marked an epoch in Ellen Bunting's life.  It was
+the first time she had told a bold and deliberate lie.  She was
+one of those women - there are many, many such - to whom there is
+a whole world of difference between the suppression of the truth
+and the utterance of an untruth.
+
+But Chandler paid no heed to her remarks.  "Has Miss Daisy arrived?"
+he asked, in a lower voice.
+
+She nodded.  And then he went through into the room where the father
+and daughter were sitting.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting, starting up.  "Well, Joe?  Now you can tell
+us all about that mysterious clue I suppose it'd be too good news
+to expect you to tell us they've caught him?"
+
+"No fear of such good news as that yet awhile.  If they'd caught
+him," said Joe ruefully, "well, I don't suppose I should be here,
+Mr. Bunting.  But the Yard are circulating a description at last.
+And - well, they've found his weapon!"
+
+"No?" cried Bunting excitedly.  "You don't say so!  Whatever sort
+of a thing is it?  And are they sure 'tis his?"
+
+"Well, 'tain't sure, but it seems to be likely."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.
+But she was still standing with her back against the door, looking
+at the group in front of her.  None of them were thinking of her
+ - she thanked God for that!  She could hear everything that was
+said without joining in the talk and excitement.
+
+"Listen to this!" cried Joe Chandler exultantly.  "'Tain't given
+out yet - not for the public, that is - but we was all given it by
+eight o'clock this morning.  Quick work that eh?" He read out:
+
+
+"WANTED
+
+A man, of age approximately 28, slight in figure, height 
+approximately 5 ft.  '8 in.  Complexion dark.  No beard or
+whiskers.  Wearing a black diagonal coat hard felt hat, high
+white collar, and tie.  Carried a newspaper parcel.  Very
+respectable appearance."
+
+
+Mrs. Bunting walked forward.  She gave a long, fluttering sigh of
+unutterable relief.
+
+"There's the chap!" said Joe Chandler triumphantly.  "And now, Miss
+Daisy" - he turned to her jokingly, but there was a funny little
+tremor in his frank, cheerful-sounding voice - "if you knows of any
+nice, likely young fellow that answers to that description - well,
+you've only got to walk in and earn your reward of five hundred
+pounds."
+
+"Five hundred pounds!" cried Daisy and her father simultaneously.
+
+"Yes.  That's what the Lord Mayor offered yesterday.  Some private
+bloke - nothing official about it.  But we of the Yard is barred
+from taking that reward, worse luck.  And it's too bad, for we has
+all the trouble, after all"
+
+"Just hand that bit of paper over, will you?" said Bunting.  "I'd
+like to con it over to myself."
+
+Chandler threw over the bit of flimsy.
+
+A moment later Bunting looked up and handed it back.  "Well, it's
+clear enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes.  And there's hundreds - nay, "thousands - of young fellows
+that might be a description of," said Chandler sarcastically.  "As
+a pal of mine said this morning, 'There isn't a chap will like to
+carry a newspaper parcel after this.' And it won't do to have a
+respectable appearance - eh?"
+
+Daisy's voice rang out in merry, pealing laughter.  She greatly
+appreciated Mr. Chandler's witticism.
+
+"Why on earth didn't the people who saw him try and catch him?"
+asked Bunting suddenly.
+
+And Mrs. Bunting broke in, in a lower voice, "Yes, Joe - that seems
+odd, don't it?"
+
+Joe Chandler coughed.  "Well, it's this way," he said.  "No one
+person did see all that.  The man who's described here is just made
+up from the description of two different folk who think they saw
+him.  You see, the murders must have taken place - well, now, let
+me see - perhaps at two o'clock this last time.  Two o'clock -  
+that's the idea.  Well, at such a time as that not many people are
+about, especially on a foggy night.  Yes, one woman declares she
+saw a young chap walking away from the spot where 'twas done; and
+another one - but that was a good bit later - says The Avenger
+passed by her.  It's mostly her they're following in this 'ere
+description.  And then the boss who has charge of that sort of
+thing looked up what other people had said - I mean when the other
+crimes was committed.  That's how he made up this 'Wanted."'
+
+"Then The Avenger may be quite a different sort of man?" said
+Bunting slowly, disappointedly.
+
+"Well, of course he may be.  But, no; I think that description
+fits him all right," said Chandler; but he also spoke in a
+hesitating voice.
+
+"You was saying, Joe, that they found a weapon?" observed Bunting
+insinuatingly.
+
+He was glad that Ellen allowed the discussion to go on - in fact,
+that she even seemed to take an intelligent interest in it.  She
+had come up close to them, and now looked quite her old self again.
+
+"Yes.  They believe they've found the weapon what he does his awful
+deeds with," said Chandler.  "At any rate, within a hundred yards
+of that little dark passage where they found the bodies - one at
+each end, that was - there was discovered this morning a very
+peculiar kind o' knife - 'keen as a razor, pointed as a dagger' - 
+that's the exact words the boss used when he was describing it to
+a lot of us.  He seemed to think a lot more of that clue than of
+the other - I mean than of the description people gave of the chap
+who walked quickly by with a newspaper parcel.  But now there's a
+pretty job in front of us.  Every shop where they sell or might a'
+sold, such a thing as that knife, including every eating-house in
+the East End, has got to be called at!"
+
+"Whatever for?" asked Daisy.
+
+"Why, with an idea of finding out if anyone saw such a knife fooling
+about there any time, and, if so, in whose possession it was at the
+time.  But, Mr. Bunting" -  Chandler's voice changed; it became
+businesslike, official  - "they're not going to say anything about
+that - not in newspapers - till to-morrow, so don't you  go and
+tell anybody.  You see, we don't want to frighten the fellow off.
+If he knew they'd got his knife - well, he might just make himself
+scarce, and they don't want that!  If it's discovered that any knife
+of that kind was sold, say a month ago, to some customer whose ways
+are known, then - then - "
+
+"What'll happen then?" said Mrs. Bunting, coming nearer.
+
+"Well, then, nothing'll be put about it in the papers at all," said
+Chandler deliberately.  "The only objec' of letting the public know
+about it would be if nothink was found - I mean if the search of
+the shops, and so on, was no good.  Then, of course, we must try
+and find out someone - some private person-like, who's watched that
+knife in the criminal's possession.  It's there the reward - the
+five hundred pounds will come in.
+
+"Oh, I'd give anything to see that knife!" exclaimed Daisy, clasping
+her hands together.
+
+"You cruel, bloodthirsty, girl!" cried her stepmother passionately.
+
+They all looked round at her, surprised.
+
+"Come, come, Ellen!" said Bunting reprovingly.
+
+"Well, it is a horrible idea!" said his wife sullenly.  "To go and
+sell a fellow-being for five hundred pounds."
+
+But Daisy was offended.  "Of course I'd like to see it!" she cried
+defiantly.  "I never said nothing about the reward.  That was Mr.
+Chandler said that!  I only said I'd like to see the knife."
+
+Chandler looked at her soothingly.  "Well, the day may come when
+you will see it," he said slowly.
+
+A great idea had come into his mind.
+
+"No!  What makes you think that?"
+
+"If they catches him, and if you comes along with me to see our
+Black Museum at the Yard, you'll certainly see the knife, Miss Daisy.
+They keeps all them kind of things there.  So if, as I say, this
+weapon should lead to the conviction of The Avenger - well, then,
+that knife 'ull be there, and you'll see' it!"
+
+"The Black Museum?  Why, whatever do they have a museum in your
+place for?" asked Daisy wonderingly.  "I thought there was only the
+British Museum - "
+
+And then even Mrs. Bunting, as well as Bunting and Chandler,
+laughed aloud.
+
+"You are a goosey girl!" said her father fondly.  "Why, there's a
+lot of museums in London; the town's thick with 'em.  Ask Ellen
+there.  She and me used to go to them kind of places when we was
+courting - if the weather was bad."
+
+"But our museum's the one that would interest Miss Daisy," broke in
+Chandler eagerly.  "It's a regular Chamber of 'Orrors!"
+
+"Why, Joe, you never told us about that place before," said Bunting
+excitedly.  "D'you really mean that there's a museum where they
+keeps all sorts of things connected with crimes?  Things like knives
+murders have been committed with?"
+
+"Knives?" cried Joe, pleased at having become the centre of
+attention, for Daisy had also fixed her blue eyes on him, and even
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him expectantly.  "Much more than knives, Mr.
+Bunting!  Why, they've got there, in little bottles, the real poison
+what people have been done away with."
+
+"And can you go there whenever you like?" asked Daisy wonderingly.
+She had not realised before what extraordinary and agreeable
+privileges are attached to the position of a detective member of
+the London Police
+Force.
+
+"Well, I suppose I could - " Joe smiled.  "Anyway I can certainly
+get leave to take a friend there."  He looked meaningly at Daisy,
+and Daisy looked eagerly at him.
+
+But would Ellen ever let her go out by herself with Mr. Chandler?
+Ellen was so prim, so - so irritatingly proper.  But what was this
+father was saying?  "D'you really mean that, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, of course I do!"
+
+"Well, then, look here!  If it isn't asking too much of a favour, I
+should like to go along there with you very much one day.  I don't
+want to wait till The Avenger's caught " - Bunting smiled broadly.
+"I'd be quite content as it is with what there is in that museum
+o' yours.  Ellen, there " - he looked across at his wife-" don't
+agree with me about such things.  Yet I don't think I'm a
+bloodthirsty man!  But I'm just terribly interested in all that sort
+of thing - always have been.  I used to positively envy the butler
+in that Balham Mystery!"
+
+Again a look passed between Daisy and the young man - it was a look
+which contained and carried a great many things backwards and
+forwards, such as -  "Now, isn't it funny that your father should
+want to go to such a place?  But still, I can't help it if he does
+want to go, so we must put up with his company, though it would
+have been much nicer for us to go just by our two selves."  And
+then Daisy's look answered quite as plainly, though perhaps Joe
+didn't read her glance quite as clearly as she had read his: "Yes,
+it is tiresome.  But father means well; and 'twill be very pleasant
+going there, even if he does come too."
+
+"Well, what d'you say to the day after to-morrow, Mr. Bunting?  I'd
+call for you here about - shall we say half-past two?  - and just
+take you and Miss Daisy down to the Yard.  'Twouldn't take very
+long; we could go all the way by bus, right down to Westminster
+Bridge."  He looked round at his hostess: "Wouldn't you join us,
+Mrs. Bunting?  'Tis truly a wonderful interesting place."
+
+But his hostess shook her head decidedly.  "'Twould turn me sick,"
+she exclaimed, "to see the bottle of poison what had done away with
+the life of some poor creature!
+
+"And as for knives - !" a look of real horror, of startled fear,
+crept over her pale face.
+
+"There, there!" said Bunting hastily.  "Live and let live - that's
+what I always say.  Ellen ain't on in this turn.  She can just
+stay at home and mind the cat - I beg his pardon, I mean the lodger!"
+
+"I won't have Mr. Sleuth laughed at," said Mrs. Bunting darkly.
+"But there!  I'm sure it's very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving
+Bunting and Daisy such a rare treat " - she spoke sarcastically, but
+none of the three who heard her understood that.
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+The moment she passed though the great arched door which admits the
+stranger to that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart
+of that great organism which fights the forces of civilised crime,
+Daisy Bunting felt that she had indeed become free of the Kingdom of
+Romance.  Even the lift in which the three of them were whirled up
+to one of the upper floors of the huge building was to the girl a
+new and delightful experience.  Daisy had always lived a simple,
+quiet life in the little country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this
+was the first time a lift had come her way.
+
+With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler
+marched his friends down a wide, airy corridor.
+
+Daisy clung to her father's arm, a little bewildered, a little
+oppressed by her good fortune.  Her happy young voice was
+stilled by the awe she felt at the wonderful place where she
+found herself, and by the glimpses she caught of great rooms full
+of busy, silent men engaged in unravelling - or so she supposed
+ - the mysteries of crime.
+
+They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped
+short.  "Look in there," he said, in a low voice, addressing the
+father rather than the daughter, "that's the Finger-Print Room.
+We've records here of over two hundred thousand men's and women's
+finger-tips!  I expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once we've got
+the print of a man's five finger-tips, well, he's done for - if he
+ever does anything else, that is.  Once we've got that bit of him
+registered he can't never escape us - no, not if he tries ever so.
+But though there's nigh on a quarter of a million records in there,
+yet it don't take - well, not half an hour, for them to tell
+whether any particular man has ever been convicted before!  Wonderful
+thought, ain't it?"
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing a deep breath.  And then a
+troubled look came over his stolid face.  "Wonderful, but also a
+very fearful thought for the poor wretches as has got their
+finger-prints in, Joe."
+
+Joe laughed.  "Agreed!" he said.  "And the cleverer ones knows that
+only too well.  Why, not long ago, one man who knew his record was
+here safe, managed to slash about his fingers something awful, just
+so as to make a blurred impression - you takes my meaning?  But
+there, at the end of six weeks the skin grew all right again, and
+in exactly the same little creases as before!"
+
+"Poor devil!" said Bunting under his breath, and a cloud even came
+over Daisy's bright eager face.
+
+They were now going along a narrower passage, and then again they
+came to a half-open door, leading into a room far smaller than
+that of the Finger-Print Identification Room.
+
+"If you'll glance in there," said Joe briefly, "you'll see how we
+finds out all about any man whose finger-tips has given him away, so
+to speak.  It's here we keeps an account of what he's done, his
+previous convictions, and so on.  His finger-tips are where I told
+you, and his record in there - just connected by a number."
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing in his breath.  But Daisy was
+longing to get on - to get to the Black Museum.  All this that Joe
+and her father were saying was quite unreal to her, and, for the
+matter of that not worth taking the trouble to understand.  However,
+she had not long to wait.
+
+A broad-shouldered, pleasant-looking young fellow, who seemed on
+very friendly terms with Joe Chandler, came forward suddenly, and,
+unlocking a common-place-looking door, ushered the little party of
+three through into the Black Museum.
+
+For a moment there came across Daisy a feeling of keen disappointment
+and surprise.  This big, light room simply reminded her of what they
+called the Science Room in the public library of the town where she
+lived with Old Aunt.  Here, as there, the centre was taken up with
+plain glass cases fixed at a height from the floor which enabled
+their contents to be looked at closely.
+
+She walked forward and peered into the case nearest the door.  The
+exhibits shown there were mostly small, shabby-looking little things,
+the sort of things one might turn out of an old rubbish cupboard in
+an untidy house - old medicine bottles, a soiled neckerchief, what
+looked like a child's broken lantern, even a box of pills. . .
+
+As for the walls, they were covered with the queerest-looking
+objects; bits of old iron, odd-looking things made of wood and
+leather, and so on.
+
+It was really rather disappointing.
+
+Then Daisy Bunting gradually became aware that standing on a shelf
+just below the first of the broad, spacious windows which made the
+great room look so light and shadowless, was a row of life-size
+white plaster heads, each head slightly inclined to the right.
+There were about a dozen of these, not more - and they had such odd,
+staring, helpless, real-looking faces.
+
+"Whatever's those?" asked Bunting in a low voice.
+
+Daisy clung a thought closer to her father's arm.  Even she guessed
+that these strange, pathetic, staring faces were the death-masks of
+those men and women who had fulfilled the awful law which ordains
+that the murderer shall be, in his turn, done to death.
+
+"All hanged!" said the guardian of the Black Museum briefly.  "Casts
+taken after death."
+
+Bunting smiled nervously.  "They don't look dead somehow..  They
+looks more as if they were listening,"
+he said.
+
+"That's the fault of Jack Ketch," said the man facetiously.  "It's
+his idea - that of knotting his' patient's necktie under the left
+ear!  That's what he does to each of the gentlemen to whom he has
+to act valet on just one occasion only.  It makes them lean just a
+bit to one side.  You look here - ?"
+
+Daisy and her father came a little closer, and the speaker pointed
+with his' finger to a little dent imprinted on the left side of each
+neck; running from this indentation was a curious little furrow,
+well ridged above, showing how tightly Jack Ketch's necktie had been
+drawn when its wearer was hurried through the gates of eternity.
+
+"They looks foolish-like, rather than terrified, or - or hurt," said
+Bunting wonderingly.
+
+He was extraordinarily moved and fascinated by those dumb, staring
+faces.
+
+But young Chandler exclaimed in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice,
+"Well, a man would look foolish at such a time as that, with all his
+plans brought to naught - and knowing he's only got a second to live
+ - now wouldn't he?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose he would," said Bunting slowly.
+
+Daisy had gone a little pale.  The sinister, breathless atmosphere
+of the place was beginning to tell on her.  She now began to
+understand that the shabby little objects lying there in the glass
+case close to her were each and all links in the chain of evidence
+which, in almost every case, had brought some guilty man or woman
+to the gallows.
+
+"We had a yellow gentleman here the other day," observed the guardian
+suddenly; "one of those Brahmins - so they calls themselves.  Well,
+you'd a been quite surprised to see how that heathen took on!  He
+'declared - what was the word he used? " - he turned to Chandler.
+
+"He said that each of these things, with the exception of the casts,
+mind you - queer to say, he left them out - exuded evil, that was
+the word he used!  Exuded - squeezed out it means.  He said that
+being here made him feel very bad.  And twasn't all nonsense either.
+He turned quite green under his yellow skin, and we had to shove him
+out quick.  He didn't feel better till he'd got right to the other
+end of the passage!"
+
+"There now!  Who'd ever think of that?" said Bunting.  "I should say
+that man 'ud got something on his conscience, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Well, I needn't stay now," said Joe's good-natured friend.  "You
+show your friends round, Chandler.  You knows the place nearly as
+well as I do, don't you?"
+
+He smiled at Joe's visitors, as if to say good-bye, but it seemed
+that he could not tear himself away after all.
+
+"Look here," he said to Bunting.  "In this here little case are the
+tools of Charles Peace.  I expect you've heard of him."
+
+"I should think I have!" cried Bunting eagerly.
+
+"Many gents as comes here thinks this case the most interesting of
+all.  Peace was such a wonderful man!  A great inventor they say he
+would have been, had he been put in the way of it.  Here's his
+ladder; you see it folds up quite compactly, and makes a nice little
+bundle - just like a bundle of old sticks any man might have been
+seen carrying about London in those days without attracting any
+attention.  Why, it probably helped him to look like an honest
+working man time and time again, for on being arrested he declared
+most solemnly he'd always carried that ladder openly under his arm."
+
+"The daring of that!" cried Bunting.
+
+"Yes, and when the ladder was opened out it could reach from the
+ground to the second storey of any old house.  And, oh! how clever
+he was!  Just open one section, and you see the other sections open
+automatically; so Peace could stand on the ground and force the
+thing quietly up to any window he wished to reach.  Then he'd go
+away again, having done his job, with a mere bundle of old wood
+under his arm!  My  word, he was artful!  I wonder if you've heard
+the tale of how Peace once lost a finger.  Well, he guessed the
+constables were instructed to look out for a man missing a finger;
+so what did he do?"
+
+"Put on a false finger," suggested Bunting.
+
+"No, indeed!  Peace made up his mind just to do without a hand
+altogether.  Here's his false stump: you see, it's made of wood
+ - wood and black felt?  Well, that just held his hand nicely.
+Why, we considers that one of the most ingenious contrivances in
+the whole museum."
+
+Meanwhile, Daisy had let go her hold of her father.  With Chandler
+in delighted attendance, she bad moved away to the farther end of
+the great room, and now she was bending over yet another glass case.
+"Whatever are those little bottles for?" she asked wonderingly.
+
+There were five small phials, filled with varying quantities of
+cloudy liquids.
+
+"They're full of poison, Miss Daisy, that's what they are.  There's
+enough arsenic in that little whack o' brandy to do for you and me
+ - aye, and for your father as well, I should say."
+
+"Then chemists shouldn't sell such stuff," said Daisy, smiling.
+Poison was so remote from herself, that the sight of these little
+bottles only brought a pleasant thrill.
+
+"No more they don't.  That was sneaked out of a flypaper, that was.
+Lady said she wanted a cosmetic for her complexion, but what she was
+really going for was flypapers for to do away with her husband.
+She'd got a bit tired of him, I suspect."
+
+"Perhaps he was a horrid man, and deserved to be done away with,"
+said Daisy.  The idea struck them both as so very comic that they
+began to laugh aloud in unison.
+
+"Did you ever hear what a certain Mrs. Pearce did?" asked Chandler,
+becoming suddenly serious.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Daisy, and she shuddered a little.  "That was the
+wicked, wicked woman what killed a pretty little baby and its mother.
+They've got her in Madame Tussaud's.  But Ellen, she won't let me go
+to the Chamber of Horrors.  She wouldn't let father take me there
+last time I was in London.  Cruel of her, I called it.  But somehow
+I don't feel as if I wanted to go there now, after having been here!"
+
+"Well," said Chandler slowly, "we've a case full of relics of Mrs.
+Pearce.  But the pram the bodies were found in, that's at Madame
+Tussaud's - at least so they claim, I can't say.  Now here's something
+just as curious, and not near so dreadful.  See that man's jacket
+there?!'
+
+"Yes," said Daisy falteringly.  She was beginning to feel oppressed,
+frightened.  She no longer wondered that the Indian gentleman had
+been taken queer.
+
+"A burglar shot a man dead who'd disturbed him, and by mistake he
+went and left that jacket behind him.  Our people noticed that one
+of the buttons was broken in two.  Well, that don't seem much of a
+clue, does it, Miss Daisy?  Will you believe me when I tells you
+that that other bit of button was discovered, and that it hanged
+the fellow?  And 'twas the more wonderful because all three buttons
+was different!"
+
+Daisy stared wonderingly, down at the little broken button which
+had hung a man.  "And  whatever's that!" she asked, pointing to a
+piece of dirty-looking stuff.
+
+"Well," said Chandler reluctantly, "that's rather a horrible thing
+ - that is.  That's a bit o' shirt that was buried with a woman - 
+buried in the ground, I mean - after her husband had cut her up and
+tried, to burn her.  Twas that bit o' shirt that brought him to the
+gallows."
+
+"I considers your museum's a very horrid place!" said Daisy
+pettishly, turning away.
+
+She longed to be out in the passage again, away from this brightly
+lighted, cheerful-looking, sinister room.
+
+But her father was now absorbed in the case containing various types
+of infernal machines.  "Beautiful little works of art some of them
+are," said his guide eagerly, and Bunting could not but agree.
+
+"Come along - do, father!" said Daisy quickly.  "I've seen about
+enough now.  If I was to stay in here much longer it 'ud give me
+the horrors.  I don't want to have no nightmares to-night.  It's
+dreadful to think there are so many wicked people in the world.
+Why, we might knock up against some murderer any minute without
+knowing it, mightn't we?"
+
+"Not you, Miss Daisy," said Chandler smilingly.  "I don't suppose
+you'll ever come across even a common swindler, let alone anyone
+who's committed a murder - not one in a million does that.  Why,
+even I have never had anything to do with a proper murder case!"
+
+But Bunting was in no hurry.  He was thoroughly enjoying every
+moment of the time.  Just now he was studying intently the various
+photographs which hung on the walls of the Black Museum; especially
+was he pleased to see those connected with a famous and still
+mysterious case which had taken place not long before in Scotland,
+and in which the servant of the man who died had played a
+considerable part - not in elucidating, but in obscuring, the mystery.
+
+"I suppose a good many murderers get off?" he said musingly.
+
+And Joe Chandler's friend nodded.  "I should think they did!" he
+exclaimed.  "There's no such thing as justice here in England.
+'Tis odds on the murderer every time.  'Tisn't one in ten that
+come to the end he should do - to the gallows, that is."
+
+"And what d'you think about what's going on now - I mean about
+those Avenger murders?"
+
+Bunting lowered his voice, but Daisy and Chandler were already
+moving towards the door.
+
+"I don't believe he'll ever be caught," said the other
+confidentially.  "In some ways 'tis a lot more of a job to catch a
+madman than 'tis to run down just an ordinary criminal.  And, of
+course - leastways to my thinking -  The Avenger is a madman - one
+of the cunning, quiet sort.  Have you heard about the letter?" his
+voice dropped lower.
+
+ "No," said Bunting, staring eagerly at him.  "What letter d'you
+mean?"
+
+"Well, there's a letter - it'll be in this museum some day - which
+came just before that last double event.  'Twas signed 'The Avenger,'
+in just the same printed characters as on that bit of paper he always
+leaves behind him.  Mind you, it don't follow that it actually was The
+Avenger what sent that letter here, but it looks uncommonly like it,
+and I know that the Boss  attaches quite a lot of importance to it."
+
+"And where was it posted?" asked Bunting.  "That might be a bit of a
+clue, you know."
+
+"Oh, no," said the other.  "They always goes a very long way to
+post anything - criminals do.  It stands to reason they would.  But
+this particular one was put in the Edgware Road Post Office."
+
+"What?  Close to us?" said Bunting.  "Goodness! dreadful!"
+
+"Any of us might knock up against him any minute. I don't suppose 
+The Avenger's in any way peculiar-looking -in fact we know he ain't."
+
+"Then you think that woman as says she saw him did see him?" asked 
+Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+Our description was made up from what she said," answered the other
+cautiously.  "But, there, you can't tell!  In a case like that it's
+groping - groping in the dark all the time - and it's just a lucky
+accident if it comes out right in the end.  Of course, it's upsetting
+us all very much here.  You can't wonder at that!"
+
+No, indeed," said Bunting quickly.  "I give you my word, I've hardly
+thought of anything else for the last month."
+
+Daisy had disappeared, and when her father joined her in the passage
+she was listening, with downcast eyes, to what Joe Chandler was
+saying.
+
+He was telling her about his real home, of the place where his mother
+lived, at Richmond - that it was a nice little house, close to the
+park.  He was asking her whether she could manage to come out there
+one afternoon, explaining that his mother would give them tea, and
+how nice it would be.
+
+"I don't see why Ellen shouldn't let me," the girl said rebelliously.
+"But she's that old-fashioned and pernickety is Ellen - a regular
+old maid!  And, you see, Mr. Chandler, when I'm staying with them,
+father don't like for me to do anything that Ellen don't approve of.
+But she's got quite fond of you, so perhaps if you ask her - ?"
+She looked at him, and he nodded sagely.
+
+"Don't you be afraid," he said confidently.  "I'll get round Mrs.
+Bunting.  But, Miss Daisy" - he grew very red - "I'd just like to
+ask you a question - no offence meant - "
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy a little breathlessly.  "There's father close to
+us, Mr. Chandler.  Tell me quick; what is it?"
+
+"Well, I take it, by what you said just now, that you've never
+walked out with any young fellow?"
+
+Daisy hesitated a moment; then a very pretty dimple came into her
+cheek.  "No," she said sadly.  "No, Mr. Chandler, that I have not."
+In a burst of candour she added, "You see, I never had the chance!"
+
+And Joe Chandler smiled, well pleased.  
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+By what she regarded as a fortunate chance, Mrs. Bunting found
+herself for close on an hour quite alone in the house during her
+husband's and Daisy's jaunt with young Chandler.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not o4ften go out in the daytime, but on this
+particular afternoon, after he had finished his tea, when dusk was
+falling, he suddenly observed that he wanted a new suit of clothes,
+and his landlady eagerly acquiesced in his going out to purchase it.
+
+As soon as he had left the house, she went quickly up to the
+drawing-room floor.  Now had come her opportunity of giving the two
+rooms a good dusting; but Mrs. Bunting knew well, deep in her heart,
+that it was not so much the dusting of Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room she
+wanted to do - as to engage in a vague search for - she hardly knew
+for what.
+
+During the years she had been in service Mrs. Bunting had always
+had a deep, wordless contempt for those of her fellow-servants who
+read their employers' private letters, and who furtively peeped
+into desks and cupboards in the hope, more vague than positive, of
+discovering family skeletons.
+
+But now, with regard to Mr. Sleuth, she was ready, aye, eager, to
+do herself what she had once so scorned others for doing.
+
+Beginning with the bedroom, she started on a methodical search.  He
+was a very tidy gentleman was the lodger, and his few things,
+under-garments, and so on, were in apple-pie order.  She had early
+undertaken, much to his satisfaction, to do the very little bit of
+washing he required done, with her own and Bunting's.  Luckily he
+wore soft shirts.
+
+At one time Mrs. Bunting had always had a woman in to help her with
+this tiresome weekly job, but lately she had grown quite clever at
+it herself.  The only things she had to send out were Bunting's
+shirts.  Everything else she managed to do herself.
+
+>From the chest of drawers she now turned her attention to the
+dressing-table.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not take his money with him when he went out, he
+generally left it in one of the drawers below the old-fashioned
+looking-glass.  And now, in a perfunctory way, his landlady pulled
+out the little drawer, but she did not touch what was lying there;
+she only glanced at the heap of sovereigus and a few bits of silver.
+The lodger had taken just enough money with him to buy the clothes
+he required.  He had consulted her as to how much they would cost,
+making no secret of why he was going out, and the fact had vaguely
+comforted Mrs. Bunting.
+
+Now she lifted the toilet-cover, and even rolled up the carpet a
+little way, but no, there was nothing there, not so much as a scrap
+of paper.  And at last, when more or less giving up the search, as
+she came and went between the two rooms, leaving the connecting door
+wide open, her mind became full of uneasy speculation and wonder as
+to the lodger's past life.
+
+Odd Mr. Sleuth must surely always have been, but odd in a sensible
+sort of way, having on the whole the same moral ideals of conduct
+as have other people of his class.  He was queer about the drink-one
+might say almost crazy on the subject - but there, as to that, he
+wasn't the only one!  She.  Ellen Bunting, had once lived with a
+lady who was just like that, who was quite crazed, that is, on the
+question of drink and drunkards -  She looked round the neat
+drawing-room with vague dissatisfaction.  There was only one place
+where anything could be kept concealed - that place was the
+substantial if small mahogany chiffonnier.  And then an idea
+suddenly came to Mrs. Bunting, one she had never thought of before.
+
+After listening intently for a moment, lest something should suddenly
+bring Mr. Sleuth home earlier than she expected, she went to the
+corner where the chiffonnier stood, and, exerting the whole of her
+not very great physical strength, she tipped forward the heavy piece
+of furniture.
+
+As she did so, she heard a queer rumbling sound, - something rolling
+about on the second shelf, something which had not been there before
+Mr. Sleuth's arrival.  Slowly, laboriously, she tipped the chiffonnier
+backwards and forwards - once, twice, thrice - satisfied, yet strangely
+troubled in her mind, for she now felt sure that the bag of which the
+disappearance had so surprised her was there, safely locked away by
+its owner.
+
+Suddenly a very uncomfortable thought came to Mrs. Buntlng's mind.
+She hoped Mr. Sleuth would not notice that his bag had shifted inside
+the cupboard.  A moment later, with sharp dismay, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady realised that the fact that she had moved the chiffonnier
+must become known to her lodger, for a thin trickle of some
+dark-coloured liquid was oozing out though the bottom of the little
+cupboard door.
+
+She stooped down and touched the stuff.  It showed red, bright red,
+on her finger.
+
+Mrs. Bunting grew chalky white, then recovered herself quickly.  In
+fact the colour rushed into her face, and she grew hot all over.
+
+It was only a bottle of red ink she had upset - that was all!  How
+could she have thought it was anything else?
+
+It was the more silly of her - so she told herself in scornful
+condemnation - because she knew that the lodger used red ink.
+Certain pages of Cruden's Concordance were covered with notes written
+in Mr. Sleuth's peculiar upright handwriting.  In fact in some places
+you couldn't see the margin, so closely covered was it with remarks
+and notes of interrogation.
+
+Mr Sleuth had foolishly placed his bottle of red ink in the
+chiffonnier - that was what her poor, foolish gentleman had done;
+and it was owing to her inquisitiveness, her restless wish to know
+things she would be none the better, none the happier, for knowing,
+that this accident had taken place.
+
+She mopped up with her duster the few drops of ink which had fallen
+on the green carpet and then, still feeling, as she angrily told
+herself, foolishly upset she went once more into the back room.
+
+It was curious that Mr. Sleuth possessed no notepaper.  She would
+have expected him to have made that one of his first purchases - the
+more so that paper is so very cheap, especially that rather
+dirty-looking grey Silurian paper.  Mrs. Buntlng had once lived with
+a lady who always used two kinds of notepaper, white for her friends
+and equals, grey for those whom she called "common people."  She,
+Ellen Green, as she then was, had always resented the fact.  Strange
+she should remember it now, stranger in a way because that employer
+of her's had not been a real lady, and Mr. Sleuth, whatever his
+peculiarities, was, in every sense of the word, a real gentleman.
+Somehow Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he had bought any notepaper
+it would have been white - white and probably cream-laid - not
+grey and cheap.
+
+Again she opened the drawer of the old-fashioned wardrobe and lifted
+up the few pieces of underclothing Mr. Sleuth now possessed.
+
+But there was nothing there - nothing, that is, hidden away.  When
+one came to think of it there seemed something strange in the notion
+of leaving all one's money where anyone could take it, and in locking
+up such a valueless thing as a cheap sham leather bag, to say nothing
+of a bottle of ink.
+
+Mrs. Bunting once more opened out each of the tiny drawers below the 
+looking-glass, each delicately fashioned of fine old mahogany.  Mr.
+Sleuth kept his money in the centre drawer.
+
+The glass had only cost seven-and-sixpence, and, after the auction
+a dealer had come and offered her first fifteen shillings, and then
+a guinea for it.  Not long ago, in Baker Street, she had seen a
+looking-glass which was the very spit of this one, labeled
+"Chippendale, Antique. �215s0d."
+
+There lay Mr. Sleuth's money - the sovereigns, as the landlady well
+knew, would each and all gradually pass into her's and Bunting's
+possession, honestly earned by them no doubt but unattainable - in 
+act unearnable - excepting in connection with the present owner of
+those dully shining gold sovereigns.
+
+At last she went downstairs to await Mr. Sleuth's return.
+
+When she heard the key turn in the door, she came out into the
+passage.
+
+"I'm sorry to say I've had an accident, sir," she said a little
+breathlessly.  "Taking advantage of your being out I went up to
+dust the drawing-room, and while I was trying to get behind the
+chiffonnier it tilted.  I'm afraid, sir, that a bottle of ink that
+was inside may have got broken, for just a few drops oozed out,
+sir.  But I hope there's no harm done.  I wiped it up as well as
+I could, seeing that the doors of the chiffonnier are locked."
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her with a wild, almost a terrified glance.
+But Mrs. Bunting stood her ground.  She felt far less afraid now
+than she had felt before he came in.  Then she had been so
+frightened that she had nearly gone out of the house, on to the
+pavement, for company.
+
+"Of course I had no idea, sir, that you kept any ink in there."
+
+She spoke as if she were on the defensive, and the lodger's brow
+cleared.
+
+"I was aware you used ink, sir," Mrs. Bunting went on, "for I have
+seen you marking that book of yours - I mean the book you read
+together with the Bible.  Would you like me to go out and get you
+another bottle, sir?"
+
+"No," said Mr. Sleuth.  "No, I thank you.  I will at once proceed
+upstairs and see what damage has been done.  When I require you I
+shall ring."
+
+He shuffled past her, and five minutes later the drawing-room bell
+did ring.
+
+At once, from the door, Mrs. Bunting saw that the chiffonnier was
+wide open, and that the shelves were empty save for the bottle of
+red ink which had turned over and now lay in a red pool of its own
+making on the
+lower shelf.
+
+"I'm afraid it will have stained the wood, Mrs. Bunting.  Perhaps I
+was ill-advised to keep my ink in there."
+
+"Oh, no, sir!  That doesn't matter at all.  Only a drop or two fell
+out on to the carpet, and they don't show, as you see, sir, for it's
+a dark corner.  Shall I take the bottle away?  I may as well."
+
+Mr. Sleuth hesitated.  "No," he said, after a long pause, "I think
+not, Mrs. Bunting.  For the very little I require it the ink
+remaining in the bottle will do quite well, especially if I add a
+little water, or better still, a little tea, to what already
+remains in the bottle.  I only require it to mark up passages which
+happen to be of peculiar interest in my Concordance - a work, Mrs.
+Bunting, which I should have taken great pleasure in compiling
+myself had not this - ah - this gentleman called Cruden, been before. 
+
+******
+
+Not only Bunting, but Daisy also, thought Ellen far pleasanter in
+her manner than usual that evening.  She listened to all they had
+to say about their interesting visit to the Black Museum, and did
+not snub either of them - no, not even when Bunting told of the
+dreadful, haunting, silly-looking death-masks taken from the hanged.
+
+But a few minutes after that, when her husband suddenly asked her
+a question, Mrs. Bunting answered at random.  It was clear she had
+not heard the last few words he had been saying.
+
+"A penny for your thoughts!" he said jocularly.  But she shook her
+head.
+
+Daisy slipped out of the room, and, five minutes later, came back
+dressed up in a blue-and-white check silk gown.
+
+"My!" said her father.  "You do look fine, Daisy.  I've never seen
+you wearing that before."
+
+"And a rare figure of fun she looks in it!" observed Mrs. Bunting
+sarcastically.  And then, "I suppose this dressing up means that
+you're expecting someone.  I should have thought both of you must
+have seen enough of young Chandler for one day.  I wonder when that
+young chap does his work - that I do!  He never seems too busy to
+come and waste an hour or two here."
+
+But that was the only nasty thing Ellen said all that evening.  And
+even Daisy noticed that her stepmother seemed dazed and unlike
+herself.  She went about her cooking and the various little things
+she had to do even more silently than was her wont.
+
+Yet under that still, almost sullen, manner, how fierce was the
+storm of dread, of sombre, anguish, and, yes, of sick suspense,
+which shook her soul, and which so far affected her poor, ailing
+body that often she felt as if she could not force herself to
+accomplish  her simple round of daily work.
+
+After they had finished supper Bunting went out and bought a penny
+evening paper, but as he came in he announced, with a rather' rueful
+smile, that he had read so much of that nasty little print this
+last week or two that his eyes hurt him.
+
+"Let me read aloud a bit to you, father," said Daisy eagerly, and he
+handed her the paper.
+
+Scarcely had Daisy opened her lips when a loud ring and a knock
+echoed through the house.
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+It was only Joe.  Somehow, even Bunting called him "Joe" now, and no
+longer "Chandler," as he had mostly used to do.
+
+Mrs.  Bunting had opened the front door only a very little way.
+She wasn't going to have any strangers pushing in past her.
+
+To her sharpened, suffering senses her house had become a citadel
+which must be defended; aye, even if the besiegers were a mighty
+horde with right on their side.  And she was always expecting that
+first single spy who would herald the battalion against whom her
+only weapon would be her woman's wit and cunning.
+
+But when she saw who stood there smiling at her, the muscles of her
+face relaxed, and it lost the tense, anxious, almost agonised look
+it assumed the moment she turned her back on her husband and
+stepdaughter.
+
+"Why, Joe," she whispered, for she had left the door open behind
+her, and Daisy had already begun to read aloud, as her father had
+bidden her.  "Come in, do!  It's fairly cold to-night."
+
+A glance at his face had shown her that there was no fresh news.
+
+Joe Chandler walked in, past her, into the little hall.  Cold?
+Well, he didn't feel cold, for he had walked quickly to be the
+sooner where he was now.
+
+Nine days had gone by since that last terrible occurrence, the
+double murder which had been committed early in the morning of
+the day Daisy had arrived in London.  And though the thousands of
+men belonging to the Metropolitan Police - to say nothing of the
+smaller, more alert body of detectives attached to the Force -
+were keenly on the alert, not one but had begun to feel that
+there was nothing to be alert about.  Familiarity, even with
+horror, breeds contempt.
+
+But with the public it was far otherwise.  Each day something
+happened to revive and keep alive the mingled horror and interest
+this strange, enigmatic series of crimes had evoked.  Even the
+more sober organs of the Press went on attacking, with gathering
+severity and indignation, the Commissioner of Police; and at the
+huge demonstration held in Victoria Park two days before violent
+speeches had also been made against the Home Secretary.
+
+But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that.  The little
+house in the Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isle
+of dreams, to which his thoughts were ever turning when he had a
+moment to spare from what had grown to be a wearisome, because an
+unsatisfactory, job.  He secretly agreed with one of his pals who
+had exclaimed, and that within twenty-four hours of the last double
+crime, "Why, 'twould be easier to find a needle in a rick o' hay
+than this  -  bloke!"
+
+And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now - after
+nine long, empty days had gone by?
+
+Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat.
+Then he put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs.
+Bunting to wait a moment.  From where he stood in the hall the
+father and daughter made a pleasant little picture of contented
+domesticity.  Joe Chandler's honest heart swelled at the sight.
+
+Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which her
+stepmother and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the left
+side of the fire, while Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortable
+arm-chair, was listening, his hand to his ear, in an attitude - as
+it was the first time she had caught him doing it, the fact brought
+a pang to Mrs. Bunting - which showed that age was beginning to
+creep over the listener.
+
+One of Daisy's duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of
+reading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her
+accomplishment.
+
+Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy bad been asking,
+"Shall I read this, father?"  And Bunting had answered quickly,
+"Aye, do, my dear."
+
+He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the
+door, he had only just nodded his head.  The young man was becoming
+so frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.
+
+Daisy read out:'
+
+"The Avenger: A - "
+
+And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly.
+Bravely, however, she went on.  "A the-o-ry."
+
+"Go in - do!" whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor.  "Why should
+we stay out here in the cold?  It's ridiculous."
+
+"I don't want to interrupt Miss Daisy," whispered Chandler back,
+rather hoarsely.
+
+"Well, you'll hear it all the better in the room.  Don't think
+she'll stop because of you,  bless you!  There's nothing shy about
+our Daisy!"
+
+The young man resented the tart, short tone.  "Poor little girl!"
+he said to himself tenderly.  "That's what it is having a stepmother,
+instead of a proper mother."  But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and then
+he was pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a bright
+blush came over her pretty face.
+
+"Joe begs you won't stop yet awhile.  Go on with your reading,"
+commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly.  "Now, Joe, you can go and sit over
+there, close to Daisy, and then you won't miss a word."
+
+There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticed
+that, but he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he went
+and sat on a chair just behind Daisy.  From there he could note with
+reverent delight the charming way her fair hair grew upwards from
+the nape of her slender neck.
+
+"The AVENGER: A THE-O-RY"
+
+began Daisy again, clearing her throat.  
+
+"DEAR Sir - I have a suggestion to put forward for which I think
+there is a great deal to be said.  It seems to me very probable
+that The Avenger - to give him the name by which he apparently 
+wishes to be known - comprises in his own person the peculiarities
+of Jekyll and Hyde, Mr. Louis Stevenson's now famous hero.
+
+"The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet,
+pleasant-looking gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End of
+London.  He has, however, a tragedy in his past life.  He is the
+husband of a dipsomaniac wife.  She is, of course, under care, and
+is never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe with his
+widowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister.  They notice that he
+has become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life,
+occupying himself each day with some harmless hobby.  On foggy
+nights, once the quiet household is plunged in sleep, he creeps out
+of the house, maybe between one and two o'clock, and swiftly makes
+his way straight to what has become The Avenger's murder area.
+Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her with Judas-like
+gentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly home
+again.  After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, once
+more the quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother,
+esteemed and even beloved by a large circle of friends and
+acquaintances.  Meantime, the police are searching about the scene
+of the tragedy for what they regard as the usual type of criminal
+lunatic.
+
+"I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess that
+I am amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries to
+the part of London where these murders have been actually committed.
+I am quite sure from all that has come out - and we must remember
+that full information is never given to the newspapers - The Avenger
+should be sought for in the West and not in the East End of London
+ - Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very truly - "
+
+Again Daisy hesitated, and then with an effort she brought out the
+word "Gab-o-ri-you," said she.
+
+"What a funny name!" said Bunting wonderingly.
+
+And then Joe broke in: "That's the name of a French chap what wrote
+detective stories," he said.  "Pretty good, some of them are, too!"
+
+"Then this Gaboriyou has come over to study these Avenger murders,
+I take it?" said Bunting.
+
+"Oh, no," Joe spoke with confidence.  "Whoever's written that silly
+letter just signed that name for fun."
+
+"It is a silly letter," Mrs. Bunting had broken in resentfully.  "I
+wonder a respectable paper prints such rubbish."
+
+"Fancy if The Avenger did turn out to be a gentleman cried Daisy, in
+an  awe-struck voice.  "There'd be a how-to-do!"
+
+"There may be something in the notion," said her father thoughtfully.
+"After all, the monster must be somewhere.  This very minute he must
+be somewhere a-hiding of himself."
+
+"Of course he's somewhere," said Mrs. Bunting scornfully.
+
+She had just heard Mr. Sleuth moving overhead.  'Twould soon be time
+for the lodger's supper.
+
+She hurried on: "But what I do say is that - that - he has nothing
+to do with the West End.  Why, they say it's a sailor from the Docks
+ - that's a good bit more likely, I take it.  But there, I'm fair
+sick of the whole subject!  We talk of nothing else in this house.
+The Avenger this -  The Avenger that - "
+
+"I expect Joe has something to tell us new to-night," said Bunting
+cheerfully.  "Well, Joe, is there anything new?"
+
+"I say, father, just listen to this!" Daisy broke in excitedly.
+She read out:
+
+
+"BLOODHOUNDS TO BE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERED"
+
+
+"Bloodhounds?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, and there was terror in her
+tone.  "Why bloodhounds?  That do seem to me a most horrible idea!"
+
+Bunting looked across at her, mildly astonished.  "Why, 'twould be
+a very good idea, if 'twas possible to have bloodhounds in a town.
+But, there, how can that be done in London, full of butchers' shops,
+to say nothing of slaughter-yards and other places o' that sort?"
+
+But Daisy went on, and to her stepmother's shrinking ear there
+seemed a horrible thrill of delight; of gloating pleasure, in her
+fresh young voice.   
+
+"Hark to this," she said:
+
+"A man who had committed a murder in a lonely wood near Blackburn
+was traced by the help of a bloodhound, and thanks to the sagacious
+instincts of the animal, the miscreant was finally convicted and
+hanged."
+
+"La, now I Who'd ever have thought of such a thing?"  Bunting
+exclaimed, in admiration.  "The newspapers do have some useful
+hints in sometimes, Joe."
+
+But young Chandler shook his head.  "Bloodhounds ain't no use," he
+said; "no use at all!  If the Yard was to listen to all the
+suggestions that the last few days have brought in - well, all I
+can say is our work would be cut out for us - not but what it's
+cut out for us now, if it comes to that!"  He sighed ruefully.  He
+was beginning to feel very tired; if only he could stay in this
+pleasant, cosy room listening to Daisy Bunting reading on and on
+for ever, instead of having to go out, as he would presently have
+to do, into the cold and foggy night!
+
+Joe Chandler was fast becoming very sick of his new job.  There
+was a lot of unpleasantness attached to the business, too.  Why,
+even in the house where he lived, and in the little cook-shop where
+he habitually took his meals, the people round him had taken to
+taunt him with the remissness of the police.  More than that one of
+his pals, a man he'd always looked up to, because the young fellow
+had the gift of the gab, had actually been among those who had
+spoken at the big demonstration in Victoria Park, making a violent
+speech, not only against the Commissioner of the Metropolitan
+Police, but also against the Home Secretary.
+
+But Daisy, like most people who believe themselves blessed with the
+possession of an accomplishment, had no mind to leave off reading
+just yet.
+
+"Here's another notion!" she exclaimed.  "Another letter, father!"
+
+
+"PARDON TO ACCOMPLICES.
+
+
+"DEAR Sir - During the last day or two several of the more
+Intelligent of my acquaintances have suggested that The Avenger,
+whoever he may be, must be known to a certain number of persons.
+It is impossible that the perpetrator of such deeds, however
+nomad he may be in his habits - "
+
+"Now I wonder what 'nomad' can be?" Daisy interrupted herself, and
+looked round at her little audience.
+
+"I've always declared the fellow had all his senses about him,"
+observed Bunting confidently.
+
+Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
+
+" - however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat
+where his ways are known to at least one person.  Now the person
+who knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding information
+in expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory
+after the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences.  My
+suggestion, Sir, is that the Home Secretary promise a free pardon.
+The more so that only thus can this miscreant be brought to justice.
+Unless he was caught red-handed in the act, it will be exceedingly
+difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for
+English law looks very askance at circumstantial evidence."
+
+"There's something worth listening to in that letter," said Joe,
+leaning forward.
+
+Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as
+she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he
+was saying.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
+
+"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in
+a railway carriage?  He took refuge with someone - a woman his
+mother had known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time.
+But at last she gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!"
+
+"I don't think I'd like to give anybody up for a reward," said
+Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
+
+"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently.  "You'd
+only be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone - everyone, that
+is, who's a good citizen.  And you'd be getting something for doing
+it, which is more than most people gets as does their duty."
+
+"A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common
+informer," went on Bunting obstinately.  "And no man 'ud care to be
+called that!  It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily.  "It's
+your job to catch those who've done anything wrong.  And a man'd be
+a fool who'd take refuge - like with you.  He'd be walking into the
+lion's mouth - " Bunting laughed.
+
+And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything I
+wouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
+
+And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No.  And if you did you needn't
+be afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"
+
+And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting,
+sitting with towed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience
+and anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.
+
+"Why, Ellen, don't you feel well?" asked Bunting quickly.
+
+"Just a spasm, a sharp stitch in my side, like," answered the poor
+woman heavily.  "It's over now.  Don't mind me."
+
+"But I don't believe - no, that I don't - that there's anybody in
+the world who knows who The Avenger is," went on Chandler quickly.
+"It stands to reason that anybody'd give him up - in their own
+interest, if not in anyone else's.  Who'd shelter such a creature?
+Why, 'twould be dangerous to have him in the house along with one!"
+
+"Then it's your idea that he's not responsible for the wicked things
+he does?" Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandler
+with eager, anxious eyes.
+
+"I'd be sorry to think he wasn't responsible enough to hang!" said
+Chandler deliberately.  "After all the trouble he's been giving us, too!"
+
+"Hanging'd be too good for that chap," said Bunting.
+
+"Not if he's not responsible," said his wife sharply.  "I never
+heard of anything so cruel - that I never did!  If the man's a
+madman, he ought to be in an asylum - that's where he ought to be."
+
+"Hark to her now!" Bunting looked at his Ellen with amusement.
+"Contrary isn't the word for her!  But there, I've noticed the last
+few days that she seemed to be taking that monster's part.  That's
+what comes of being a born total abstainer."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had got up from her chair.  "What nonsense you do talk!"
+she said angrily.  "Not but what it's a good thing if these murders
+have emptied the public-houses of women for a bit.  England's drink
+is England's shame - I'll never depart from that!  Now, Daisy, child,
+get up, do!  Put down that paper.  We've heard quite enough.  You can
+be laying the cloth while I goes down the kitchen."
+
+"Yes, you mustn't be forgetting the lodger's supper," called out
+Bunting.  "Mr. Sleuth don't always ring - " he turned to Chandler.
+"For one thing, he's often out about this time."
+
+"Not often - just now and again, when he wants to buy' something,"
+snapped out Mrs. Bunting.  "But I hadn't forgot his supper.  He
+never do want it before eight o'clock."
+
+"Let me take up the lodger's supper, Ellen," Daisy's eager voice
+broke in.  She had got up in obedience to her stepmother, and was
+now laying the cloth.
+
+"Certainly not!  I told you he only wanted me to wait on him.  You
+have your work cut out looking after things down here - that's where
+I wants you to help me."
+
+Chandler also got up.  Somehow he didn't like to be doing nothing
+while Daisy was so busy.  "Yes," he said, looking across at Mrs.
+Bunting, "I'd forgotten about your lodger.  Going on all right, eh?"
+
+"Never knew so quiet and well-behaved a gentleman," said Bunting.
+"He turned our luck, did Mr. Sleuth."
+
+His wife left the room, and after she had gone Daisy laughed.
+"You'll hardly believe it, Mr. Chandler, but I've never seen this
+wonderful lodger.  Ellen keeps him to herself, that she does!  If I
+was father I'd be jealous!"
+
+Both men laughed.  Ellen?  No, the idea was too funny.
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+"All I can say is, I think Daisy ought to go.  One can't always do
+just what one wants to do - not in this world, at any rate!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting did not seem to be addressing anyone in particular,
+though both her husband and her stepdaughter were in the room.  She
+was standing by the table, staring straight before her, and as she
+spoke she avoided looking at either Bunting or Daisy.  There was in
+her voice a tone of cross decision, of thin finality, with which
+they were both acquainted, and to which each listener knew the other
+would have to bow.
+
+There was silence for a moment, then Daisy broke out passionately,
+"I don't see why I should go if I don't want to!" she cried.
+"You'll allow I've been useful to you, Ellen?  'Tisn't even as if
+you was quite well."
+
+"I am quite well - perfectly well!" snapped out Mrs. Bunting, and
+she turned her pale, drawn face, and looked angrily at her
+stepdaughter.
+
+"'Tain't often I has a chance of being with you and father."  There
+were tears in Daisy's voice, and Bunting glanced deprecatingly at
+his wife.
+
+An invitation had come to Daisy - an invitation from her own dead
+mother's sister, who was housekeeper in a big house in Belgrave
+Square.  "The family" had gone away for the Christmas holidays, and
+Aunt Margaret - Daisy was her godchild - had begged that her niece
+might come and spend two or three days with her.
+
+But the girl had already had more than one taste of what life was
+like in the great gloomy basement of 100 Belgrave Square.  Aunt
+Margaret was one of those old-fashioned servants for whom the modern
+employer is always sighing.  While "the family" were away it was
+her joy - she regarded it as a privilege - to wash sixty-seven pieces
+of very valuable china contained in two cabinets in the drawing-room;
+she also slept in every bed by turns, to keep them all well aired.
+These were the two duties with which she intended her young niece
+to assist her, and Daisy's soul sickened at the prospect.
+
+But the matter had to be settled at once.  The letter had come an
+hour ago, containing a stamped telegraph form, and Aunt Margaret
+was not one to be trifled with.
+
+Since breakfast the three had talked of nothing else, and from the
+very first Mrs. Bunting had said that Daisy ought to go - that there
+was no doubt about it, that it did not admit of discussion.  But
+discuss it they all did, and for once Bunting stood up to his wife.
+But that, as was natural, only made his Ellen harder and more set
+on her own view.
+
+"What the child says is true," he observed.  "It isn't as if you
+was quite well.  You've been took bad twice in the last few days
+ - you can't deny of it, Ellen.  Why shouldn't I just take a bus
+and go over and see Margaret?  I'd tell her just how it is.  She'd
+understand, bless you!"
+
+"I won't have you doing nothing of the sort!" cried Mrs. Bunting,
+speaking almost as passionately as her stepdaughter had done.
+"Haven't I a right to be ill, haven't I a right to be took bad,
+aye, and to feel all right again - same as other people?"
+
+Daisy turned round and clasped her hands.  "Oh,
+
+Ellen!" she cried; "do say that you can't spare me!  I don't want
+to go across to that horrid old dungeon of a place."
+
+"Do as you like," said Mrs. Bunting sullenly.  "I'm fair tired of
+you both!  There'll come a day, Daisy, when you'll know, like me,
+that money is the main thing that matters in this world; and when
+your Aunt Margaret's left her savings to somebody else just because
+you wouldn't spend a few days with her this Christmas, then you'll
+know what it's like to go without - you'll know what a fool you
+were, and that nothing can't alter it any more!"
+
+And then, with victory actually in her grasp, poor Daisy saw it
+snatched from her.
+
+"Ellen is right," Bunting said heavily.  "Money does matter - a
+terrible deal-though I never thought to hear Ellen say 'twas the
+only thing that mattered.  But 'twould be foolish - very, very
+foolish, my girl, to offend your Aunt Margaret.  It'll only be
+two days after all - two days isn't a very long time."
+
+But Daisy did not hear her father's last words.  She had already
+rushed from the room, and gone down to the kitchen to hide her
+childish tears of disappointment - the childish tears which came
+because she was beginning to be a woman, with a woman's natural
+instinct for building her own human nest.
+
+Aunt Margaret was not one to tolerate the comings of any strange
+young man, and she had a peculiar dislike to the police.
+
+"Who'd ever have thought she'd have minded as much as that!"
+Bunting looked across at Ellen deprecatingly; already his heart
+was misgiving him.
+
+"It's plain enough why she's become so fond of us all of a sudden,"
+said Mrs. Bunting sarcastically.  And as her husband stared at her
+uncomprehendingly, she added, in a tantalising tone, "as plain as
+the nose on your face, my man."
+
+"What d'you mean?" he said.  "I daresay I'm a bit slow, Ellen, but
+I really don't know what you'd be at?"
+
+"Don't you remember telling me before Daisy came here that Joe
+Chandler had become sweet on her last summer?  I thought it only
+foolishness then, but I've come round to your view - that's all."
+
+Bunting nodded his head slowly.  Yes, Joe had got into the way of
+coming very often, and there had been the expedition to that gruesome
+Scotland Yard museum, but somehow he, Bunting, had been so interested
+in the Avenger murders that he hadn't thought of Joe in any other
+connection - not this time, at any rate.
+
+"And do you think Daisy likes him?"  There was an unwonted tone of
+excitement, of tenderness, in Bunting's voice.
+
+His wife looked over at him; and a thin smile, not an unkindly
+smile by any means, lit up her pale face.  "I've never been one
+to prophesy," she answered deliberately.  "But this I don't mind
+telling you, Bunting - Daisy'll have plenty o' time to get tired
+of Joe Chandler before they two are dead.  Mark my words!"
+
+"Well, she might do worse," said Bunting ruminatingly.  "He's as
+steady as God makes them, and he's already earning thirty-two
+shillings a week.  But I wonder how Old Aunt'd like the notion?
+I don't see her parting with Daisy before she must."
+
+"I wouldn't let no old aunt interfere with me about such a thing
+as that!" cried Mrs. Bunting.  "No, not for millions of gold!"
+And Bunting looked at her in silent wonder.  Ellen was singing a
+very different tune now to what she'd sung a few minutes ago, when
+she was so keen about the girl going to Belgrave Square.
+
+"If she still seems upset while she's having her dinner," said his
+wife suddenly, "well, you just wait till I've gone out for something,
+and then you just say to her, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'
+ - just that, and nothing more!  She'll take it from you.  And I
+shouldn't be surprised if it comforted her quite a lot."
+
+"For the matter of that, there's no reason why Joe Chandler shouldn't
+go over and see her there," said Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+"Oh, yes, there is," said Mrs. Bunting, smiling shrewdly.  Plenty of
+reason.  Daisy'll be a very foolish girl if she allows her aunt to
+know any of her secrets.  I've only seen that woman once, hut I know
+exactly the sort Margaret is.  She's just waiting for Old Aunt to
+drop off and then she'll want to have Daisy herself - to wait on
+her, like.  She'd turn quite nasty if she thought there was a young
+fellow what stood in her way."
+
+She glanced at the dock, the pretty little eight-day clock which
+had been a wedding present from a kind friend of her last mistress.
+It had mysteriously disappeared during their time of trouble, and
+had as mysteriously reappeared three or four days after Mr. Sleuth's
+arrival.
+
+"I've time to go out with that telegram," she said briskly - somehow
+she felt better, different to what she had done the last few days - 
+"and then it'll be done.  It's no good having more words about it,
+and I expect we should have plenty more words if I wait till the
+child comes upstairs again."
+
+She did not speak unkindly, and Bunting looked at her rather
+wonderingly.  Ellen very seldom spoke of Daisy as "the child "
+ - in fact, he could only remember her having done so once before, 
+and that was a long time ago.  They had been talking over their 
+future life together, and she had said, very solemnly, "Bunting, 
+I promise I will do my duty - as much as lies in my power, that 
+is - by the child."
+
+But Ellen had not had much opportunity of doing her duty by Daisy.
+As not infrequently happens with the duties that we are willing to
+do, that particular duty had been taken over by someone else who
+had no mind to let it go.
+
+"What shall I do if Mr. Sleuth rings?" asked Bunting, rather
+nervously.  It was the first time since the lodger had come to them
+that Ellen had offered to go out in the morning.
+
+She hesitated.  In her anxiety to have the matter of Daisy settled,
+she had forgotten Mr. Sleuth.  Strange that she should have done so
+- strange, and, to herself, very comfortable and pleasant.
+
+"Oh, well, you can just go up and knock at the door and say I'll be
+back in a few minutes - that I had to go out with a message.  He's
+quite a reasonable gentleman."  She went into the back room to put
+on her bonnet and thick jacket for it was very cold - getting colder
+every minute.
+
+As she stood, buttoning her gloves - she wouldn't have gone out
+untidy for the world - Bunting suddenly came across to her.  "Give
+us a kiss, old girl," he said.  And his wife turned up her face.
+
+"One 'ud think it was catching!" she said, but there was a lilt in
+her voice.
+
+"So it is," Bunting briefly answered.  "Didn't that old cook get
+married just after us?  She'd never 'a thought of it if it hadn't
+been for you!"
+
+But once she was out, walking along the damp, uneven pavement, Mr.
+Sleuth revenged himself for his landlady's temporary forgetfulness.
+
+During the last two days the lodger had been queer, odder than usual,
+unlike himself, or, rather, very much as he had been some ten days
+ago, just before that double murder had taken place.
+
+The night before, while Daisy was telling all about the dreadful
+place to which Joe Chandler had taken her and her father, Mrs.
+Bunting had heard Mr. Sleuth moving about overhead, restlessly
+walking up and down his sitting-room.  And later, when she took up
+his supper, she had listened a moment outside the door, while he
+read aloud some of the texts his soul delighted in - terrible texts
+telling of the grim joys attendant on revenge.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was so absorbed in her thoughts, so possessed with the
+curious personality of her lodger, that she did not look where she
+was going, and suddenly a young woman bumped up against her.
+
+She started violently and looked round, dazed, as the young person
+muttered a word of apology; - then she again fell into deep thought.
+
+It was a good thing Daisy was going away for a few days; it made the
+problem of Mr. Sleuth and his queer ways less disturbing.  She,
+Ellen, was sorry she had spoken so sharp-like to the girl, but after
+all it wasn't wonderful that she had been snappy.  This last night
+she had hardly slept at all.  Instead, she had lain awake listening
+ - and there is nothing so tiring as to lie awake listening for a
+sound that never comes.
+
+The house had remained so still you could have heard a pin drop.  Mr.
+Sleuth, lying snug in his nice warm bed upstairs, had not stirred.
+Had he stirred his landlady was bound to have heard him, for his bed
+was, as we know, just above hers.  No, during those long hours of
+darkness Daisy's light, regular breathing was all that had fallen on
+Mrs. Bunting's ears.
+
+And then her mind switched off Mr. Sleuth.  She made a determined
+effort to expel him, to toss him, as it were, out of her thoughts.
+
+It seemed strange that The Avenger had stayed his hand, for, as Joe
+had said only last evening, it was full time that he should again
+turn that awful, mysterious searchlight of his on himself.  Mrs.
+Bunting always visioned The Avenger as a black shadow in the centre
+a bright blinding light - but the shadow had no form or definite
+substance.  Sometimes he looked like one thing, sometimes like
+another. . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting had now come to the corner which led up the street
+where there was a Post Office.  But instead of turning sharp to the
+left she stopped short for a minute.
+
+There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke
+and even self-loathing.  It was dreadful that she, of all women,
+should have longed to hear that another murder had been committed
+last night!
+
+Yet such was the shameful fact.  She had listened all through
+breakfast hoping to hear the dread news being shouted outside; yes,
+and more or less during the long discussion which had followed on
+the receipt of Margaret's letter she had been hoping - hoping
+against hope - that those dreadful triumphant shouts of the
+newspaper-sellers still might come echoing down the Marylebone Road.
+And yet hypocrite that she was, she had reproved Bunting when he
+had expressed, not disappointment exactly - but, well, surprise,
+that nothing had happened last night.
+
+Now her mind switched off to Joe Chandler.  Strange to think how
+afraid she had been of that young man!  She was no longer afraid of
+him, or hardly at all.  He was dotty - that's what was the matter
+with him, dotty with love for rosy-checked, blue-eyed little Daisy.
+Anything might now go on, right under Joe Chandler's very nose - but,
+bless you, he'd never see it!  Last summer, when this affair, this
+nonsense of young Chandler and Daisy bad begun, she had had very
+little patience with it all.  In fact, the memory of the way Joe
+had gone on then, the tiresome way he would be always dropping in,
+had been one reason (though not the most important reason of all)
+why she had felt so terribly put about at the idea of the girl
+coming again.  But now?  Well, now she had become quite tolerant,
+quite kindly - at any rate as far as Joe Chandler was concerned.
+
+She wondered why.
+
+Still, 'twouldn't do Joe a bit of harm not to see the girl for a
+couple of days.  In fact 'twould be a very good thing, for then he'd
+think of Daisy - think of her to the exclusion of all else.  Absence
+does make the heart grow fonder - at first, at any rate.  Mrs.
+Bunting was well aware of that.  During the long course of hers
+and Bunting's mild courting, they'd been separated for about three
+months, and it was that three months which had made up her mind for
+her.  She had got so used to Bunting that she couldn't do without
+him, and she had felt - oddest fact of all - acutely, miserably
+jealous.  But she hadn't let him know that - no fear!
+
+Of course, Joe mustn't neglect his job - that would never do, But
+what a good thing it was, after all, that he wasn't like some of
+those detective chaps that are written about in stories - the sort
+of chaps that know everything, see everything, guess everything
+ - even where there isn't anything to see, or know, or guess!
+
+Why, to take only one little fact - Joe Chandler had never shown
+the slightest curiosity about their lodger. . ..
+
+Mrs. Bunting pulled herself together with a start, and hurried
+quickly on.  Bunting would begin to wonder what had happened to her.
+
+She went into the Post Office and handed the form to the young woman
+without a word.  Margaret, a sensible woman, who was accustomed to
+manage other people's affairs, had even written out the words: "Will
+be with you to tea. - DAISY."
+
+It was a comfort to have the thing settled once for all.  If anything
+horrible was going to happen in the next two or three days - it was
+just as well Daisy shouldn't be at home.  Not that there was any real
+danger that anything would happen, - Mrs. Bunting felt sure of that.
+
+By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally
+counting up the number of murders The Avenger had committed.  Nine,
+or was it ten?  Surely by now The Avenger must be avenged?  Surely by
+now, if - as that writer in the newspaper had suggested - he was a
+quiet, blameless gentleman living in the West End, whatever vengeance
+he had to wreak, must be satisfied?
+
+She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn't do for the lodger to ring
+before she had got back.  Bunting would never know how to manage Mr.
+Sleuth, especially if Mr. Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
+
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting put the key into the front door lock and passed into
+the house.  Then her heart stood still with fear and terror.  There
+came the sound of voices - of voices she thought she did not know - 
+in the sitting-room.
+
+She opened the door, and' then drew a long breath.  It was only Joe
+Chandler - Joe, Daisy, and Bunting, talking together.  They stopped
+rather guiltily as she came in, but not before she had heard
+Chandler utter the words: "That don't mean nothing!  I'll just run
+out and send another saying you won't come, Miss Daisy."
+
+And then the strangest smile came over Mrs. Bunting's face.  There
+had fallen on her ear the still distant, but unmistakable, shouts
+which betokened that something had happened last night - something
+which made it worth while for the newspaper-sellers to come crying
+down the Maryleb6ne Road.
+
+"Well?" she said a little breathlessly.  "Well, Joe?  I suppose
+you've brought us news?  I suppose there's been another?"
+
+He looked at her, surprised.  "No, that there hasn't, Mrs. Bunting
+ - not as far as I know, that is.  Oh, you're thinking of those
+newspaper chaps?  They've got to cry out something," he grinned.
+"You wouldn't 'a thought folk was so bloodthirsty.  They're just
+shouting out that there's been an arrest; but we don't take no
+stock of that.  It's a Scotchman what gave himself up last night
+at Dorking.  He'd been drinking, and was apitying of himself.
+Why, since this business began, there's been about twenty arrests,
+but they've all come to nothing."
+
+"Why, Ellen, you looks quite sad, quite disappointed," said Bunting
+jokingly.  "Come to think of it, it's high time The Avenger was at
+work again."  He laughed as he made his grim joke.  Then turned to
+young Chandler:  "Well, you'll be glad when its all over, my lad."
+
+"Glad in a way," said Chandler unwillingly.  "But one 'ud have liked
+to have caught him.  One doesn't like to know such a creature's at
+large, now, does one?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting had taken off her bonnet and jacket.  "I must just go
+and see about Mr. Sleuth's breakfast," she said in a weary,
+dispirited voice, and left them there.
+
+She felt disappointed, and very, very depressed.  As to the plot
+which had been hatching when she came in, that had no chance of
+success; Bunting would never dare let Daisy send out another
+telegram contradicting the first.  Besides, Daisy's stepmother
+shrewdly suspected that by now the girl herself wouldn't care to
+do such a thing.  Daisy had plenty of sense tucked away somewhere
+in her pretty little head.  If it ever became her fate to live as
+a married woman in London, it would be best to stay on the right
+side of Aunt Margaret.
+
+And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother's heart became
+very soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready.  In fact,
+there was nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth's two eggs.  Feeling
+suddenly more cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took
+the tray upstairs.
+
+"As it was rather late, I didn't wait for you to ring, sir," she
+said.
+
+And the lodger looked up from the table where, as usual, he was
+studying with painful, almost agonising intentness, the Book.
+"Quite right, Mrs. Bunting - quite right!  I have been pondering
+over the command, 'Work while it is yet light.'"
+
+"Yes, sir?" she said, and a queer; cold feeling stole over her
+heart.  "Yes, sir?"
+
+"'The spirit is willing, but the flesh - the flesh is weak,'" said
+Mr. Sleuth, with a heavy, sigh.
+
+"You studies too hard, and too long - that's what's ailing you, sir,"
+said Mr. Sleuth's landlady suddenly.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down again she found that a great deal had
+been settled in her absence; among other things, that Joe Chandler
+was going to escort Miss Daisy across to Belgrave Square.  He
+could carry Daisy's modest bag, and if they wanted to ride instead
+of walk, why, they could take the bus from Baker Street Station
+to Victoria - that would land them very near Belgrave Square.
+
+But Daisy seemed quite willing to walk; she hadn't had a walk, she
+declared, for a long, long time - and then she blushed rosy red,
+and even her stepmother had to admit to herself that Daisy was very
+nice looking, not at all the sort of girl who ought to be allowed to
+go about the London streets by herself.
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+Daisy's father and stepmother stood side by side at the front door,
+watching the girl and young Chandler walk off into the darkness.
+
+A yellow pall of fog had suddenly descended on London, and Joe had
+come a full half-hour before they expected him, explaining, rather
+lamely, that it was the fog which had brought him so soon.
+
+"If we was to have waited much longer, perhaps, 'twouldn't have been
+possible to walk a yard," he explained, and they had accepted,
+silently, his explanation.
+
+"I hope it's quite safe sending her off like that?"  Bunting looked
+deprecatingly at his wife.  She had already told him more than once
+that he was too fussy about Daisy, that about his daughter he was
+like an old hen with her last chicken.
+
+"She's safer than she would be, with you or me.  She couldn't have
+a smarter young fellow to look after her."
+
+"It'll be awful thick at Hyde Park Corner," said Bunting.  "It's
+always worse there than anywhere else.  If I was Joe I'd 'a taken
+her by the Underground Railway to Victoria - that 'ud been the best
+way, considering the weather 'tis."
+
+"They don't think anything of the weather, bless you!" said his
+wife.  "They'll walk and walk as long as there's a glimmer left for
+'em to steer by.  Daisy's just been pining to have a walk with that
+young chap.  I wonder you didn't notice how disappointed they both
+were when you was so set on going along with them to that horrid
+place."
+
+"D'you really mean that, Ellen?" Bunting looked upset.  "I understood
+Joe to say he liked my company."
+
+"Oh, did you?" said Mrs. Bunting dryly.  "I expect he liked it just
+about as much as we liked the company of that old cook who would go
+out with us when we was courting.  It always was a wonder to me how
+the woman could force herself upon two people who didn't want her."
+
+"But I'm Daisy's father; and an old friend of Chandler," said Bunting
+remonstratingly.  "I'm quite different from that cook.  She was
+nothing to us, and we was nothing to her."
+
+"She'd have liked to be something to you, I make no doubt," observed
+his Ellen, shaking her head, and her husband smiled, a little
+foolishly.
+
+By this time they were back in their nice, cosy sitting-room, and 
+a feeling of not altogether unpleasant lassitude stole over Mrs.
+Bunting.  It was a comfort to have Daisy out of her way for a bit.
+The girl, in some ways, was very wide awake and inquisitive, and
+she had early betrayed what her stepmother thought to be a very
+unseemly and silly curiosity concerning the lodger.  "You might
+just let me have one peep at him, Ellen?" she had pleaded, only
+that morning.  But Ellen had shaken her head.  "No, that I won't!
+He's a very quiet gentleman; but he knows exactly what he likes,
+and he don't like anyone but me waiting on him.  Why, even your
+father's hardly seen him."
+
+But that, naturally, had only increased Daisy's desire to view Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+There was another reason why Mrs. Bunting was glad that her
+stepdaughter had gone away for two days.  During her absence young
+Chandler was far less likely to haunt them in the way he had taken
+to doing lately, the more so that, in spite of what she had said to
+her husband, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that Daisy would ask Joe
+Chandler to call at Belgrave Square.  'Twouldn't be human nature
+ - at any rate, not girlish human nature - not to do so, even if
+Joe's coming did anger Aunt Margaret.
+
+Yes, it was pretty safe that with Daisy away they, the Buntings,
+would be rid of that young chap for a bit, and that would be a
+good thing.
+
+When Daisy wasn't there to occupy the whole of his attention, Mrs.
+Bunting felt queerly afraid of Chandler.  After all, he was a
+detective - it was his job to be always nosing about, trying to
+find out things.  And, though she couldn't fairly say to herself
+that he had done much of that sort of thing in her house, he might
+start doing it any minute.  And then - then - where would she, and
+ - and Mr. Sleuth, be?
+
+She thought of the bottle of red ink - of the leather bag which
+must be hidden somewhere - and her heart almost stopped beating.
+Those were the sort of things which, in the stories Bunting was
+so fond of reading, always led to the detection of famous 
+criminals. . . .
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell for tea rang that afternoon far earlier than
+usual.  The fog had probably misled him, and made him think it
+later than it was.
+
+When she went up, "I would like a cup of tea now, and just one
+piece of bread-and-butter," the lodger said wearily.  "I don't
+feel like having anything else this afternoon."
+
+"It's a horrible day," Mrs. Bunting observed, in a cheerier voice
+than usual.  "No wonder you don't feel hungry, sir.  And then it
+isn't so very long since you had your dinner, is it?"
+
+"No," he said absently.  "No, it isn't, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+She went down, made the tea, and brought it up again.  And then,
+as she came into the room, she uttered an exclamation of sharp
+dismay.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was dressed for going out.  He was wearing his long
+Inverness cloak, and his queer old high hat lay on the table,
+ready for him to put on.
+
+"You're never going out this afternoon, sir?" she asked falteringly.
+"Why, the fog's awful; you can't see a yard ahead of you!"
+
+Unknown to herself, Mrs. Bunting's voice had risen almost to a
+scream.  She moved back, still holding the tray, and stood between
+the door and her lodger, as if she meant to bar his way - to erect
+between Mr. Sleuth and the dark, foggy world outside a living
+barrier.
+
+"The weather never affects me at all," he said sullenly; and he
+looked at her with so wild and pleading a look in his eyes that,
+slowly, reluctantly, she moved aside.  As she did so she noticed
+for the first time that Mr. Sleuth held something in his right
+hand.  It was the key of the chiffonnier cupboard.  He had been
+on his way there when her coming in had disturbed him.
+
+It's very kind of you to be so concerned about me," he stammered,
+"but - but, Mrs. Bunting, you must excuse me if I say that I do
+not welcome such solicitude.  I prefer to be left alone.  I - I
+cannot stay in your house if I feel that my comings and goings are
+watched - spied upon."
+
+She pulled herself together.  "No one spies upon you, sir," she
+said, with considerable dignity.  "I've done my best to satisfy
+you - "
+
+"You have - you have!" he spoke in a distressed, apologetic tone.
+"But you spoke just now as if you were trying to prevent my doing
+what I wish to do - indeed, what I have to do.  For years I have
+been misunderstood - persecuted" - he waited a moment, then in
+a hollow voice added the one word, "tortured!  Do not tell me that
+you are going to add yourself to the number of my tormentors, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him helplessly.  "Don't you be afraid I'll ever be
+that, sir.  I only spoke as I did because - well, sir, because I
+thought it really wasn't safe for a gentleman to go out this
+afternoon.  Why, there's hardly anyone about, though we're so near
+Christmas."
+
+He walked across to the window and looked out.  "The fog is clearing
+somewhat; Mrs. Bunting," but there was no relief in his voice, rather
+was there disappointment and dread.
+
+Plucking up courage, she followed him.  Yes, Mr. Sleuth was right.
+The fog was lifting - rolling off in that sudden, mysterious way in
+which local fogs sometimes do lift in London.
+
+He turned sharply from the window.  "Our conversation has made me
+forget an important thing, Mrs. Bunting.  I should be glad if you
+would just leave out a glass of milk and some bread-and-butter for
+me this evening.  I shall not require supper when I come in, for
+after my walk I shall probably go straight upstairs to carry through
+a very difficult experiment."
+
+"Very good, sir."  And then Mrs. Bunting left the lodger.
+
+But when she found herself downstairs in the fog-laden hall, for it
+had drifted in as she and her husband had stood at the door seeing
+Daisy off, instead of going in to Bunting she did a very odd thing
+ - a thing she had never thought of doing in her life before.  She
+pressed her hot forehead against the cool bit of looking-glass let
+into the hat-and-umbrella stand.  "I don't know what to do!" she
+moaned to herself, and then, "I can't bear it!  I can't bear it!"
+
+But though she felt that her secret suspense and trouble was becoming
+intolerable, the one way in which she could have ended her misery
+never occurred to Mrs. Bunting.
+
+In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that
+a woman has betrayed one who has taken refuge with her.  The
+timorous and cautious woman has not infrequently hunted a human
+being fleeing from his pursuer from her door, but she has not
+revealed the fact that he was ever there.  In fact, it may almost
+be said that such betrayal has never taken place unless the betrayer
+has been actuated by love of gain, or by a longing for revenge.  So
+far, perhaps because she is subject rather than citizen, her duty
+as a component part of civilised society weighs but lightly on
+woman's shoulders.
+
+And then - and then, in a sort of way, Mrs. Bunting had become
+attached to Mr. Sleuth.  A wan smile would sometimes light up his
+sad face when he saw her come in with one of his meals, and when
+this happened Mrs. Bunting felt pleased - pleased and vaguely
+touched.  In between those - those dreadful events outside, which
+filled her with such suspicion, such anguish and such suspense,
+she never felt any fear, only pity, for Mr. Sleuth.
+
+Often and often, when lying wide awake at night, she turned over
+the strange problem in her mind.  After all, the lodger must have
+lived somewhere during his forty-odd years of life.  She did not
+even know if Mr. Sleuth had any brothers or sisters; friends she
+knew he had none.  But, however odd and eccentric he was, he had
+evidently, or so she supposed, led a quiet, undistinguished kind
+of life, till - till now.
+
+What had made him alter all of a sudden - if, that is, he had
+altered?  That was what Mrs. Bunting was always debating fitfully
+with herself; and, what was more, and very terribly, to the point,
+having altered, why should he not in time go back to what he
+evidently had been - that is, a blameless, quiet gentleman?
+
+If only he would!  If only he would!
+
+As she stood in the hall, cooling her hot forehead, all these
+thoughts, these hopes and fears, jostled at lightning speed through
+her brain.
+
+She remembered what young Chandler had said the other day - that
+there had never been, in the history of the world, so strange a
+murderer as The Avenger had proved himself to be.
+
+She and Bunting, aye, and little Daisy too, had hung, fascinated,
+on Joe's words, as he had told them of other famous series of
+murders which had taken place in the past, not only in England but
+abroad - especially abroad.
+
+One woman, whom all the people round her believed to be a kind,
+respectable soul, had poisoned no fewer than fifteen people in order
+to get their insurance money.  Then there had been the terrible tale
+of an apparently respectable, contented innkeeper and his wife, who,
+living at the entrance to a wood, killed all those humble travellers
+who took shelter under their roof, simply for their clothes, and any
+valuables they possessed.  But in all those stories the murderer or
+murderers always had a very strong motive, the motive being, in
+almost every case, a wicked lust for gold.
+
+At last, after having passed her handkerchief over her forehead, she
+went into the room where Bunting was sitting smoking his pipe.
+
+"The fog's lifting a bit," she said in an ill-assured voice.  I hope
+that by this time Daisy and that Joe Chandler are right out of it."
+
+But the other shook his head silently.  "No such luck!" he said
+briefly.  "You don't know what it's like in Hyde Park, Ellen.  I
+expect 'twill soon be just as heavy here as 'twas half an hour ago!"
+
+She wandered over to the window, and pulled the curtain back.
+"Quite a lot of people have come out, anyway," she observed.
+
+"There's a fine Christmas show in the Edgware Road.  I was thinking
+of asking if you wouldn't like to go along there with me."
+
+"No," she said dully.  "I'm quite content to stay at home."
+
+She was listening - listening for the sounds which would betoken
+that the lodger was coming downstairs.
+
+At last she heard the cautious, stuffless tread of his rubber-soled
+shoes shuffling along the hall.  But Bunting only woke to the fact
+when the front door shut to.
+
+"That's never Mr. Sleuth going out?"  He turned on his wife,
+startled.  "Why, the poor gentleman'll come to harm - that he will!
+One has to be wide awake on an evening like this.  I hope he hasn't
+taken any of his money out with him."
+
+"'Tisn't the first time Mr. Sleuth's been out in a fog," said Mrs.
+Bunting sombrely.
+
+Somehow she couldn't help uttering these over-true words.  And then
+she turned, eager and half frightened, to see how Bunting had taken
+what she said.
+
+But he looked quite placid, as if he had hardly heard her.  "We
+don't get the good old fogs we used to get - not what people used
+to call 'London particulars.'  I expect the lodger feels like Mrs.
+Crowley - I've often told you about her, Ellen?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting nodded.
+
+Mrs. Crowley had been one of Bunting's ladies, one of those he had
+liked best - a cheerful, jolly lady, who used often to give her
+servants what she called a treat.  It was seldom the kind of treat
+they would have chosen for themselves, but still they appreciated
+her kind thought.
+
+"Mrs. Crowley used to say," went on Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic
+way, "that she never minded how bad the weather was in London, so
+long as it was London and not the country.  Mr. Crowley, he liked
+the country best, but Mrs. Crowley always felt dull-like there.
+Fog never kept her from going out - no, that it didn't.  She wasn't
+a bit afraid.  But - " he turned round and looked at his wife - "
+I am a bit surprised at Mr. Sleuth.  I should have thought him a
+timid kind of gentleman - "
+
+He waited a moment, and she felt forced to answer him.
+
+"I wouldn't exactly call him timid," she said, in a low voice, "but
+he is very quiet, certainly.  That's why he dislikes going out when
+there are a lot of people bustling about the streets.  I don't
+suppose he'll be out long."
+
+She hoped with all her soul that Mr. Sleuth would be in very soon
+ - that he would be daunted by the now increasing gloom.  
+
+Somehow she did not feel she could sit still for very long.  She
+got up, and went over to the farthest window.
+
+The fog had lifted, certainly.  She could see the lamp-lights on
+the other side of the Marylebone Road, glimmering redly; and
+shadowy figures were hurrying past, mostly making their way towards
+the Edgware Road, to see the Christmas shops.
+
+At last to his wife's relief, Bunting got up too.  He went over to
+the cupboard where he kept his little store of books, and took one
+out.
+
+"I think I'll read a bit," he said.  "Seems a long time since I've
+looked at a book.  The papers was so jolly interesting for a bit,
+but now there's nothing in 'em."
+
+His wife remained silent.  She knew what he meant.  A good many days
+had gone by since the last two Avenger murders, and the papers had
+very little to say about them that they hadn't said in different
+language a dozen times before.
+
+She went into her bedroom and came back with a bit of plain sewing.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was fond of sewing, and Bunting liked to see her so
+engaged.  Since Mr. Sleuth had come to be their lodger she had not
+had much time for that sort of work.
+
+It was funny how quiet the house was without either Daisy, or - or
+the lodger, in it.
+
+At last she let her needle remain idle, and the bit of cambric
+slipped down on her knee, while she listened, longingly, for Mr.
+Sleuth's return home.
+
+And as the minutes sped by she fell to wondering with a painful
+wonder if she would ever see her lodger again, for, from what she
+knew of Mr. Sleuth, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he got into any
+kind of - well, trouble outside, he would never betray where he
+had lived during the last few weeks.
+
+No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way
+as he had come.  And Bunting would never suspect, would never know,
+until, perhaps - God, what a horrible thought - a picture published
+in some newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting's
+knowledge.
+
+But if that happened - if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass,
+she made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything.  She also
+would pretend to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the
+astounding revelation.  
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+"There he is at last, and I'm glad of it, Ellen.  'Tain't a night
+you would wish a dog to be out in."
+
+Bunting's voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and
+look at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the
+evening paper he held in his hand.
+
+He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his
+nice arm-chair.  He looked very well - well and ruddy.  Mrs. Bunting
+stared across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of
+resentment.  And this was very curious, for she was, in her own dry
+way, very fond of Bunting.
+
+"You needn't feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for
+himself all right."
+
+Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee.  "I
+can't think why he wanted to go out in such weather," he said
+impatiently.
+
+"Well, it's none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?"
+
+"No, that's true enough.  Still, 'twould be a very bad thing for us
+if anything happened to him.  This lodger's the first bit of luck
+we've had for a terrible long time, Ellen."
+
+Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair.  She
+remained silent for a moment.  What Bunting had said was too obvious
+to be worth answering.  Also she was listening, following in
+imagination her lodger's quick, singularity quiet progress - 
+"stealthy" she called it to herself - through the fog-filled,
+lamp-lit hall.  Yes, now he was going up the staircase.  What
+was that Bunting was saying ?
+
+"It isn't safe for decent folk to be out in such weather - no, that
+it ain't, not unless they have something to do that won't wait till
+to-morrow."  The speaker was looking straight into his wife's narrow,
+colourless face.  Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to prove
+himself right.  "I've a good mind to speak to him about it, that
+I have!  He ought to be told that it isn't safe - not for the sort
+of man he is - to be wandering about the streets at night.  I read
+you out the accidents in Lloyd's - shocking, they were, and all
+brought about by the fog!  And then, that horrid monster 'ull soon
+be at his work again - "
+
+"Monster?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.
+
+She was trying to hear the lodger's footsteps overhead.  She was
+very curious to know whether he had gone into his nice sitting-room,
+or straight upstairs, to that cold experiment-room, as he now always
+called it.
+
+But her husband went on as if he had not heard her, and she gave up
+trying to listen to what was going on above.
+
+"It wouldn't be very pleasant to run up against such a party as that
+in the fog, eh, Ellen?"  He spoke as if the notion had a certain
+pleasant thrill in it after all.
+
+"What stuff you do talk!" said Mrs. Bunting sharply.  And then she
+got up.  Her husband's remarks had disturbed her.  Why couldn't they
+talk of something pleasant when they did have a quiet bit of time
+together?
+
+Bunting looked down again at his paper, and she moved quietly about
+the room.  Very soon it would be time for supper, and to-night she
+was going to cook her husband a nice piece of toasted cheese.  That
+fortunate man, as she was fond of telling him, with mingled contempt
+and envy, had the digestion of an ostrich, and yet he was rather
+fanciful, as gentlemen's servants who have lived in good places
+often are.
+
+Yes, Bunting was very lucky in the matter of his digestion.  Mrs.
+Bunting prided herself on having a nice mind, and she would never
+have allowed an unrefined word - such a word as "stomach," for
+instance, to say nothing of an even plainer term - to pass her
+lips, except, of course, to a doctor in a sick-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go down at once into her cold kitchen;
+instead, with a sudden furtive movement, she opened the door leading
+into her bedroom, and then, closing the door quietly, stepped back
+into the darkness, and stood motionless, listening.
+
+At first she heard nothing, but gradually there stole on her
+listening ears the sound of someone moving softly about in the
+room just overhead, that is, in Mr. Sleuth's bedroom.  But, try as
+she might, it was impossible for her to guess what the lodger was
+doing.
+
+At last she heard him open the door leading out on the little
+landing.  She could hear the stairs creaking.  That meant, no doubt,
+that Mr. Sleuth would pass the rest of the evening in the cheerless
+room above.  He hadn't spent any time up there for quite a long
+while-in fact, not for nearly ten days.  'Twas odd he chose to-night,
+when it was so foggy, to carry out an experiment.
+
+She groped her way to a chair and sat down.  She felt very tired - 
+strangely tired, as if  she had gone through some great physical
+exertion.
+
+Yes, it was true that Mr. Sleuth had brought her and Bunting luck,
+and it was wrong, very wrong, of her ever to forget that.
+
+As she sat there she also reminded herself, and not for the first
+time, what the lodger's departure would mean.  It would almost
+certainly mean ruin; just as his staying meant all sorts of good
+things, of which physical comfort was the least. If Mr. Sleuth
+stayed on with them, as he showed every intention of doing, it
+meant respectability, and, above all, security.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought of Mr. Sleuth's money.  He never received a
+letter, and yet he must have some kind of income - so much was
+clear.  She supposed he went and drew his money, in sovereigns, out
+of a bank as he required it.
+
+Her mind swung round, consciously, deliberately, away from Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+The Avenger?  What a strange name!  Again she assured herself that
+there would come a time when The Avenger, whoever he was, must feel
+satiated; when he would feel himself to be, so to speak, avenged.
+
+To go back to Mr. Sleuth; it was lucky that the lodger seemed so
+pleased, not only with the rooms, but with his landlord and landlady
+ - indeed, there was no real reason why Mr. Sleuth should ever wish
+to leave such nice lodgings.  
+ 
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly stood up.  She made a strong effort, and shook
+off her awful sense of apprehension and unease.  Feeling for the
+handle of the door giving into the passage she turned it, and then,
+with light, firm steps, she went down into the kitchen.
+
+When they had first taken the house, the basement had been made by
+her care, if not into a pleasant, then, at any rate, into a very
+clean place.  She had had it whitewashed, and against the still
+white walls the gas stove loomed up, a great square of black iron
+and bright steel.  It was a large gas-stove, the kind for which one
+pays four shillings a quarter rent to the gas company, and here, in
+the kitchen, there was no foolish shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+Mrs. Bunting was too shrewd a woman to have anything to do with that
+kind of business.  There was a proper gas-meter, and she paid for
+what she consumed after she had consumed it.
+
+Putting her candle down on the well-scrubbed wooden table, she
+turned up the gas-jet, and blew out the candle.
+
+Then, lighting one of the gas-rings, she put a frying-pan on the
+stove, and once more her mind reverted, as if in spite of herself,
+to Mr. Sleuth.  Never had there been a more confiding or trusting
+gentleman than the lodger, and yet in some ways he was so secret,
+so - so peculiar.
+
+She thought of the bag - that bag which had rumbled about so
+queerly in the chiffonnier.  Something seemed to tell her that
+tonight the lodger had taken that bag out with him.
+
+And then she thrust away the thought of the bag almost violently
+from her mind, and went back to the more agreeable thought of Mr.
+Sleuth's income, and of how little trouble he gave.  Of course,
+the lodger was eccentric, otherwise he wouldn't be their lodger
+at all - he would be living in quite a different sort of way with
+some of his relations, or with a friend in his own class.
+
+While these thoughts galloped disconnectedly through her mind,
+Mrs. Bunting went on with her cooking, preparing the cheese, cutting
+it up into little shreds, carefully measuring out the butter, doing
+everything, as was always her way, with a certain delicate and
+cleanly precision.
+
+And then, while in the middle of toasting the bread on which was to
+be poured the melted cheese, she suddenly heard sounds which startled
+her, made her feel uncomfortable.
+
+Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.
+
+She looked up and listened.
+
+Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy
+night - going out, as he had done the other evening, for a second
+time?  But no; the sounds she heard, the sounds of now familiar
+footsteps, did not continue down the passage leading to the front
+door.
+
+Instead -  Why, what was this she heard now?  She began to listen
+so intently that the bread she was holding at the end of the
+toasting-fork grew quite black.  With a start she became aware
+that this was so, and she frowned, vexed with herself.  That came
+of not attending to one's work.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done.
+He was coming down into the kitchen.
+
+Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on the
+kitchen stairs, and Mrs. Bunting's heart began to beat as if in
+response.  She put out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of the
+fact that the cheese would stiffen and spoil in the cold air.
+
+Then she turned and faced the door.
+
+There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the door
+opened, and revealed, as she had at once known and feared it would
+do, the lodger.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked even odder than usual.  He was clad in a plaid
+dressing-gown, which she had never seen him wear before, though
+she knew that he had purchased it not long after his arrival.  In
+his hand was a lighted candle.
+
+When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing in
+it, the lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.
+
+"Yes, sir?  What can I do for you, sir?  I hope you didn't ring, sir?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting held her ground in front of the stove.  Mr. Sleuth had
+no business to come like this into her kitchen, and she intended to
+let him know that such was her view.
+
+"No, I - I didn't ring," he stammered awkwardly.  "The truth is, I
+didn't know you were here, Mrs. Bunting.  Please excuse my costume.
+My gas-stove has gone wrong, or, rather, that shilling-in-the-slot
+arrangement has done so.  So I came down to see if you had a
+gas-stove.  I am going to ask you to allow me to use it to-night for
+an important experiment I wish to make."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's heart was beating quickly - quickly.  She felt
+horribly troubled, unnaturally so.  Why couldn't Mr. Sleuth's
+experiment wait till the morning?  She stared at him dubiously, but
+there was that in his face that made her at once afraid and pitiful.
+It was a wild, eager, imploring look.
+
+"Oh, certainly, sir; but you will find it very cold down here."
+
+"It seems most pleasantly warm," he observed, his voice full of
+relief, "warm and cosy, after my cold room upstairs."
+
+Warm and cosy?  Mrs. Bunting stared at him in amazement.  Nay, even
+that cheerless room at the top of the house must be far warmer and
+more cosy than this cold underground kitchen could possibly be.
+
+"I'll make you a fire, sir.  We never use the grate, but it's in
+perfect order, for the first thing I did after I came into the house
+was to have the chimney swept.  It was terribly dirty.  It might
+have set the house on fire."  Mrs. Bunting's housewifely instincts
+were roused.  "For the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in
+your bedroom this cold night."
+
+"By no means - I would prefer not.  I certainly do not want a fire
+there.  I dislike an open fire, Mrs. Bunting.  I thought I had told
+you as much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth frowned.  He stood there, a strange-looking figure, his
+candle still alight, just inside the kitchen door.
+
+"I shan't be very long, sir.  Just about a quarter of an hour.  You
+could come down then.  I'll have everything quite tidy for you.  Is
+there anything I can do to help you?"
+
+"I do not require the use of your kitchen yet - thank you all the
+same, Mrs. Bunting.  I shall come down later - altogether later -
+after you and your husband have gone to bed.  But I should be much
+obliged if you would see that the gas people come to-morrow and
+put my stove in order.  It might be done while I am out.  That the
+shilling-in-the-slot machine should go wrong is very unpleasant.
+It has upset me greatly."
+
+"Perhaps Bunting could put it right for you, sir.  For the matter
+of that, I could ask him to go up now.
+
+"No, no, I don't want anything of that sort done to-night.  Besides,
+he couldn't put it right.  I am something of an expert, Mrs. Bunting,
+and I have done all I could.  The cause of the trouble is quite
+simple.  The machine is choked up with shillings; a very foolish
+plan, so I always felt it to be."
+
+Mr. Sleuth spoke pettishly, with far more heat than he was wont to
+speak, but Mrs. Bunting sympathised with him in this matter.  She
+had always suspected that those slot machines were as dishonest as
+if they were human.  It was dreadful, the way they swallowed up
+the shillings!  She had had one once, so she knew.
+
+And as if he were divining her thoughts, Mr. Sleuth walked forward
+and stared at the stove.  "Then you haven't got a slot machine?" he
+said wonderingly.  "I'm very glad of that, for I expect my experiment
+will take some time.  But, of course, I shall pay you something for
+the use of the stove, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I wouldn't think of charging you anything for that.
+We don't use our stove very much, you know, sir.  I'm never in the
+kitchen a minute longer than I can help this cold weather."
+
+Mrs. Bunting was beginning to feel better.  When she was actually
+in Mr. Sleuth's presence her morbid fears would be lulled, perhaps
+because his manner almost invariably was gentle and very quiet.
+But still there came over her an eerie feeling, as, with him
+preceding her, they made a slow progress to the ground floor.
+
+Once there, the lodger courteously bade his landlady good-night,
+and proceeded upstairs to his own apartments.
+
+Mrs. Bunting returned to the kitchen.  Again she lighted the stove;
+but she felt unnerved, afraid of she knew not what.  As she was
+cooking the cheese, she tried to concentrate her mind on what she
+was doing, and on the whole she succeeded.  But another part of her
+mind seemed to be working independently, asking her insistent
+questions.
+
+The place seemed to her alive with alien presences, and once she
+caught herself listening - which was absurd, for, of course, she
+could not hope to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two, if not three,
+flights upstairs.  She wondered in what the lodger's experiments
+consisted.  It was odd that she had never been able to discover what
+it was he really did with that big gas-stove.  All she knew was
+that he used a very high degree of heat.
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+The Buntings went to bed early that night.  But Mrs. Bunting made
+up her mind to keep awake.  She was set upon knowing at what hour
+of the night the lodger would come down into her kitchen to carry
+through his experiment, and, above all, she was anxious to know
+how long he would stay there.
+
+But she had had a long and a very anxious day, and presently she
+fell asleep.
+
+The church clock hard by struck two, and, suddenly Mrs. Bunting
+awoke.  She felt put out sharply annoyed with herself.  How could
+she have dropped off like that?  Mr. Sleuth must have been down
+and up again hours ago!
+
+Then, gradually, she became aware that there was a faint acrid
+odour in the room.  Elusive, intangible, it yet seemed to encompass
+her and the snoring man by her side, almost as a vapour might have
+done.
+
+Mrs. Bunting sat up in bed and sniffed; and then, in spite of the
+cold, she quietly crept out of her nice, warm bedclothes, and
+crawled along to the bottom of the bed.  When there, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady did a very curious thing; she leaned over the brass rail
+and put her face close to the hinge of the door giving into the
+hall.  Yes, it was from here that this strange, horrible odor was
+coming; the smell must be very strong in the passage.
+
+As, shivering, she crept back under the bedclothes, she longed to
+give her sleeping husband a good shake, and in fancy she heard
+herself saying, "Bunting, get up!  There's something strange and
+dreadful going on downstairs which we ought to know about."
+
+But as she lay there, by her husband's side, listening with painful
+intentness for the slightest sound, she knew very well that she
+would do nothing of the sort.
+
+What if the lodger did make a certain amount of mess  - a certain
+amount of smell - in her nice clean kitchen?  Was he not - was he
+not an almost perfect lodger?  If they did anything to upset him,
+where could they ever hope to get another like him?
+
+Three o'clock struck before Mrs. Bunting heard slow, heavy steps
+creaking up the kitchen stairs.  But Mr. Sleuth did not go straight
+up to his own quarters, as she had expected him to do.  Instead, he
+went to the front door, and, opening it, put on the chain.  Then he
+came past her door, and she thought - but could not be sure -  that
+he sat down on the stairs.
+
+At the end of ten minutes or so she heard him go down the passage
+again.  Very softly he closed the front door.  By then she had
+divined why the lodger had behaved in this funny fashion.  He wanted
+to get the strong, acrid smell of burning - was it of burning wool?
+ - out of the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting, lying there in the darkness, listening to the
+lodger creeping upstairs, felt as if she herself would never get
+rid of the horrible odour.
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt herself to be all smell.
+
+At last the unhappy woman fell into a deep, troubled sleep; and
+then she dreamed a most terrible and unnatural dream.  Hoarse
+voices seemed to be shouting in her ear: "The Avenger close here!
+The Avenger close here!" "'Orrible murder off the Edgware Road!"
+"The Avenger at his work again"'
+
+And even in her dream Mrs. Bunting felt angered -  angered and
+impatient.  She knew so well why she was being disturbed by this
+horrid nightmare!  It was because of Bunting - Bunting, who could
+think and talk of nothing else than those frightful murders, in
+which only morbid and vulgar-minded people took any interest.
+
+Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking
+to her about it:
+
+"Ellen " - so she heard Bunting murmur in her ear - "Ellen, my dear,
+I'm just going to get up to get a paper.  It's after seven o'clock."
+
+The shouting - nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet
+smote on her shrinking ears.  Pushing back her hair off her forehead
+with both hands, she sat up and listened.
+
+It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse - 
+reality.
+
+Why couldn't Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and
+let his poor wife go on dreaming?  The most awful dream would have
+been easier to bear than this awakening.
+
+She heard her husband go to the front door, and, as he bought the
+paper, exchange a few excited words with the newspaper-seller.  Then
+he came back.  There was a pause, and she heard him lighting the
+gas-ring in the sitting-room.
+
+Bunting always made his wife a cup of tea in the morning.  He had
+promised to do this when they first married, and he had never yet
+broken his word.  It was a very little thing and a very usual thing,
+no doubt, for a kind husband to do, but this morning the knowledge
+that he was doing it brought tears to Mrs. Bunting's pale blue eyes.
+This morning he seemed to be rather longer than usual over the job.
+
+When, at last, he came in with the little tray, Bunting found his
+wife lying with her face to the wall.
+
+"Here's your tea, Ellen," he said, and there was a thrill of eager,
+nay happy, excitement in his voice.
+
+She turned herself round and sat up.  "Well?" she asked.  "Well?
+Why don't you tell me about it?"
+
+"I thought you was asleep," he stammered out.  "I thought, Ellen,
+you never heard nothing."
+
+"How could I have slept through all that din?  Of course I heard.
+Why don't you tell me?"
+
+"I've hardly had time to glance at the paper myself," he said slowly.
+
+"You was reading it just now," she said severely, "for I heard the
+rustling.  You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring.  Don't
+tell me!  What was that they was shouting about the Edgware Road?"
+
+"Well," said Bunting, "as you do know, I may as well tell you.  The
+Avenger's moving West - that's what he's doing.  Last time 'twas
+King's Cross - now 'tis the Edgware Road.  I said he'd come our way,
+and he has come our way!"
+
+"You just go and get me that paper," she commanded.  "I wants to
+see for myself."
+
+Bunting went into the next room; then he came back and handed her
+silently the odd-looking, thin little sheet.
+
+"Why, whatever's this?" she asked.  "This ain't our paper!"
+
+"'Course not," he answered, a trifle crossly.  "It's a special early
+edition of the Sun, just because of The Avenger.  Here's the bit
+about it" - he showed her the exact spot.  But she would have found
+it, even by the comparatively bad light of the gas-jet now flaring
+over the dressing-table, for the news was printed in large, clear
+characters: - 
+
+"Once more the murder fiend who chooses to call himself The Avenger
+has escaped detection.  While the whole attention of the police,
+and of the great army of amateur detectives who are taking an
+interest in this strange series of atrocious crimes, were
+concentrating their attention round the East End and King's Cross,
+he moved swift1y and silently Westward.  And, choosing a time when
+the Edgware Road is at its busiest and most thronged, did another
+human being to death with lightning-like quickness and savagery.
+
+"Within fifty yards of the deserted warehouse yard where he had
+lured his victim to destruction were passing up and down scores of
+happy, busy people, intent on their Christmas shopping.  Into that
+cheerful throng he must have plunged within a moment of committing
+his atrocious crime.  And it was only owing to the merest accident
+that the body was discovered as soon as it was - that is, just
+after midnight
+
+"Dr. Dowtray, who was called to the spot at once, is of opinion that
+the woman had been dead at least three hours, if not four.  It was at
+first thought - we were going to say, hoped - that this murder had
+nothing to do with the series which is now puzzling and horrifying
+the whole of the civilised world.  But no - pinned on the edge of the
+dead woman's dress was the usual now familiar triangular piece of
+grey paper - the grimmest visiting card ever designed by the wit of
+man!  And this time The Avenger has surpassed himself as regards his
+audacity and daring - so cold in its maniacal fanaticism and abhorrent
+wickedness."
+
+All the time that Mrs. Bunting was reading with slow, painful
+intentness, her husband was looking at her, longing, yet afraid, to
+burst out with a new idea which he was burning to confide even to his
+Ellen's unsympathetic ears.
+
+At last, when she had quite finished, she looked up defiantly.
+
+"Haven't you anything better to do than to stare at me like that?"
+she said irritably.  "Murder or no murder, I've got to get up!  Go
+away - do!"
+
+And Bunting went off into the next room.
+
+After he had gone, his wife lay back and closed her eyes.  She tried
+to think of nothing.  Nay, more - so strong, so determined was her
+will that for a few moments she actually did think of nothing.  She
+felt terribly tired and weak, brain and body both quiescent, as does
+a person who is recovering from a long, wearing illness.
+
+Presently detached, puerile thoughts drifted across the surface of
+her mind like little clouds across a summer sky.  She wondered if
+those horrid newspaper men were allowed to shout in Belgrave Square;
+she wondered if, in that case, Margaret, who was so unlike her
+brother-in-law, would get up and buy a paper.  But no.  Margaret
+was not one to leave her nice warm bed for such a silly reason as
+that.
+
+Was it to-morrow Daisy was coming back?  Yes - to-morrow, not
+to-day.  Well, that was a comfort, at any rate.  What amusing things
+Daisy would be able to tell about her visit to Margaret!  The girl
+had an excellent gift of mimicry.  And Margaret, with her precise,
+funny ways, her perpetual talk about "the family," lent herself to
+the cruel gift.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting's mind - her poor, weak, tired mind - wandered
+off to young Chandler.  A funny thing love was, when you came to
+think of it - which she, Ellen Bunting, didn't often do.  There was
+Joe, a likely young fellow, seeing a lot of young women, and pretty
+young women, too, - quite as pretty as Daisy, and ten times more
+artful - and yet there!  He passed them all by, had done so ever
+since last summer, though you might be sure that they, artful minxes,
+by no manner of means passed him by, - without giving them a thought!
+As Daisy wasn't here, he would probably keep away to-day.  There
+was comfort in that thought, too.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat up, and memory returned in a dreadful
+turgid flood.  If Joe did come in, she must nerve herself to hear
+all that - that talk there'd be about The Avenger between him and
+Bunting.
+
+Slowly she dragged herself out of bed, feeling exactly as if she
+had just recovered from an illness which had left her very weak,
+very, very tired in body and soul.
+
+She stood for a moment listening - listening, and shivering, for
+it was very cold.  Considering how early it still was, there
+seemed a lot of coming and going in the Marylebone Road.  She could
+hear the unaccustomed sounds through her closed door and the tightly
+fastened windows of the sitting-room.  There must be a regular
+crowd of men and women, on foot and in cabs, hurrying to the scene
+of The Avenger's last extraordinary crime.
+
+She heard the sudden thud made by their usual morning paper falling
+from the letter-box on to the floor of the hall, and a moment later
+came the sound of Bunting quickly, quietly going out and getting it.
+She visualised him coming back, and sitting down with a sigh of
+satisfaction by the newly-lit fire.
+
+Languidly she began dressing herself to the accompaniment of distant
+tramping and of noise of passing traffic, which increased in volume
+and in sound as the moments slipped by.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down into her kitchen everything looked just
+as she had left it, and there was no trace of the acrid smell she
+had expected to find there.  Instead, the cavernous, whitewashed
+room was full of fog, but she noticed that, though the shutters were
+bolted and barred as she had left them, the windows behind them had
+been widely opened to the air.  She had left them shut.
+
+Making a "spill" out of a twist of newspaper - she had been taught
+the art as a girl by one of her old mistresses - she stooped and
+flung open the oven-door of her gas-stove.  Yes, it was as she had
+expected a fierce heat had been generated there since she had last
+used the oven, and through to the stone floor below had fallen a
+mass of black, gluey soot.
+
+Mrs. Bunting took the ham and eggs that she had bought the previous
+day for her own and Bunting's breakfast upstairs, and broiled them
+over the gas-ring in their sitting-room.  Her husband watched her in
+surprised silence.  She had never done such a thing before.
+
+"I couldn't stay down there," she said; "it was so cold and foggy.
+I thought I'd make breakfast up here, just for to-day."
+
+"Yes," he said kindly; "that's quite right, Ellen.  I think you've
+done quite right, my dear."
+
+But, when it came to the point, his wife could not eat any of the
+nice breakfast she had got ready; she only had another cup of tea.
+
+"I'm afraid you're ill, Ellen?" Bunting asked solicitously.
+
+"No," she said shortly; "I'm not ill at all.  Don't be silly!  The
+thought of that horrible thing happening so close by has upset me,
+and put me off my food.  Just hark to them now!"
+
+Through their closed windows penetrated the sound of scurrying feet
+and loud, ribald laughter.  What a crowd; nay, what a mob, must be
+hastening busily to and from the spot where there was now nothing
+to be seen!
+
+Mrs. Bunting made her husband lock the front gate.  "I don't want
+any of those ghouls in here!" she exclaimed angrily.  And then,
+"What a lot of idle people there are in the world!" she said.
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Bunting began moving about the room restlessly.  He would go to the
+window; stand there awhile staring out at the people hurrying past;
+then, coming back to the fireplace, sit down.
+
+But he could not stay long quiet.  After a glance at his paper, up
+he would rise from his chair, and go to the window again.
+
+"I wish you'd stay still," his wife said at last. And then, a few
+minutes later, "Hadn't you better put your hat and coat on and go
+out?" she exclaimed.
+
+And Bunting, with a rather shamed expression, did put on his hat
+and coat and go out.
+
+As he did so be told himself that, after all, he was but human; it
+was natural that he should be thrilled and excited by the dreadful,
+extraordinary thing which had just happened close by.  Ellen wasn't
+reasonable about such things.  How queer and disagreeable she had
+been that very morning - angry with him because he had gone out
+to hear what all the row was about, and even more angry when he had
+come back and said nothing, because he thought it would annoy her
+to hear about it!
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Bunting forced herself to go down again into the
+kitchen, and as she went through into the low, whitewashed place,
+a tremor of fear, of quick terror, came over her.  She turned and
+did what she had never in her life done before, and what she had
+never heard of anyone else doing in a kitchen.  She bolted the door.
+
+But, having done this, finding herself at last alone, shut off from
+everybody, she was still beset by a strange, uncanny dread.  She
+felt as if she were locked in with an invisible presence, which
+mocked and jeered, reproached and threatened her, by turns.
+
+Why had she allowed, nay encouraged, Daisy to go away for two days?
+Daisy, at any rate, was company - kind, young, unsuspecting company.
+With Daisy she could be her old sharp self.  It was such a comfort
+to be with someone to whom she not only need, but ought to, say
+nothing.  When with Bunting she was pursued by a sick feeling of
+guilt, of shame.  She was the man's wedded wife - in his stolid way
+he was very kind to her, and yet she was keeping from him something
+he certainly had a right to know.
+
+Not for worlds, however, would she have told Bunting of her dreadful
+suspicion - nay, of her almost certainty.
+
+At last she went across to the door and unlocked it.  Then she went
+upstairs and turned out her bedroom.  That made her feel a little
+better.
+
+She longed for Bunting to return, and yet in a way she was relieved
+by his absence.  She would have liked to feel him near by, and yet
+she welcomed anything that took her husband out of the house.
+
+And as Mrs. Bunting swept and dusted, trying to put her whole mind
+into what she was doing, she was asking herself all the time what
+was going on upstairs.
+
+What a good rest the lodger was having!  But there, that was only
+natural.  Mr. Sleuth, as she well knew, had been up a long time last
+night, or rather this morning.
+
+******
+
+Suddenly, the drawing-room bell rang.  But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did
+not go up, as she generally did, before getting ready the simple meal
+which was the lodger's luncheon and breakfast combined.  Instead, she
+went downstairs again and hurriedly prepared the lodger's food.
+
+Then, very slowly, with her heart beating queerly, she walked up, and
+just outside the sitting-room - for she felt sure that Mr. Sleuth had
+got up, that he was there already, waiting for her - she rested the
+tray on the top of the banisters and listened.  For a few moments she
+heard nothing; then through the door came the high, quavering voice
+with which she had become so familiar:
+
+"'She saith to him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in
+secret is pleasant.  But he knoweth not that the dead are there,
+and that her guests are in the depths of hell.'"
+
+There was a long pause.  Mrs. Bunting could hear the leaves of
+her Bible being turned over, eagerly, busily; and then again Mr.
+Sleuth broke out, this time in a softer voice:
+
+"'She hath cast down many wounded from her; yea, many strong men
+have been slain by her.'"  And in a softer, lower, plaintive tone
+came the words: "'I applied my heart to know, and to search, and
+to seek out wisdom and the reason of things; and to know the
+wickedness of folly, even of foolishness and madness.'"
+
+And as she stood there listening, a feeling of keen distress, of
+spiritual oppression, came over Mrs. Bunting.  For the first time
+in her life she visioned the infinite mystery, the sadness and
+strangeness, of human life.
+
+Poor Mr. Sleuth - poor unhappy, distraught Mr. Sleuth!  An
+overwhelming pity blotted out for a moment the fear, aye, and the
+loathing, she had been feeling for her lodger.
+
+She knocked at the door, and then she took up her tray.
+
+"Come in, Mrs. Bunting." Mr. Sleuth's voice sounded feebler, more
+toneless than usual.
+
+She turned the handle of the door and walked in.  The lodger was
+not sitting in his usual place; he had taken the little round table
+on which his candle generally rested when he read in bed, out of
+his bedroom, and placed it over by the drawing-room window.  On it
+were placed, open, the Bible and the Concordance.  But as his
+landlady came in, Mr. Sleuth hastily closed the Bible, and began
+staring dreamily out of the window, down at the sordid, hurrying
+crowd of men and women which now swept along the Marylebone Road.
+
+"There seem a great many people out today," he observed, without
+looking round.
+
+"Yes, sir, there do."
+
+Mrs. Bunting began busying herself with laying the cloth and
+putting out the breakfast-lunch, and as she did so she was seized
+with a mortal, instinctive terror of the man sitting there.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth got up and turned round.  She forced herself to
+look at him.  How tired, how worn, he looked, and - how strange!
+
+Walking towards the table on which lay his meal, he rubbed his hands
+together with a nervous gesture - it was a gesture he only made when
+something had pleased, nay, satisfied him.  Mrs. Bunting, looking at
+him, remembered that he had rubbed his hands together thus when he
+had first seen the room upstairs, and realised that it contained a
+large gas-stove and a convenient sink.
+
+What Mr. Sleuth was doing now also reminded her in an odd way of a
+play she had once seen - a play to which a young man bad taken her
+when she was a girl, unnumbered years ago, and which had thrilled
+and fascinated her.  "Out, out, damned spot!" that was what the tall,
+fierce, beautiful lady who had played the part of a queen had said,
+twisting her hands together just as the lodger was doing now.
+
+"It's a fine day," said Mr. Sleuth, sitting down and unfolding his
+napkin.  "The fog has cleared.  I do not know if you will agree with
+me, Mrs. Bunting, but I always feel brighter when the sun is shining,
+as it is now, at any rate, trying to shine."  He looked at her
+inquiringly, but Mrs. Bunting could not speak.  She only nodded.
+However, that did not affect Mr. Sleuth adversely.
+
+He had acquired a great liking and respect for this well-balanced,
+taciturn woman.  She was the first woman for whom he had experienced
+any such feeling for many years past.
+
+He looked down at the still covered dish, and shook his head.  "I
+don't feel as if I could eat very much to-day," he said plaintively.
+And then he suddenly took a half-sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket.
+
+Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat
+Mr. Sleuth had been wearing the day before.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?"
+
+And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly
+allowed me to make of your kitchen last night?" he said quietly.
+"I tried to make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but - 
+well, the truth is I was carrying out a very elaborate experiment "
+
+Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took
+the coin.  The fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against
+her palm were icy cold - cold and clammy.  Mr. Sleuth was evidently
+not well.
+
+As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball
+hanging in the smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth's landlady, and
+threw blood-red gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of
+gold she was holding in her hand.
+
+******
+
+The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household,
+but, of course, there was far greater animation outside the little
+house than was usually the case.
+
+Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some
+days, the whole of London seemed to be making holiday in that part
+of the town.
+
+When Bunting at 1ast came back, his wife listened silently while he
+told her of the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere.  And
+then, after he had been talking a long while, she suddenly shot a
+strange look at him.
+
+"I suppose you went to see the place?" she said.
+
+And guiltily he acknowledged that he had done so.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, there wasn't anything much to see - not now.  But, oh, Ellen,
+the daring of him!  Why, Ellen, if the poor soul had had time to cry
+out - which they don't believe she had - it's impossible someone
+wouldn't 'a heard her.  They say that if he goes on doing it like
+that - in the afternoon, like - he never will be caught.  He must
+have just got mixed up with all the other people within ten seconds
+of what he'd done!"
+
+During the afternoon Bunting bought papers recklessly - in fact, he
+must have spent the best part of six-pence.  But in spite of all the
+supposed and suggested clues, there was nothing - nothing at all new
+to read, less, in fact than ever before.
+
+The police, it was clear, were quite at a loss, and Mrs. Bunting
+began to feel curiously better, less tired, less ill, less - less
+terrified than she had felt through the morning.
+
+And then something happened which broke with dramatic suddenness the
+quietude of the day.
+
+They had had their tea, and Bunting was reading the last of the
+papers he had run out to buy, when suddenly there came a loud,
+thundering, double knock at the door.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled.  "Why, whoever can that be?" she
+said.
+
+But as Bunting got up she added quickly, "You just sit down again.
+I'll go myself.  Sounds like someone after lodgings.  I'll soon send
+them to the right-about!"
+
+And then she left the room, but not before there had come another
+loud double knock.
+
+Mrs. Bunting opened the front door.  In a moment she saw that the
+person who stood there was a stranger to her.  He was a big, dark
+man, with fierce, black moustaches.  And somehow - she could not
+have told you why - he suggested a policeman to Mrs. Bunting's mind.
+
+This notion of hers was confirmed by the very first words he uttered.
+For, "I'm here to execute a warrant!" he exclaimed in a theatrical,
+hollow tone.
+
+With a weak cry of protest Mrs. Bunting suddenly threw out her arms
+as if to bar the way; she turned deadly white - but then, in an
+instant the supposed stranger's laugh rang out, with loud, jovial,
+familiar sound!
+
+"There now, Mrs. Bunting!  I never thought I'd take you in as well
+as all that!"
+
+It was Joe Chandler - Joe Chandler dressed up, as she knew he
+sometimes, not very often, did dress up in the course of his work.
+
+Mrs. Bunting began laughing - laughing helplessly, hysterically,
+just as she had done on the morning of Daisy's arrival, when the
+newspaper-sellers had come shouting down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"What's all this about?" Bunting came out
+
+Young Chandler ruefully shut the front door.  "I didn't mean to
+upset her like this," he said, looking foolish; "'twas just my silly
+nonsense, Mr. Bunting."  And together they helped her into the
+sitting-room.
+
+But, once there, poor Mrs. Bunting went on worse than ever; she
+threw her black apron over her face, and began to sob hysterically.
+
+"'I made sure she'd know who I was when I spoke," went on the young
+fellow apologetically.  "But, there now, I have upset her.  I am
+sorry!"
+
+"It don't matter!" she exclaimed, throwing the apron off her face,
+but the tears were still streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and
+laughed by turns.  "Don't matter one little bit, Joe!  'Twas stupid
+of me to be so taken aback.  But, there, that murder that's happened
+close by, it's just upset me - upset me altogether to-day."
+
+"Enough to upset anyone - that was," acknowledged the young man
+ruefully.  "I've only come in for a minute, like.  I haven't no
+right to come when I'm on duty like this - "
+
+Joe Chandler was looking longingly at what remains of the meal were
+still on the table.
+
+"You can take a minute just to have a bite and a sup," said Bunting
+hospitably; "and then you can tell us any news there is, Joe.  We're
+right in the middle of everything now, ain't we?"  He spoke with
+evident enjoyment, almost pride, in the gruesome fact.
+
+Joe nodded.  Already his mouth was full of bread-and-butter.  He
+waited a moment, and then: "Well I have got one piece of news - not
+that I suppose it'll interest you very much."
+
+They both looked at him - Mrs. Bunting suddenly calm, though her
+breast still heaved from time to time.
+
+"Our Boss has resigned!" said Joe Chandler slowly, impressively.
+
+"No!  Not the Commissioner o' Police?" exclaimed Bunting.
+
+"Yes, he has.  He just can't bear what's said about us any longer
+ - and I don't wonder!  He done his best, and so's we all.  The
+public have just gone daft - in the West End, that is, to-day.  As
+for the papers, well, they're something cruel - that's what they
+are.  And the ridiculous ideas they print!  You'd never believe the
+things they asks us to do - and quite serious-like."
+
+"What d'you mean?" questioned Mrs. Bunting.  She really wanted to
+know.
+
+"Well, the Courier declares that there ought to be a house-to-house
+investigation - all over London.  Just think of it!  Everybody to
+let the police go all over their house, from garret to kitchen,
+just to see if The Avenger isn't concealed there.  Dotty, I calls
+it!  Why, 'twould take us months and months just to do that one
+job in a town like London."
+
+"I'd like to see them dare come into my house!" said Mrs. Bunting
+angrily.
+
+"It's all along of them blarsted papers that The Avenger went to
+work a different way this time," said Chandler slowly.
+
+Bunting had pushed a tin of sardines towards his guest, and was
+eagerly listening.  "How d'you mean?" he asked.  "I don't take
+your meaning, Joe."
+
+"Well, you see, it's this way.  The newspapers was always saying
+how extraordinary it was that The Avenger chose such a peculiar
+time to do his deeds - I mean, the time when no one's about the
+streets.  Now, doesn't it stand to reason that the fellow, reading
+all that, and seeing the sense of it, said to himself, 'I'll go on
+another tack this time'?  Just listen to this!"  He pulled a strip
+of paper, part of a column cut from a newspaper, out of his pocket:
+
+
+"'AN EX-LORD MAYOR OF LONDON ON THE AVENGER
+
+
+"'Will the murderer be caught?  Yes,' replied Sir John, 'he will
+certainly be caught - probably when he commits his next crime.  A
+whole army of bloodhounds, metaphorical and literal, will be on his
+track the moment he draws blood again.  With the whole community
+against him, he cannot escape, especially when it be remembered that
+he chooses the quietest hour in the twenty-four to commit his crimes.
+
+"'Londoners are now in such a state of nerves - if I may use the
+expression, in such a state of funk - that every passer-by, however
+innocent, is looked at with suspicion by his neighbour if his
+avocation happens to take him abroad between the hours of one and
+three in the morning.'
+
+"I'd like to gag that ex-Lord Mayor!" concluded Joe Chandler
+wrathfully.
+
+Just then the lodger's bell rang.
+
+"Let me go up, my dear," said Bunting.
+
+His wife still looked pale and shaken by the fright she had had.
+
+"No, no," she said hastily.  "You stop down here, and talk to Joe.
+I'll look after Mr. Sleuth.  He may be wanting his supper just a
+bit earlier than usual to-day."
+
+Slowly, painfully, again feeling as if her legs were made of cotton
+wool, she dragged herself up to the first floor, knocked at the door,
+and then went in.
+
+"You did ring, sir?" she said, in her quiet, respectful way.
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up.
+
+She thought - but, as she reminded herself afterwards, it might have
+been just her idea, and nothing else - that for the first time the
+lodger looked frightened - frightened and cowed.
+
+"I heard a noise downstairs," he said fretfully, "and I wanted to
+know what it was all about.  As I told you, Mrs. Bunting, when I
+first took these rooms, quiet is essential to me.".
+
+"It was just a friend of ours, sir.  I'm sorry you were disturbed.
+Would you like the knocker taken off to-morrow?  Bunting'll be
+pleased to do it if you don't like to hear the sound of the knocks."
+
+"Oh, no, I wouldn't put you to such trouble as that."  Mr. Sleuth
+looked quite relieved.  "Just a friend of yours, was it, Mrs.
+Bunting?  He made a great deal of noise."
+
+"Just a young fellow," she said apologetically.  "The son of one of
+Bunting's old friends.  He often comes here, sir; but he never did
+give such a great big double knock as that before.  I'll speak to
+him about it"
+
+"Oh, no, Mrs. Bunting.  I would really prefer you did nothing of
+the kind.  It was just a passing annoyance - nothing more!"
+
+She waited a moment.  How strange that Mr. Sleuth said nothing of
+the hoarse cries which had made of the road outside a perfect Bedlam
+every hour or two throughout that day, But no, Mr. Sleuth made no
+allusion to what might well have disturbed any quiet gentleman at
+his reading.
+
+"I thought maybe you'd like to have supper a little earlier to-night,
+sir?"
+
+"Just when you like, Mrs. Bunting - just when it's convenient.  I
+do not wish to put you out in any way."
+
+She felt herself dismissed, and going out quietly, closed the door.
+
+As she did 'so, she heard the front door banging to.  She sighed
+ - Joe Chandler was really a very noisy young fellow.
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Mrs. Bunting slept well the night following that during which the
+lodger had been engaged in making his mysterious experiments in her
+kitchen.  She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, that sleep came
+to her the moment she laid her head upon her pillow.
+
+Perhaps that was why she rose so early the next morning.  Hardly
+giving herself time to swallow the tea Bunting had made and brought
+her, she got up and dressed.
+
+She had suddenly come to the conclusion that the hall and staircase
+required a thorough "doing down," and she did not even wait till
+they had eaten their breakfast before beginning her labours.  It
+made Bunting feel quite uncomfortable.  As he sat by the fire reading
+his morning paper - the paper which was again of such absorbing
+interest - he called out, "There's no need for so much hurry, Ellen.
+Daisy'll be back to-day.  Why don't you wait till she's come home to
+help you?"
+
+But from the hall where she was busy dusting, sweeping, polishing,
+his wife's voice came back: "Girls ain't no good at this sort of
+work.  Don't you worry about me.  I feel as if I'd enjoy doing an
+extra bit of cleaning to-day.  I don't like to feel as anyone could
+come in and see my place dirty."
+
+"No fear of that!" Bunting chuckled.  And then a new thought struck
+him.  "Ain't you afraid of waking the lodger?" he called out.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night," she
+answered quickly.  "As it is, I study him over-much; it's a long,
+long time since I've done this staircase down."
+
+All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left
+the sitting-room door wide open.
+
+That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn't like to get
+up and shut her out, as it were.  Still, try as he would, he couldn't
+read with any comfort while all that noise was going on.  He had
+never known Ellen make such a lot of noise before.  Once or twice he
+looked up and frowned rather crossly.
+
+There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that.  Ellen
+was standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
+
+"Come in," he said, "do!  Ain't you finished yet?"
+
+"I was only resting a minute," she said.  "You don't tell me nothing.
+I'd like to know if there's anything - I mean anything new - in the
+paper this morning."
+
+She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her
+unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting
+suddenly uneasy.  "Come in  - do!" he repeated sharply.  "You've
+done quite enough - and before breakfast, too.  'Tain't necessary.
+Come in and shut that door."
+
+He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
+
+She came in, and did what she had never done before - brought the
+broom with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
+
+Then she sat down.
+
+"I think I'll make breakfast up here," she said.  "I - I feel cold,
+Bunting."  And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of
+perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
+
+He got up.  "All right.  I'll go down and bring the eggs up.  Don't
+you worry.  For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if
+you like."
+
+"No," she said obstinately.  "I'd rather do my own work.  You just
+bring them up here - that'll be all right.  To-morrow morning we'll
+have Daisy to help see to things."
+
+"Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair," he suggested
+kindly.  "You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen.  I never see'd
+such a woman!"
+
+And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room
+with languid steps.
+
+He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
+
+She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took
+two steps towards her.
+
+"I'll show you the most interesting bit" he said eagerly.  "It's
+the piece headed, 'Our Special Investigator.' You see, they've
+started a special investigator of their own, and he's got hold of
+a lot of little facts the police seem to have overlooked.  The man
+who writes all that - I mean the Special Investigator - was a
+famous 'tec in his time, and he's just come back out of his
+retirement o' purpose to do this bit of work for the paper.  You
+read what he says - I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he ends by
+getting that reward!  One can see he just loves the work of
+tracking people down."
+
+"There's nothing to be proud of in such a job," said his wife
+listlessly.
+
+"He'll have something to be proud of if he catches The Avenger!"
+cried Bunting.  He was too keen about this affair to be put off
+by Ellen's contradictory remarks.  "You just notice that bit about
+the rubber soles.  Now, no one's thought o' that.  I'll just tell
+Chandler - he don't seem to me to be half awake, that young man
+don't."
+
+"He's quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him!
+How about those eggs, Bunting?  I feel quite ready for my breakfast
+even if you don't - "
+
+Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly
+described to himself as "Ellen's snarling voice.
+
+He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled.  There
+was something queer about her, and he couldn't make it out.  He
+didn't mind it when she spoke sharply and nastily to him.  He was
+used to that.  But now she was so up and down; so different from
+what she used to be!  In old days she had always been the same, but
+now a man never knew where to have her.
+
+And as he went downstairs he pondered uneasily over his wife's
+changed ways and manner.
+
+Take the question of his easy chair.  A very small matter, no doubt,
+but he had never known Ellen sit in that chair - no, not even once,
+for a minute, since it had been purchased by her as a present for him.
+
+They had been so happy, so happy, and so - so restful, during that
+first week after Mr. Sleuth had come to them.  Perhaps it was the
+sudden, dramatic change from agonising anxiety to peace and security
+which had been too much for Ellen - yes, that was what was the matter
+with her, that and the universal excitement about these Avenger
+murders, which were shaking the nerves of all London.  Even Bunting,
+unobservant as he was, had come to realise that his wife took a
+morbid interest in these terrible happenings.  And it was the more
+queer of her to do so that at first she refused to discuss them, and
+said openly that she was utterly uninterested in murder or crime of
+any sort.
+
+He, Bunting, had always had a mild pleasure in such things.  In his
+time he had been a great reader of detective tales, and even now he
+thought there was no pleasanter reading.  It was that which had first
+drawn him to Joe Chandler, and made him welcome the young chap as
+cordially as he had done when they first came to London.
+
+But though Ellen had tolerated, she had never encouraged, that sort
+of talk between the two men.  More than once she had exclaimed
+reproachfully: "To hear you two, one would think there was no nice,
+respectable, quiet people left in the world!"
+
+But now all that was changed.  She was as keen as anyone could be
+to hear the latest details of an Avenger crime.  True, she took her
+own view of any theory suggested.  But there!  Ellen always had had
+her own notions about everything under the sun.  Ellen was a woman
+who thought for herself - a clever woman, not an everyday woman by
+any manner of means.
+
+While these thoughts were going disconnectedly through his mind,
+Bunting was breaking four eggs into a basin.  He was going to give
+Ellen a nice little surprise - to cook an omelette as a French chef
+had once taught him to do, years and years ago.  He didn't know how
+she would take his doing such a thing after what she had said; but
+never mind, she would enjoy the omelette when done.  Ellen hadn't
+been eating her food properly of late.
+
+And when he went up again, his wife, to his relief, and, it must be
+admitted, to his surprise, took it very well.  She had not even
+noticed how long he had been downstairs, for she had been reading
+with intense, painful care the column that the great daily paper
+they took in had allotted to the one-time famous detective.
+
+According to this Special Investigator's own account he had
+discovered all sorts of things that had escaped the eye of the
+police and of the official detectives.  For instance, owing, he
+admitted, to a fortunate chance, he had been at the place where
+the two last murders had been committed very soon after the double
+crime had been discovered - in fact within half an hour, and he
+had found, or so he felt sure, on the slippery, wet pavement
+imprints of the murderer's right foot.
+
+The paper reproduced the impression of a half-worn rubber sole.
+At the same time, he also admitted - for the Special Investigator
+was very honest, and he had a good bit of space to fill in the
+enterprising paper which had engaged him to probe the awful
+mystery - that there were thousands of rubber soles being worn in
+London. . . .
+
+And when she came to that statement Mrs. Bunting looked up, and
+there came a wan smile over her thin, closely-shut lips.  It was
+quite true - that about rubber soles; there were thousands of
+rubber soles being worn just now.  She felt grateful to the Special
+Investigator for having stated the fact so clearly.
+
+The column ended up with the words:
+
+"And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten
+days ago.  To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public
+inquiry could be held at once.  Say, on the very day the discovery
+of a fresh murder is made.  In that way alone would it be possible
+to weigh and sift the evidence offered by members of the general
+public.  For when a week or more has elapsed, and these same people
+have been examined and cross-examined in private by the police,
+their impressions have had time to become blurred and  hopelessly
+confused.  On that last occasion but one there seems no doubt
+that several people, at any rate two women and one man, actually
+saw the murderer hurrying from the scene of his atrocious double
+crime - this being so, to-day's investigation may be of the highest
+value and importance.  To-morrow I hope to give an account of
+the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements
+made during its course."
+
+Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had
+gone on reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment.  At last he
+said rather crossly, "Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute!  The
+omelette I've cooked for you will be just like leather if you don't
+eat it."
+
+But once his wile had eaten her breakfast - and, to Bunting's
+mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette untouched
+ - she took the paper up again.  She turned over the big sheets,
+until she found, at the foot of one of the ten columns devoted to
+The Avenger and his crimes, the information she wanted, and then
+uttered an exclamation under her breath.
+
+What Mrs. Bunting had been looking for - what at last she had found
+ - was the time and place of the inquest which was to be held that
+day.  The hour named was a rather odd time - two o'clock in the
+afternoon, but, from Mrs. Bunting's point of view, it was most
+convenient.
+
+By two o'clock, nay, by half-past one, the lodger would have had
+his lunch; by hurrying matters a little she and Bunting would have
+had their dinner, and - and Daisy wasn't coming home till tea-time.
+
+She got up out of her husband's chair.  "I think you're right," she
+said, in a quick, hoarse tone.  "I mean about me seeing a doctor,
+Bunting.' I think I will go and see a doctor this very afternoon."
+
+"Wouldn't you like me to go with you?" he asked.
+
+"No, that I wouldn't.  In fact I wouldn't go at all you was to go
+with me."
+
+"All right," he said vexedly.  "Please yourself, my dear; you know
+best."
+
+"I should think I did know best where my own health is concerned."
+
+Even Bunting was incensed by this lack of gratitude.  "'Twas I said,
+long ago, you ought to go and see the doctor; 'twas you said you
+wouldn't!" he exclaimed pugnaciously.
+
+"Well, I've never said you was never right, have I?  At any rate,
+I'm going."
+
+"Have you a pain anywhere?"  He stared at her with a look of real
+solicitude on his fat, phlegmatic face.
+
+Somehow Ellen didn't look right, standing there opposite him.  Her
+shoulders seemed to have shrunk; even her cheeks had fallen in a
+little.  She had never looked so bad - not even when they had been
+half starving, and dreadfully, dreadfully worded.
+
+"Yes," she said briefly, "I've a pain in my head, at the back of
+my neck.  It doesn't often leave me; it gets worse when anything
+upsets me, like I was upset last night by Joe Chandler."
+
+"He was a silly ass to come and do a thing like that!" said Bunting
+crossly.  "I'd a good mind to tell him so, too.  But I must say,
+Ellen, I wonder he took you in - he didn't me!"
+
+"Well, you had no chance he should - you knew who it was," she said
+slowly.
+
+And Bunting remained silent, for Ellen was right.  Joe Chandler had
+already spoken when he, Bunting, came out into the hall, and saw
+their cleverly disguised visitor.
+
+"Those big black moustaches," he went on complainingly, "and that
+black wig - why, 'twas too ridic'lous - that's what I call it!"
+
+"Not to anyone who didn't know Joe," she said sharply.
+
+"Well, I don't know.  He didn't look like a real man - nohow.  If
+he's a wise lad, he won't let our Daisy ever see him looking like
+that!" and Bunting laughed, a comfortable laugh.
+
+He had thought a good deal about Daisy and young Chandler the last
+two days, and, on the whole, he was well pleased.   It was a dull,
+unnatural life the girl was leading with Old Aunt.  And Joe was
+earning good money.  They wouldn't have long to wait, these two
+young people, as a beau and his girl often have to wait, as he,
+Bunting, and Daisy's mother had had to do, for ever so long before
+they could be married.  No, there was no reason why they shouldn't
+be spliced quite soon - lf so the fancy took them.  And Bunting
+had very little doubt that so the fancy would take Joe, at any rate.
+
+But there was plenty of time.  Daisy wouldn't be eighteen till the
+week after next.  They might wait till she was twenty.  By that
+time Old Aunt might be dead, and Daisy might have come into quite
+a tidy little bit of money.
+
+"What are you smiling at?" said his wife sharply.
+
+And he shook himself.  "I - smiling?  At nothing that I knows of."
+Then he waited a moment.  "Well, if you will know, Ellen, I was
+just thinking of Daisy and that young chap Joe Chandler.  He is
+gone on her, ain't he?"
+
+"Gone?" And then Mrs. Bunting laughed, a queer, odd, not unkindly
+laugh.  "Gone, Bunting?" she repeated.  "Why, he's out o' sight
+ - right, out of sight!"
+
+Then hesitatingly, and looking narrowly at her husband, she went on,
+twisting a bit of her black apron with her fingers as she spoke: -
+"I suppose he'll be going over this afternoon to fetch her?  Or - or
+d'you think he'll have to be at that inquest, Bunting?"
+
+"Inquest?  What inquest?"  He looked at her puzzled.
+
+"Why, the inquest on them bodies found in the passage near by King's
+Cross."
+
+"Oh, no; he'd have no call to be at the inquest. For the matter o'
+that, I know he's going over to fetch Daisy.  He said so last night
+ - just when 'you went up to the lodger."
+
+"That's just as well."  Mrs. Bunting spoke with considerable
+satisfaction.  "Otherwise I suppose you'd ha' had to go.  I wouldn't
+like the house left - not with us out of it.  Mr. Sleuth would be
+upset if there came a ring at the door."
+
+"Oh, I won't leave the house, don't you be afraid, Ellen - not while
+you're out"
+
+"Not even if I'm out a good while, Bunting."
+
+"No fear.  Of course, you'll be a long time if it's your idea to see
+that doctor at Ealing?"
+
+He looked at her questioningly, and Mrs. Bunting nodded.  Somehow
+nodding didn't seem as bad as speaking a lie.
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Any ordeal is far less terrifying, far easier to meet with courage,
+when it is repeated, than is even a milder experience which is
+entirely novel.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had already attended an inquest, in the character of a
+witness, and it was one of the few happenings of her life which was
+sharply etched against the somewhat blurred screen of her memory.
+
+In a country house where the then Ellen Green had been staying for
+a fortnight with her elderly mistress, there had occurred one of
+those sudden, pitiful tragedies which occasionally destroy the
+serenity, the apparent decorum, of a large, respectable household.
+
+The under-housemaid, a pretty, happy-natured girl, had drowned
+herself for love of the footman, who had given his sweetheart cause
+for bitter jealousy.  The girl had chosen to speak of her troubles
+to the strange lady's maid rather than to her own fellow-servants,
+and it was during the conversation the two women had had together
+that the girl had threatened to take her own life.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting put on her outdoor clothes, preparatory to going
+out, she recalled very clearly all the details of that dreadful
+affair, and of the part she herself had unwillingly played in it.
+
+She visualised the country inn where the inquest on that poor,
+unfortunate creature had been held.
+
+The butler had escorted her from the Hall, for he also was to give
+evidence, and as they came up there had been a look of cheerful
+animation about the inn yard; people coming and going, many women
+as well as men, village folk, among whom the dead girl's fate had
+aroused a great deal of interest, and the kind of horror which those
+who live on a dull countryside welcome rather than avoid.
+
+Everyone there had been particularly nice and polite to her, to
+Ellen Green; there had been a time of waiting in a room upstairs in
+the old inn, and the witnesses had been accommodated, not only with
+chairs, but with cake and wine.
+
+She remembered how she had dreaded being a witness, how she had
+felt as if she would like to run away from her nice, easy place,
+rather than have to get up and tell the little that she knew of the
+sad business.
+
+But it had not been so very dreadful after all.  The coroner had
+been a kindly-spoken gentleman; in fact he had complimented her on
+the clear, sensible way she had given her evidence concerning the
+exact words the unhappy girl had used.
+
+One thing Ellen Green had said, in answer to a question put by
+an inquisitive juryman, had raised a laugh in the crowded,
+low-ceilinged room.  "Ought not Miss Ellen Green," so the man had
+asked, "to have told someone of the girl's threat?  If she had done
+so, might not the girl have been prevented from throwing herself
+into the lake?"  And she, the witness, had answered, with some
+asperity - for by that time the coroner's kind manner had put her
+at her ease - that she had not attached any importance to what the
+girl had threatened to do, never believing that any young woman
+could be so silly as to drown herself for love!
+
+******
+
+Vaguely Mrs. Bunting supposed that the inquest at which she was
+going to be present this afternoon would be like that country
+inquest of long ago.
+
+It had been no mere perfunctory inquiry; she remembered very well
+how little by little that pleasant-spoken gentleman, the coroner,
+had got the whole truth out - the story, that is, of how that
+horrid footman, whom she, Ellen Green, had disliked from the first
+minute she had set eyes on him, had, taken up with another young
+woman.  It had been supposed that this fact would not be elicited
+by the coroner; but it had been, quietly, remorselessly; more, the
+dead girl's letters had been read out - piteous, queerly expressed
+letters, full of wild love and bitter, threatening jealousy.  And
+the jury had censured the young man most severely; she remembered
+the look on his face when the people, shrinking back, had made a
+passage for him to slink out of the crowded room.
+
+Come to think of it now, it was strange she had never told Bunting
+that long-ago tale.  It had occurred years before she knew him, and
+somehow nothing had ever happened to make her tell him about it.
+
+She wondered whether Bunting had ever been to an inquest. She longed
+to ask him.  But if she asked him now, this minute, he might guess
+where she was thinking of going.
+
+And then, while still moving about her bedroom, she shook her head
+ - no, no, Bunting would never guess such a thing; he would never,
+never suspect her of telling him a lie.
+
+Stop - had she told a lie?  She did mean to go to the doctor after
+the inquest was finished - if there was time, that is.  She wondered
+uneasily how long such an inquiry was likely to last.  In this case,
+as so very little had been discovered, the proceedings would surely
+be very formal - formal and therefore short.
+
+She herself had one quite definite object - that of hearing the
+evidence of those who believed they had seen the murderer leaving
+the spot where his victims lay weltering in their still flowing
+blood.  She was filled with a painful, secret, and, yes, eager
+curiosity to hear how those who were so positive about the matter
+would describe the appearance of The Avenger.  After all, a lot of
+people must have seen him, for, as Bunting had said only the day
+before to young Chandler, The Avenger was not a ghost; he was a
+living man with some kind of hiding-place where he was known, and
+where he spent his time between his awful crimes.
+
+As she came back to the sitting-room, her extreme pallor struck her
+husband.
+
+"Why, Ellen," he said, "it is time you went to the doctor.  You
+looks just as if you was going to a funeral.  I'll come along with
+you as far as the station.  You're going by train, ain't you?  Not
+by bus, eh?  It's a very long way to Ealing, you know."
+
+"There you go!  Breaking your solemn promise to me the very first
+minute!"  But somehow she did not speak unkindly, only fretfully
+and sadly.
+
+And Bunting hung his head.  "Why, to be sure I'd gone and clean
+forgot the lodger!  But will you be all right, Ellen?  Why not wait
+till to-morrow, and take Daisy with you?"
+
+"I like doing my own business in my own way, and not in someone
+else's way!" she snapped out; and then more gently, for Bunting
+really looked concerned, and she did feel very far from well, "I'll
+be all right, old man.  Don't you worry about me!"
+
+As she turned to go across to the door, she drew the black shawl
+she had put over her long jacket more closely round her.
+
+She felt ashamed, deeply ashamed, of deceiving so kind a husband.
+And yet, what could she do?  How could she share her dreadful burden
+with poor Bunting? Why, 'twould be enough to make a man go daft.
+Even she often felt as if she could stand it no longer - as if she
+would give the world to tell someone - anyone - what it was that she
+suspected, what deep in her heart she so feared to be the truth.
+
+But, unknown to herself, the fresh outside air, fog-laden though it
+was, soon began to do her good.  She had gone out far too little the
+last few days, for she had had a nervous terror of leaving the house
+unprotected, as also a great unwillingness to allow Bunting to come
+into contact with the lodger.
+
+When she reached the Underground station she stopped short.  There
+were two ways of getting to St. Pancras - she could go by bus, or
+she could go by train.  She decided on the latter.  But before
+turning into the station her eyes strayed over the bills of the
+early afternoon papers lying on the ground.
+
+Two words,
+
+
+THE AVENGER,
+
+
+stared up at her in varying type.
+
+Drawing her black shawl yet a little closer about her shoulders,
+Mrs. Bunting looked down at the placards.  She did not feel inclined
+to buy a paper, as many of the people round her were doing.  Her eyes
+were smarting, even now, from their unaccustomed following of the
+close print in the paper Bunting took in.
+
+Slowly she turned, at last, into the Underground station.
+
+And now a piece of extraordinary good fortune befell Mrs. Bunting.
+
+The third-class carriage in which she took her place happened to be
+empty, save for the presence of a police inspector.  And once they
+were well away she summoned up courage, and asked him the question
+she knew she would have to ask of someone within the next few minutes.
+
+"Can you tell me," she said, in a low voice, "where death inquests
+are held " - she moistened her lips, waited a moment, and then
+concluded - " in the neighbourhood of King's Cross?"
+
+The man turned and, looked at her attentively.  She did not look at
+all the sort of Londoner who goes to an inquest - there are many
+such - just for the fun of the thing.  Approvingly, for he was a
+widower, he noted her neat black coat and skirt; and the plain
+Princess bonnet which framed her pale, refined face.
+
+"I'm going to the Coroner's Court myself." he said good-naturedly.
+"So you can come along of me.  You see there's that big Avenger
+inquest going on to-day, so I think they'll have had to make other
+arrangements for - hum, hum - ordinary cases."  And as she looked
+at him dumbly, he went on, "There'll be a mighty crowd of people at
+The Avenger inquest - a lot of ticket folk to be accommodated, to
+say nothing of the public."
+
+"That's the inquest I'm going to," faltered Mrs. Bunting.  She could
+scarcely get the words out.  She realised with acute discomfort,
+yes, and shame, how strange, how untoward, was that which she was
+going to do.  Fancy a respectable woman wanting to attend a murder
+inquest!
+
+During the last few days all her perceptions had be come sharpened
+by suspense and fear.  She realised now, as she looked into the
+stolid face of her unknown friend, how she herself would have
+regarded any woman who wanted to attend such an inquiry from a
+simple, morbid feeling of curiosity.  And yet - and yet that was
+just what she was about to do herself.
+
+"I've got a reason for wanting to go there," she murmured.  It was
+a comfort to unburden herself this little way even to a stranger.
+
+"Ah!" he said reflectively.  "A - a relative connected with one of
+the two victims' husbands, I presume?"
+
+And Mrs. Bunting bent her head.
+
+"Going to give evidence?" he asked casually, and then he turned and
+looked at Mrs. Bunting with far more attention than he had yet done.
+
+"Oh, no!"  There was a world of horror, of fear in the speaker's voice.
+
+And the inspector felt concerned and sorry.  "Hadn't seen her for
+quite a long time, I suppose?"
+
+"Never had, seen her.  I'm from the country."  Something impelled
+Mrs. Bunting to say these words.  But she hastily corrected herself,
+"At least, I was."
+
+"Will he be there?"
+
+She looked at him dumbly; not in the least knowing to whom he was
+alluding.
+
+"I mean the husband," went on the inspector hastily.  "I felt sorry
+for the last poor chap - I mean the husband of the last one - he
+seemed so awfully miserable.  You see, she'd been a good wife and a
+good mother till she took to the drink."
+
+"It always is so," breathed out Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Aye." he waited a moment.  "D'you know anyone about the court?" he
+asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Well, don't you worry.  I'll take you in along o' me.  You'd never
+get in by yourself."
+
+They got out; and oh, the comfort of being in some one's charge, of
+having a determined man in uniform to look after one!  And yet even
+now there was to Mrs. Bunting something dream-like, unsubstantial
+about the whole business.
+
+"If he knew - if he only knew what I know!" she kept saying over
+and over again to herself as she walked lightly by the big, burly
+form of the police inspector.
+
+"'Tisn't far - not three minutes," he said suddenly.  "Am I walking
+too quick for you, ma'am?"'
+
+"No, not at all.  I'm a quick walker."
+
+And then suddenly they turned a corner and came on a mass of people,
+a densely packed crowd of men and women, staring at a mean-looking
+little door sunk into a high wall.
+
+"Better take my arm," the inspector suggested.  "Make way there!
+Make way!" he cried authoritatively; and he swept her through the
+serried ranks which parted at the sound of his voice, at the sight
+of his uniform.
+
+"Lucky you met me," he said, smiling.  "You'd never have got
+through alone.  And 'tain't a nice crowd, not by any manner of
+means."
+
+The small door opened just a little way, and they found themselves
+on a narrow stone-flagged path, leading into a square yard.  A few
+men were out there, smoking.
+
+Before preceding her into the building which rose at the back of
+the yard, Mrs. Bunting's kind new friend took out his watch.
+"There's another twenty minutes before they'll begin," he said.
+"There's the mortuary" - he pointed with his thumb to a low room
+built out to the right of the court.  "Would you like to go in and
+see them?" he whispered.
+
+"Oh, no!" she cried, in a tone of extreme horror.  And he looked
+down at her with sympathy, and with increased respect.  She was a
+nice, respectable woman, she was.  She had not come here imbued
+with any morbid, horrible curiosity, but because she thought it
+her duty to do so.  He suspected her of being sister-in-law to
+one of The Avenger's victims.
+
+They walked through into a big room or hall, now full of men
+talking in subdued yet eager, animated tones.
+
+"I think you'd better sit down' here," he said considerately, and,
+leading her to one of the benches that stood out from the whitewashed
+walls - "unless you'd rather be with the witnesses, that is."
+
+But again she said, "Oh, no!"  And then, with an effort, "Oughtn't
+I to go into the court now, if it's likely to be so full?"
+
+"Don't you worry," he said kindly.  "I'll see you get a proper place.
+I must leave you now for a minute, but I'll come back in good time
+and look after you."
+
+She raised the thick veil she had pulled down over her face while
+they were going through that sinister, wolfish-looking crowd outside,
+and looked about her.
+
+Many of the gentlemen - they mostly wore tall hats and good overcoats
+ - standing round and about her looked vaguely familiar.  She picked
+out one at once.  He was a famous journalist, whose shrewd, animated
+face was familiar to her owing to the fact that it was widely
+advertised in connection with a preparation for the hair - the
+preparation which in happier, more prosperous days Bunting had had
+great faith in, and used, or so he always said, with great benefit to
+himself.  This gentleman was the centre of an eager circle; half a
+dozen men were talking to him, listening deferentially when he spoke,
+and each of these men, so Mrs. Bunting realised, was a Somebody.
+
+How strange, how amazing, to reflect that from all parts of London,
+from their doubtless important avocations, one unseen, mysterious
+beckoner had brought all these men here together, to this sordid
+place, on this bitterly cold, dreary day.  Here they were, all
+thinking of, talking of, evoking one unknown, mysterious personality
+ - that of the shadowy and yet terribly real human being who chose
+to call himself The Avenger.  And somewhere, not so very far away
+from them all The Avenger was keeping these clever, astute, highly
+trained minds - aye, and bodies, too - at bay.
+
+Even Mrs. Bunting, sitting here unnoticed, realised the irony of her
+presence among them.
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that she had been sitting there a long
+time - it was really about a quarter of an hour - when her official
+friend came back.
+
+"Better come along now," he whispered; "it'll begin soon."
+
+She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps,
+and so into the Coroner's Court.
+
+The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike a
+chapel, the more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, a
+gallery evidently set aside for the general public, for it was now
+crammed to its utmost capacity.
+
+Mrs. Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces.  Had
+it not been for her good fortune in meeting the man she was now
+following, it was there that she would have had to try and make her
+way.  And she would have failed.  Those people had rushed in the
+moment the doors were opened, pushing, fighting their way in a way
+she could never have pushed or fought.
+  
+There were just a few women among them, set, determined-looking
+women, belonging to every class, but made one by their love of
+sensation and their power of forcing their way in where they wanted
+to be.  But the women were few; the great majority of those standing
+there were men - men who were also representative of every class of
+Londoner.
+
+The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or three
+steps below the surrounding gallery.  Just now it was comparatively
+clear of people, save for the benches on which sat the men who were
+to compose the jury.  Some way from these men, huddled together in
+a kind of big pew, stood seven people - three women and four men.
+
+"D'you see the witnesses?" whispered the inspector, pointing these
+out to her.  He supposed her to know one of them with familiar
+knowledge, but, if that were so, she made no sign.
+
+Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of little
+platform, on which stood a desk and an arm-chair.  Mrs. Bunting
+guessed rightly that it was there the coroner would sit.  And to
+the left of the platform was the witness-stand, also raised
+considerably above the jury.
+
+Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring than
+the scene of the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on that
+bright April day, in the village inn.  There the coroner had sat on
+the same level as the jury, and the witnesses had simply stepped
+forward one by one, and taken their place before him.
+
+Looking round her fearfully, Mrs. Bunting thought she would surely
+die if ever she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in that
+curious box-like stand, and she stared across at the bench where sat
+the seven witnesses with a feeling of sincere pity in her heart.
+
+But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted.  Each woman
+witness looked eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be the
+centre of attention and attraction to the general public.  It was
+plain each was enjoying her part of important, if humble, actress
+in the thrilling drama which was now absorbing the attention of all
+London - it might almost be said of the whole world.
+
+Looking at these women, Mrs. Bunting wondered vaguely which was
+which.  Was it that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person who
+had certainly, or almost certainly, seen The Avenger within ten
+seconds of the double crime being committed?  The woman who, aroused
+by one of his victims' cry of terror, had rushed to her window and
+seen the murderer's shadowy form pass swiftly by in the fog?
+
+Yet another woman, so Mrs. Bunting now remembered, had given a most
+circumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, it
+was supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
+
+Those two women now before her had been interrogated and
+cross-examined again and again, not only by the police, but by
+representatives of every newspaper in London.  It was from what they
+had both said - unluckily their accounts materially differed - that
+that official description of The Avenger had been worked up  - that
+which described him as being a good-looking, respectable young fellow
+of twenty-eight, carrying a newspaper parcel.
+
+As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a boon
+companion of the dead.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gaze
+on another unfamiliar sight.  Specially prominent, running indeed
+through the whole length of the shut-in space, that is, from the
+coroner's high dais right across to the opening in the wooden barrier,
+was an ink-splashed table at which, when she had first taken her
+place, there had been sitting three men busily sketching; but now
+every seat at the table was occupied by tired, intelligent-looking
+men, each with a notebook, or with some loose sheets of paper,
+before him.
+
+"Them's the reporters," whispered her friend.  "They don't like
+coming till the last minute, for they has to be the last to go.
+At an ordinary inquest there are only two - maybe three - attending,
+but now every paper in the kingdom has pretty well applied for a
+pass to that reporters' table."
+
+He looked consideringly down into the well of the court.  "Now let
+me see what I can do for you - "
+
+Then he beckoned to the coroner's officer: "Perhaps you could put
+this lady just over there, in a corner by herself?  Related to a
+relation of the deceased, but doesn't want to be - "  He whispered
+a word or two, and the other nodded sympathetically, and looked at
+Mrs. Bunting with interest. "I'll put her just here," he muttered.
+"There's no one coming there to-day.  You see, there are only seven
+witnesses - sometimes we have a lot more than that."
+
+And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where the
+seven witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready
+ - aye, more than ready - to play their part.
+
+For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs. Bunting, but
+soon those who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realised
+that she had nothing to do with the case.  She was evidently there
+as a spectator, and, more fortunate than most, she had a "friend at
+court," and ,so was able to sit comfortably, instead of having to
+stand in the crowd.
+
+But she was not long left in isolation.  Very soon some of the
+important-looking gentlemen she had seen downstairs came into the
+court, and were ushered over to her seat while two or three among
+them, including the famous writer whose face was so familiar that
+it almost seemed to Mrs. Bunting like that of a kindly acquaintance,
+were accommodated at the reporters' table.
+  
+"Gentlemen, the Coroner."
+
+The jury stood up, shuffling their feet, and then sat down again;
+over the spectators there fell a sudden silence.
+
+And then what immediately followed recalled to Mrs. Bunting, for the
+first time, that informal little country inquest of long ago.
+
+First came the "Oyez!  Oyez!" the old Norman-French summons to all
+whose business it is to attend a solemn inquiry into the death
+ - sudden, unexplained, terrible - of a fellow-being.
+
+The jury - there were fourteen of them - all stood up again.  They
+raised their hands and solemnly chanted together the curious words
+of their oath.
+
+Then came a quick, informal exchange of sentences 'twixt the coroner
+and his officer.
+
+Yes, everything was in order.  The jury had viewed the bodies - he
+quickly corrected himself - the body, for, technically speaking, the
+inquest just about to be held only concerned one body.
+
+And then, amid a silence so absolute that the slightest rustle could
+be heard through the court, the coroner - a clever-looking gentleman,
+though not so old as Mrs. Bunting thought he ought to have been to
+occupy so important a position on so important a day - gave a little
+history, as it were, of the terrible and mysterious Avenger crimes.
+
+He spoke very dearly, warming to his work as he went on.
+
+He told them that he had been present at the inquest held on one of
+The Avenger's former victims.  "I only went through professional
+curiosity," he threw in by way of parenthesis, "little thinking,
+gentlemen, that the inquest on one of these unhappy creatures would
+ever be held in my court."
+
+On and on, he went, though he had, in truth, but little to say, and
+though that little was known to every one of his listeners.
+
+Mrs. Bunting heard one of the older gentlemen sitting near her
+whisper to another: "Drawing it out all he can; that's what he's
+doing.  Having the time of his life, evidently!"  And then the other
+whispered back, so low that she could only just catch the words,
+"Aye, aye.  But he's a good chap - I knew his father; we were at
+school together.  Takes his job very seriously, you know - he does
+to-day, at any rate."
+
+******
+
+She was listening intently, waiting for a word, a sentence, which
+would relieve her hidden terrors, or, on the other hand, confirm
+them.  But the word, the sentence, was never uttered.
+
+And yet, at the very end of his long peroration, the coroner did
+throw out a hint which might mean anything - or nothing.
+
+"I am glad to say that we hope to obtain such evidence to-day as
+will in time lead to the apprehension of the miscreant who has
+committed, and is still committing, these terrible crimes."
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared uneasily up into the coroner's firm,
+determined-looking face.  What did he mean by that?  Was there any
+new evidence - evidence of which Joe Chandler, for instance, was
+ignorant?  And, as if in answer to the unspoken question, her heart
+gave a sudden leap, for a big, burly man had taken his place in the
+witness-box - a policeman who had not been sitting with the other
+witnesses.
+
+But soon her uneasy terror became stilled.  This witness was simply
+the constable who had found the first body.  In quick, business-like
+tones he described exactly what had happened to him on that cold,
+foggy morning ten days ago.  He was shown a plan, and he marked it
+slowly, carefully, with a thick finger.  That was the exact place
+ - no, he was making a mistake - that was the place where the other
+body had lain.  He explained apologetically that he had got rather
+mixed up between the two bodies - that of Johanna Cobbett and Sophy
+Hurtle.
+
+And then the coroner intervened authoritatively:  "For the purpose
+of this inquiry," he said, "we must, I think, for a moment consider
+the two murders together."
+
+After that, the witness went on far more comfortably; and as he
+proceeded, in a quick monotone, the full and deadly horror of
+The Avenger's acts came over Mrs. Bunting in a great seething flood
+of sick fear and - and, yes, remorse.
+
+Up to now she had given very little thought - if, indeed, any thought
+ - to the drink-sodden victims of The Avenger.  It was he who had
+filled her thoughts, - he and those who were trying to track him down.
+But now?  Now she felt sick and sorry she had come here to-day.  She
+wondered if she would ever be able to get the vision the policeman's
+words had conjured up out of her mind - out of her memory.
+
+And then there, came an eager stir of excitement and of attention
+throughout the whole court, for the policeman had stepped down out of
+the witness-box, and one of the women witnesses was being conducted to
+his place.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked with interest and sympathy at the woman,
+remembering how she herself had trembled with fear, trembled as that
+poor, bedraggled, common-looking person was trembling now.  The woman
+had looked so cheerful, so - so well pleased with herself till a
+minute ago, but now she had become very pale, and she looked round
+her as a hunted animal might have done.
+
+But the coroner was very kind, very soothing and gentle in his
+manner, just as that other coroner had been when dealing with Ellen
+Green at the inquest on that poor drowned girl.
+
+After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn words
+of the oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story.
+At once Mrs. Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimed
+to have seen The Avenger from her bedroom window.  Gaining confidence,
+as she went on, the witness described how she had heard a long-drawn,
+stifled screech, and, aroused from deep sleep, had instinctively
+jumped out of bed and rushed to her window.
+
+The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk.  "Let me
+see!  Here is the plan.  Yes - I think I understand that the house
+in which you are lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimes
+were committed?"
+
+And there arose a quick, futile discussion.  The house did not face
+the alley, but the window of the witness's bedroom faced the alley.
+
+"A distinction without a difference," said the coroner testily.
+"And now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw when
+you looked out."
+
+There fell a dead silence on the crowded court.  And then the woman
+broke out, speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done.
+"I saw 'im!" she cried.  "I shall never forget it - no, not till my
+dying day!"  And she looked round defiantly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men had
+had with a person who slept under this woman's room.  That person
+had unkindly said she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up that
+night - that she had made up the whole story.  She, the speaker, slept
+lightly, and that night had been tending a sick child.  Accordingly,
+she would have heard if there had been either the scream described
+by Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping out of bed.
+
+"We quite understand that you think you saw the" - the coroner
+hesitated - "the individual who had just perpetrated these terrible
+crimes.  But what we want to have from you is a description of him.
+In spite of the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, you
+say you saw him distinctly, walking along for some yards below your
+window.  Now, please, try and tell us what he was like."
+
+The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a coloured
+handkerchief she held in her hand.
+
+"Let us begin at the beginning," said the coroner patiently.  "What
+sort of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying from
+the passage?"
+
+"It was just a black 'at" said the witness at last, in a husky,
+rather anxious tone.
+
+"Yes - just a black hat.  And a coat - were you able to see what
+sort of a coat he was wearing?"
+
+"'E 'adn't got no coat" she said decidedly.  "No coat at all!  I
+remembers that very perticulerly.  I thought it queer, as it was
+so cold - everybody as can wears some sort o' coat this weather!"
+
+A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, and
+apparently not attending at all to what the witness was saying, here
+jumped up and put out his hand.
+
+"Yes?" the coroner turned to him.
+
+"I just want to say that this 'ere witness - if her name is Lizzie
+Cole, began by saying The Avenger was wearing a coat - a big, heavy
+coat.  I've got it here, in this bit of paper."
+
+"I never said so!" cried the woman passionately.  "I was made to
+say all those things by the young man what came to me from the 
+Evening Sun.  Just put in what 'e liked in 'is paper, 'e did - not
+what I said at all!"
+
+At this there was some laughter, quickly suppressed.
+
+"In future," said the coroner severely, addressing the juryman, who
+had now sat down again, "you must ask any question you wish to ask
+through your foreman, and please wait till I have concluded my
+examination of the witness."
+
+But this interruption, this - this accusation, had utterly upset
+the witness.  She began contradicting herself hopelessly.  The man
+she had seen hurrying by in the semi-darkness below was tall - no,
+he was short.  He was thin - no, he was a stoutish young man.  And
+as to whether he was carrying anything, there was quite an
+acrimonious discussion.
+
+Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared that she had
+seen a newspaper parcel under his arm; it had bulged out at the back
+ - so she declared.  But it was proved, very gently and firmly, that
+she had said nothing of the kind to the gentleman from Scotland Yard
+who had taken down her first account - in fact, to him she had
+declared confidently that the man had carried nothing - nothing at
+all; that she had seen his arms swinging up and down.
+
+One fact - if fact it could be called - the coroner did elicit.
+Lizzie Cole suddenly volunteered the statement that as he had passed
+her window he had looked up at her.  This was quite a new statement.
+
+"He looked up at you?" repeated the coroner.  "You said nothing of
+that in your examination."
+
+"I said nothink because I was scared - nigh scared to death!"
+
+"If you could really see his countenance, for we know the night was
+dark and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like?"
+
+But the coroner was speaking casually, his hand straying over his
+desk; not a creature in that court now believed the woman's story.
+
+"Dark!" she answered dramatically.  "Dark, almost black!  If you can
+take my meaning, with a sort of nigger look."
+
+And then there was a titter.  Even the jury smiled.  And sharply the
+coroner bade Lizzie Cole stand down.
+
+Far more credence was given to the evidence of the next witness.
+
+This was an older, quieter-looking woman, decently dressed in black.
+Being the wife of a night watchman whose work lay in a big warehouse
+situated about a hundred yards from the alley or passage where the
+crimes had taken place, she had gone out to take her husband some
+food he always had at one in the morning.  And a man had passed her,
+breathing hard and walking very quickly.  Her attention had been
+drawn to him because she very seldom met anyone at that hour, and
+because he had such an odd, peculiar look and manner.
+
+Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very much
+from what this witness had said that the official description of The
+Avenger had been composed - that description which had brought such
+comfort to her, Ellen Bunting's, soul.
+
+This witness spoke quietly, confidently, and her account of the
+newspaper parcel the man was carrying was perfectly clear and
+positive.
+
+"It was a neat parcel," she said, "done up with string."
+
+She had thought it an odd thing for a respectably dressed young man
+to carry such a parcel - that was what had made her notice it.  But
+when pressed, she had to admit that it had been a very foggy night
+ - so foggy that she herself had been afraid of losing her way,
+though every step was familiar.
+
+When the third woman went into the box, and with sighs and tears
+told of her acquaintance with one of the deceased, with Johanna
+Cobbett, there was a stir of sympathetic attention.  But she had
+nothing to say throwing any light on the investigation, save that
+she admitted reluctantly that "Anny" would have been such a nice,
+respectable young woman if it hadn't been for the drink.
+
+Her examination was shortened as much as possible; and so was that
+of the next witness, the husband of Johanna Cobbett.  He was a very
+respectable-looking man, a foreman in a big business house at Croydon.
+He seemed to feel his position most acutely.  He hadn't seen his
+wife for two years; he hadn't had news of her for six months.  Before
+she took to drink she had been an admirable wife, and - and yes,
+mother.
+
+Yet another painful few minutes, to anyone who had a heart, or
+imagination to understand, was spent when the father of the murdered
+woman was in the box.  He had had later news of his unfortunate
+daughter than her husband had had, but of course he could throw no
+light at all on her murder or murderer.
+
+A barman, who had served both the women with drink just before the
+public-house closed for the night, was handled rather roughly.  He
+had stepped with a jaunty air into the box, and came out of it
+looking cast down, uneasy.
+
+And then there took place a very dramatic, because an utterly
+unexpected, incident.  It was one of which the evening papers made
+the utmost much to Mrs. Bunting's indignation.  But neither coroner
+nor jury - and they, after all, were the people who mattered - 
+thought a great deal of it.
+
+There had come a pause in the proceedings.  All seven witnesses had
+been heard, and a gentleman near Mrs. Bunting whispered, "They are
+now going to call Dr. Gaunt.  He's been in every big murder case for
+the last thirty years.  He's sure to have something interesting to
+say.  It was really to hear him I came."
+
+But before Dr. Gaunt had time even to get up from the seat with
+which he had been accommodated close to the coroner, there came a
+stir among the general public, or, rather, among those spectators
+who stood near the low wooden door which separated the official
+part of the court from the gallery.
+
+The coroner's officer, with an apologetic air, approached the
+coroner, and banded him up an envelope.  And again in an instant,
+there fell absolute silence on the court.
+
+Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope.  He glanced
+down the sheet of notepaper it contained.  Then he looked up.
+
+"Mr. - " then he glanced down again.  "Mr. - ah - Mr. - is it Cannot?"
+he said doubtfully, "may come forward."
+
+There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
+
+A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat,
+with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from
+the place where he had been standing among the general public, to
+the witness-box.
+
+"This is somewhat out of order, Mr. - er - Cannot," said the
+coroner severely.  "You should have sent me this note before the
+proceedings began.  This gentleman," he said, addressing the jury,
+"informs me that he has something of the utmost importance to
+reveal in connection with our investigation."
+
+"I have remained silent - I have locked what I knew within my own
+breast" - began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, "because I am so
+afraid of the Press!  I knew if I said anything, even to the police,
+that my house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . .
+I have a delicate wife, Mr. Coroner.  Such a state of things - the
+state of things I imagine - might cause her death - indeed, I hope
+she will never read a report of these proceedings.  Fortunately, she
+has an excellent trained nurse - "
+
+"You will now take the oath," said the coroner sharply.  He already
+regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
+
+Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been
+lacking in most of those who had preceded him.
+
+"I will, address myself to the jury," he began.
+
+"You will do nothing of the sort," broke in the coroner.  "Now,
+please attend to me.  You assert in your letter that you know who
+is the - the - "
+
+"The Avenger," put in Mr. Cannot promptly.
+
+"The perpetrator of these crimes.  You further declare that you met
+him on the very night he committed the murder we are now
+investigating?"
+
+"I do so declare," said Mr. Cannot confidently.  "Though in the best
+of health myself," - he beamed round the court, a now amused,
+attentive court - "it is my fate to be surrounded by sick people, to
+have only ailing friends.  I have to trouble you with my private
+affairs, Mr. Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be out
+at so undue an hour as one o'clock in the morning - "
+
+Again a titter ran through the court.  Even the jury broke into
+broad smiles.
+
+"Yes," went on the witness solemnly, "I was with a sick friend - in
+fact, I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed away.
+I will not reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on my
+notepaper.  It is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understand
+me when I say that in order to come home I had to pass through a
+portion of the Regent's Park; and it was there - to be exact, about
+the middle of Prince's Terrace - when a very peculiar-looking
+individual stopped and accosted me."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's hand shot up to her breast. A feeling of deadly fear
+took possession of her.
+
+"I mustn't faint," she said to herself hurriedly.  "I mustn't faint!
+Whatever's the matter with me?"  She took out her bottle of
+smelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.
+
+"He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with a
+very odd-looking face.  I should say an educated man - in common
+parlance, a gentleman.  What drew my special attention to him was
+that he was talking aloud to himself - in fact, he seemed to be
+repeating poetry.  I give you my word, I had no thought of The
+Avenger, no thought at all.  To tell you the truth, I thought this
+gentleman was a poor escaped lunatic, a man who'd got away from his
+keeper.  The Regent's Park, sir, as I need hardly tell you, is a
+most quiet and soothing neighbourhood - "
+
+And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.
+
+"I appeal to you; sir," the old gentleman suddenly cried out "to
+protect me from this unseemly levity!  I have not come here with
+any other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!"
+
+"I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant" said the
+coroner stiffly.  "Time is going on, and I have another important
+witness to call - a medical witness.  Kindly tell me, as shortly as
+possible, what made you suppose that this stranger could possibly
+be - " with an effort he brought out for the first time since the
+proceedings began, the words, "The Avenger?"
+
+"I am coming to that!" said Mr. Cannot hastily.  "I am coming to
+that!  Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner.  It was a foggy
+night, but not as foggy as it became later.  And just when we were
+passing one an-other, I and this man, who was talking  aloud to
+himself - he, instead of going on, stopped and turned towards
+me.  That made me feel queer and uncomfortable, the more so that
+there was a very wild, mad look on his face.  I said to him, as
+soothingly as possible, 'A very foggy night, sir.'  And he said,
+'Yes - yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the commission of
+dark and salutary deeds.'  A very strange phrase, sir, that - 'dark
+and salutary deeds.'  He looked at the coroner expectantly - 
+
+"Well?  Well, Mr. Cannot?  Was that all?  Did you see this person
+go off in the direction of - of King's Cross, for instance?"
+
+"No." Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head.  "No, I must honestly
+say I did not.  He walked along a certain way by my side, and then
+he crossed the road and was lost in the fog."
+
+"That will do," said the coroner.  He spoke more kindly.  "I thank
+you, Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidently
+consider important information."
+
+Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again some
+of those present tittered rather foolishly.
+
+As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and looked
+up at the coroner, opening his lips as he did so.  There was a
+murmur of talking going on, but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heard
+quite distinctly what it was that he said:
+
+"One thing I have forgotten, sir, which may be of importance.  The
+man carried a bag - a rather light-coloured leather bag, in his left
+hand.  It was such a bag, sir, as might well contain a long-handled
+knife."
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters' table.  She remembered suddenly
+that she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth's bag.
+And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a
+single reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that last
+remark of Mr. Cannot.  In fact, not one of them had heard it.
+
+Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention.  And
+then silence did fall on the court.
+
+"One word more," he said in a quavering voice.  "May I ask to be
+accommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings?  I see
+there is some room left on the witnesses' bench."  And, without
+waiting for permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled.  Her friend, the inspector, was
+bending over her.
+
+"Perhaps you'd like to come along now," he said urgently.  - "I
+don't suppose you want to hear the medical evidence.  It's always
+painful for a female to hear that.  And there'll be an awful rush
+when the inquest's over.  I could get you away quietly now."
+
+She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followed
+him obediently.
+
+Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty,
+room downstairs.
+
+"I'll let you out the back way," he said.  "I expect you're tired,
+ma'am, and will like to get home to a cup o' tea."
+
+"I don't know how to thank you!"  There were tears in her eyes.
+She was trembling with excitement and emotion.  "You have been good
+to me."
+
+"Oh, that's nothing," he said a little awkwardly.  "I expect you
+went though a pretty bad time, didn't you?"
+
+"Will they be having that old gentleman again?" she spoke in a
+whisper, and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look.
+
+"Good Lord,' no!  Crazy old fool!  We're troubled with a lot of
+those sort of people, you know, ma'am, and they often do have funny
+names, too.  You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City,
+or what not; then they retires when they gets about sixty, and
+they're fit to hang themselves with dulness.  Why, there's hundreds
+of lunies of the sort to be met in London.  You can't go about at
+night and not meet 'em.  Plenty of 'em!"
+
+"Then you don't think there was anything in what he said?" she
+ventured.
+
+"In what that old gent said?  Goodness - no!" he laughed
+good-naturedly.  "But I'll tell you what I do think.  If it wasn't
+for the time that had gone by, I should believe that the second
+witness had seen that crafty devil - " he lowered his voice.  "But,
+there, Dr. Gaunt declares most positively - so did two other medical
+gentlemen - that the poor creatures had been dead hours when they
+was found.  Medical gentlemen are always very positive about their
+evidence.  They have to be -  otherwise who'd believe 'em?  If we'd
+time I could tell you of a case in which - well, 'twas all because
+of Dr. Gaunt that the murderer escaped.  We all knew perfectly well
+the man we caught did it, but he was able to prove an alibi as to
+the time Dr.  Gaunt said the poor soul was killed.  
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+It was not late even now, for the inquest had begun very punctually,
+but Mrs. Bunting felt that no power on earth should force her to go
+to Ealing.  She felt quite tired out and as if she could think of
+nothing.
+
+Pacing along very slowly, as if she were an old, old woman, she
+began listlessly turning her steps towards home.  Somehow she felt
+that it would do her more good to stay out in the air than take the
+train.  Also she would thus put off the moment - the moment to which
+she looked forward with dread and dislike - when she would have to
+invent a circumstantial story as to what she had said to the doctor,
+and what the doctor had said to her.
+
+Like most men and women of his class, Bunting took a great interest
+in other people's ailments, the more interest that he was himself so
+remarkably healthy.  He would feel quite injured if Ellen didn't
+tell him everything that had happened; everything, that is, that the
+doctor had told her.
+
+As she walked swiftly along, at every corner, or so it seemed to her,
+and outside every public-house, stood eager boys selling the latest
+edition of the afternoon papers to equally eager buyers.  "Avenger
+Inquest?" they shouted exultantly.  "All the latest evidence!"  At
+one place, where there were a row of contents-bills pinned to the
+pavement by stones, she stopped and looked down.  "Opening of the
+Avenger Inquest. What is he really like?  Full description."  On yet
+another ran the ironic query: "Avenger Inquest. Do you know him?"
+
+And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs.
+Bunting turned sick - so sick and faint that she did what she had
+never done before in her life - she pushed her way into a
+public-house, and, putting two pennies down on the counter, asked
+for, and received, a glass of cold water.
+
+As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind
+dwelling persistently - not on the inquest at which she had been
+present, not even on The Avenger, but on his victims.
+
+Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the
+mortuary.  She seemed also to see that third body, which, though
+cold, must yet be warmer than the other two, for at this time
+yesterday The Avenger's last victim had been alive, poor soul - 
+alive and, according to a companion of hers whom the papers had
+already interviewed, particularly merry and bright.
+
+Hitherto Mrs. Bunting had been spared in any real sense a vision of
+The Avenger's victims.  Now they haunted her, and she wondered
+wearily if this fresh horror was to be added to the terrible fear
+which encompassed her night and day.
+
+As she came within sight of home, her spirit suddenly lightened.
+The narrow, drab-coloured little house, flanked each side by others
+exactly like it in every single particular, save that their front
+yards were not so well kept, looked as if it could,  aye, and would,
+keep any secret closely hidden.
+
+For a moment, at any rate, The Avenger's victims receded from her
+mind.  She thought of them no more.  All her thoughts were
+concentrated on Bunting - Bunting and Mr. Sleuth.  She wondered what
+had happened during her absence - whether the lodger had rung his
+bell, and, if so, how he had got on with Bunting, and Bunting with
+him?
+
+She walked up the little flagged path wearily, and yet with a
+pleasant feeling of home-coming.  And then she saw that Bunting must
+have been watching for her behind the now closely drawn curtains,
+for before she could either knock or ring he had opened the door.
+
+"I was getting quite anxious about you," he exclaimed.  "Come in,
+Ellen, quick!  You must be fair perished a day like now - and you
+out so little as you are.  Well?  I hope you found the doctor all
+right?"  He looked at her with affectionate anxiety.
+
+And then there came a sudden, happy thought to Mrs. Bunting.  "No,"
+she said slowly, "Doctor Evans wasn't in.  I waited, and waited, and
+waited, but he never came in at all.  "Twas my own fault" she added
+quickly.  Even at such a moment as this she told herself that though
+she had, in a sort of way, a kind of right to lie to her husband,
+she had no sight to slander the doctor who had been so kind to her
+years ago.  "I ought to have sent him a card yesterday night," she
+said.  "Of course, I was a fool to go all that way, just on chance
+of finding a doctor in.  It stands to reason they've got to go out
+to people at all times of day."
+
+"I hope they gave you a cup of tea?" he said.
+
+And again she hesitated, debating a point with herself: if the
+doctor had a decent sort of servant, of course, she, Ellen Bunting,
+would have been offered a cup of tea, especially if she explained
+she'd known him a long time.
+
+She compromised.  "I was offered some," she said, in a weak, tired
+voice.  "But there, Bunting, I didn't feel as if I wanted it.  I'd
+be very grateful for a cup now - if you'd just make it for me over
+the ring."
+
+"'Course I will," he said eagerly.  "You just come in and sit down,
+my dear.  Don't trouble to take your things off now - wait till
+you've had tea."
+
+And she obeyed him.  "Where's Daisy?" she asked suddenly.  "I thought
+the girl would be back by the time I got home."
+
+"She ain't coming home to-day" - there was an odd, sly, smiling look
+on Bunting's face.
+
+"Did she send a telegram?" asked Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"No.  Young Chandler's just come in and told me.  He's been over
+there and, - would you believe it, Ellen?  - he's managed to make
+friends with Margaret.  Wonderful what love will do, ain't it?  He
+went over there just to help Daisy carry her bag back, you know,
+and then Margaret told him that her lady had sent her some money
+to go to the play, and she actually asked Joe to go with them this
+evening - she and Daisy - to the pantomime.  Did you ever hear o'
+such a thing?"
+
+"Very nice for them, I'm sure," said Mrs. Bunting absently.  But
+she was pleased - pleased to have her mind taken off herself.  "Then
+when is that girl coming home?" she asked patiently.
+
+"Well, it appears that Chandler's got to-morrow morning off too - 
+this evening and to-morrow morning.  He'll be on duty all night,
+but he proposes to go over and bring Daisy back in time for early
+dinner.  Will that suit you, Ellen?"
+
+"Yes.  That'll be all right," she said.  "I don't grudge the girl
+her bit of pleasure.  One's only young once.  By the way, did the
+lodger ring while I was out?"
+
+Bunting turned round from the gas-ring, which he was watching to
+see the kettle boil.  "No," he said.  "Come to think of it, it's
+rather a funny thing, but the truth is, Ellen, I never gave Mr.
+Sleuth a thought.  You see, Chandler came in and was telling me all
+about Margaret, laughing-like, and then something else happened
+while you was out, Ellen."
+
+"Something else happened?" she said in a startled voice.  Getting
+up from her chair she came towards her husband: "What happened?
+Who came?"
+
+"Just a message for me, asking if I could go to-night to wait at a
+young lady's birthday party.  In Hanover Terrace it is.  A waiter
+ - one of them nasty Swiss fellows as works for nothing - fell out
+just at the last minute and so they had to send for me."
+
+His honest face shone with triumph.  The man who had taken over his
+old friend's business in Baker Street had hitherto behaved very
+badly to Bunting, and that though Bunting had been on the books for
+ever so long, and had always given every satisfaction.  But this new
+man had never employed him - no, not once.
+
+"I hope you didn't make yourself too cheap?" said his wife jealously.
+
+"No, that I didn't!  I hum'd and haw'd a lot; and I could see the
+fellow was quite worried - in fact, at the end he offered me
+half-a-crown more.  So I graciously consented!"
+
+Husband and wife laughed more merrily than they had done for a long
+time.
+
+"You won't mind being alone, here?  I don't count the lodger - he's
+no good - "  Bunting looked at her anxiously.  He was only prompted
+to ask the question because lately Ellen had been so queer, so
+unlike herself.  Otherwise it never would have occurred to him that
+she could be afraid of being alone in the house.  She had often been
+so in the days when he got more jobs.
+
+She stared at him, a little suspiciously.  "I be afraid?" she echoed.
+"Certainly not.  Why should I be?  I've never been afraid before.
+What d'you exactly mean by that, Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, nothing.  I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone
+on this ground floor.  You was so upset yesterday when that young
+fool Chandler came, dressed up, to the door."
+
+"I shouldn't have been frightened if he'd just been an ordinary
+stranger," she said shortly.  "He said something silly to me - just
+in keeping with his character-like, and it upset me.  Besides, I
+feel better now."
+
+As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise
+outside, the shouts of newspaper-sellers.
+
+"I'll just run out," said Bunting apologetically, "and see what
+happened at that inquest to-day.  Besides, they may have a clue
+about the horrible affair last night.  Chandler was full of it - 
+when he wasn't talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is.  He's
+on to-night, luckily not till twelve o'clock; plenty of time to
+escort the two of 'em back after the play.  Besides, he said
+he'll put them into a cab and blow the expense, if the panto'
+goes on too long for him to take 'em home."
+
+"On to-night?".  repeated Mrs. Bunting.  "Whatever for?"
+
+"Well, you see, The Avenger's always done 'em in couples, so to
+speak.  They've got an idea that he'll have a try again to-night.
+However, even so, Joe's only on from midnight till five o'clock.
+Then he'll go and turn in a bit before going off to fetch Daisy,
+Fine thing to be young, ain't it, Ellen?"
+
+"I can't believe that he'd go out on such a night as this!"
+
+"What do you mean?" said Bunting, staring at her.  Ellen had spoken
+so oddly, as if to herself, and in so fierce and passionate a tone.
+
+"What do I mean?" she repeated - and a great fear clutched at her
+heart.  What had she said?  She had been thinking aloud.
+
+"Why, by saying he won't go out.  Of course, he has to go out.
+Besides, he'll have been to the play as it is.  'Twould be a pretty
+thing if the police didn't go out, just because it was cold!"
+
+"I - I was thinking of The Avenger," said Mrs. Bunting.  She looked
+at her husband fixedly.  Somehow she had felt impelled to utter
+those true words.
+
+"He don't take no heed of heat nor cold," said Bunting sombrely.
+"I take it the man's dead to all human feeling - -saving, of
+course, revenge.
+
+"So that's your idea about him, is it?"  She looked across at her
+husband.  Somehow this dangerous, this perilous conversation between
+them attracted her strangely.  She felt as if she must go on with it.
+"D'you think he was the man that woman said she saw?  That young
+man what passed her with a newspaper parcel?"
+
+"Let me see," he said slowly.  "I thought that 'twas from the bedroom
+window a woman saw him?"
+
+"No, no.  I mean the other woman, what was taking her husband's
+breakfast to him in the warehouse.  She was far the most
+respectable-looking woman of the two," said Mrs. Bunting impatiently.
+
+And then, seeing her husband's look of utter, blank astonishment,
+she felt a thrill of unreasoning terror.  She must have gone suddenly
+mad to have said what she did!  Hurriedly she got up from her chair.
+"There, now," she said; "here I am gossiping all about nothing when
+I ought to be seeing about the lodger's supper.  It was someone in
+the train talked to me about that person as thinks she saw The
+Avenger."
+
+Without waiting for an answer, she went into her bedroom, lit the
+gas, and shut the door.  A moment later she heard Bunting go out to
+buy the paper they had both forgotten during their dangerous
+discussion.
+
+As she slowly, languidly took off her nice, warm coat and shawl,
+Mrs. Bunting found herself shivering.  It was dreadfully cold, quite
+unnaturally cold even for the time of year.
+
+She looked longingly towards the fireplace.  It was now concealed
+by the washhand-stand, but how pleasant it would be to drag that
+stand aside and light a bit of fire, especially as Bunting was going
+to be out to-night.  He would have to put on his dress clothes, and
+she didn't like his dressing in the sitting-room.  It didn't suit
+her ideas that he should do so.  How if she did light the fire here,
+in their bedroom?  It would be nice for her to have bit of fire to
+cheer her up after he had gone.
+
+Mrs. Bunting knew only too well that she would have very little
+sleep the coming night.  She looked over, with shuddering distaste,
+at her nice, soft bed.  There she would lie, on that couch of little
+ease, listening - listening. . . .
+
+She went down to the kitchen.  Everything was ready for Mr. Sleuth's
+supper, for she had made all her preparations before going out so
+as not to have to hurry back before it suited her to do so.
+
+Leaning the tray for a moment on the top of the banisters, she
+listened.  Even in that nice warm drawing-room, and with a good
+fire, how cold the lodger must feel sitting studying at the table!
+But unwonted sounds were coming through the door.  Mr. Sleuth was
+moving restlessly about the room, not sitting reading, as was his
+wont at this time of the evening.
+
+She knocked, and then waited a moment.
+
+There came the sound of a sharp click, that of the key turning in
+the lock of the chiffonnier cupboard - or so Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+could have sworn.
+
+There was a pause - she knocked again.
+
+"Come in," said Mr. Sleuth loudly, and she opened the door and
+carried in the tray.
+
+"You are a little earlier than usual, are you not Mrs. Bunting?"
+he said, with a touch of irritation in his voice.
+
+"I don't think so, sir, but I've been out.  Perhaps I lost count of
+the time.  I thought you'd like your breakfast early, as you had
+dinner rather sooner than usual."
+
+"Breakfast?  Did you say breakfast, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure!  I meant supper."  He looked at
+her fixedly.  It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that there was a terrible
+questioning look in his dark, sunken eyes.
+
+"Aren't you well?" he said slowly.  "You don't look well, Mrs.
+Bunting."
+
+"No, sir," she said.  "I'm not well.  I went over to see a doctor
+this afternoon, to Ealing, sir."
+
+"I hope he did you good, Mrs. Bunting" - the lodger's voice had
+become softer, kinder in quality.
+
+"It always does me good to see the doctor," said Mrs. Bunting
+evasively.
+
+And then a very odd smile lit up Mr. Sleuth's face.  "Doctors are a
+maligned body of men," he said.  "I'm glad to hear you speak well of
+them.  They do their best, Mrs. Bunting.  Being human they are liable
+to err, but I assure you they do their best."
+
+"That I'm sure they do, sir " - she spoke heartily, sincerely.
+Doctors had always treated her most kindly, and even generously.
+
+And then, having laid the cloth, and put the lodger's one hot dish
+upon it, she went towards the door.  "Wouldn't you like me to bring
+up another scuttleful of coals, sir?  it's bitterly cold - getting
+colder every minute.  A fearful night to have to go out in - " she
+looked at him deprecatingly.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth did something which startled her very much.
+Pushing his chair back, he jumped up and drew himself to his full
+height.
+
+"What d'you mean?" he stammered.  "Why did you say that, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him, fascinated, affrighted.  Again there came an
+awful questioning look over his face.
+
+"I was thinking of Bunting, sir.  He's got a job to-night.  He's
+going to act as waiter at a young lady's birthday party.  I was
+thinking it's a pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes,
+too" - she brought out her words jerkily.
+
+Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down.  "Ah!"
+he said.  "Dear me - I'm sorry to hear that!  I hope your husband
+will not catch cold, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
+
+******
+
+Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy
+washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
+
+Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
+
+"Time for you to dress," she cried out cheerfully, "and I've got a
+little bit of fire for you to dress by."
+
+As he exclaimed at her extravagance, "Well, 'twill be pleasant for
+me, too; keep me company-like while you're out; and make the room
+nice and warm when you come in.  You'll be fair perished, even
+walking that short way," she said.
+
+And then, while her husband was dressing, Mrs. Bunting went upstairs
+and cleared away Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+
+The lodger said no word while she was so engaged - no word at all.
+
+He was sitting away from the table, rather an unusual thing for him
+to do, and staring into the fire, his hands on his knees.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn.  Somehow, a
+great rush of pity, as well as of horror, came over Mrs. Bunting's
+heart.  He was such a - a - she searched for a word in her mind, but
+could only find the word "gentle " - he was such a nice, gentle
+gentleman, was Mr. Sleuth.  Lately he had again taken to leaving his
+money about, as he had done the first day or two, and with some
+concern his landlady had seen that the store had diminished a good
+deal.  A very simple calculation had made her realise that almost the
+whole of that missing money had come her way, or, at any rate, had
+passed through her hands.
+
+Mr. Sleuth never stinted himself as to food, or stinted them, his
+landlord and his landlady, as to what he had said he would pay.
+And Mrs. Bunting's conscience pricked her a little, for he hardly
+ever used that room upstairs - that room for which he had paid extra
+so generously.  If Bunting got another job or two through that nasty
+man in Baker Street, - and now that the ice had been broken between
+them it was very probable that he would do so, for he was a very
+well-trained, experienced waiter - then she thought she would tell
+Mr. Sleuth that she no longer wanted him to pay as much as he was
+now doing.
+
+She looked anxiously, deprecatingly, at his long, bent back.
+
+"Good-night, sir," she said at last.
+
+Mr. Sleuth turned round.  His face looked sad and worn.
+
+"I hope you'll sleep well, sir."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure I shall sleep well.  But perhaps I shall take a
+little turn first. Such is my way, Mrs. Bunting; after I have been
+studying all day I require a little exercise."
+
+"Oh, I wouldn't go out to-night," she said deprecatingly.  "'Tisn't
+fit for anyone to be out in the bitter cold."
+
+"And yet - and yet" - he looked at her attentively -  "there will
+probably be many people out in the streets to-night."
+
+"A many more than usual, I fear, sir."
+
+"Indeed?" said Mr. Sleuth quickly.  "Is it not a strange thing,
+Mrs. Bunting, that people who have all day in which to amuse
+themselves should carry their revels far into the night?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't thinking of revellers, sir; I was thinking" - she
+hesitated, then, with a gasping effort Mrs. Bunting brought out the
+words, "of the police."
+
+"The police?"  He put up his right hand and stroked his chin two or
+three times with a nervous gesture.  "But what is man - what is man's
+puny power or strength against that of God, or even of those over
+whose feet God has set a guard?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked at his landlady with a kind of triumph lighting up
+his face, and Mrs. Bunting felt a shuddering sense of relief.  Then
+she had not offended her lodger?  She had not made him angry by that,
+that - was it a hint she had meant to convey to him?
+
+"Very true, sir," she said respectfully.  "But Providence means us
+to take care o' ourselves too."  And then she closed the door behind
+her and went downstairs.
+
+But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go on, down to the kitchen.  She
+came into her sitting-room, and, careless of what Bunting would think
+the next morning, put the tray with the remains of the lodger's meal on
+her table.  Having done that, and having turned out the gas in the
+passage and the sitting-room, she went into her bedroom and closed the
+door.
+
+The fire was burning brightly and clearly.  She told herself that
+she did not need any other light to undress by.
+
+What was it made the flames of the fire shoot up, shoot down, in
+that queer way?  But watching it for awhile, she did at last doze
+off a bit.
+
+And then - and then Mrs. Bunting woke with a sudden thumping of her
+heart.  Woke to see that the fire was almost out - woke to hear a
+quarter to twelve chime out - woke at last to the sound she had been
+listening for before she fell asleep - the sound of Mr. Sleuth,
+wearing his rubber-soled shoes, creeping downstairs, along the
+passage, and so out, very, very quietly by the front door.
+
+But once she was in bed Mrs. Bunting turned restless.  She tossed
+this way and that, full of discomfort and unease.  Perhaps it was
+the unaccustomed firelight dancing on the walls, making queer shadows
+all round her, which kept her so wide awake.
+
+She lay thinking and listening - listening and thinking.  It even
+occurred to her to do the one thing that might have quieted her
+excited brain - to get a book, one of those detective stories of
+which Bunting had a slender store in the next room, and then,
+lighting the gas, to sit up and read.
+
+No, Mrs. Bunting had always been told it was very wrong to read in
+bed, and she was not in a mood just now to begin doing anything that
+she had been told was wrong. . . .
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+It was a very cold night - so cold, so windy, so snow-laden was the
+atmosphere, that everyone who could do so stayed indoors.
+
+Bunting, however, was now on his way home from what had proved a
+really pleasant job.  A remarkable piece of luck had come his way
+this evening, all the more welcome because it was quite unexpected!
+The young lady at whose birthday party he had been present in
+capacity of waiter had come into a fortune that day, and she had had
+the gracious, the surprising thought of presenting each of the hired
+waiters with a sovereign!
+
+This gift, which had been accompanied by a few kind words, had gone
+to Bunting's heart.  It had confirmed him in his Conservative
+principles; only gentlefolk ever behaved in that way; quiet,
+old-fashioned, respectable, gentlefolk, the sort of people of whom
+those nasty Radicals know nothing and care less!
+
+But the ex-butler was not as happy as he should have been.
+Slackening his footsteps, he began to think with puzzled concern of
+how queer his wife had seemed lately.  Ellen had become so nervous,
+so "jumpy," that he didn't know what to make of her sometimes.  She
+had never been really good-tempered - your capable, self -respecting
+woman seldom is - but she had never been like what she was now.  And
+she didn't get better as the days went on; in fact she got worse.
+Of late she had been quite hysterical, and for no reason at all!
+Take that little practical joke of young Joe Chandler.  Ellen knew
+quite well he often had to go about in some kind of disguise, and yet
+how she had gone on, quite foolish-like - not at all as one would
+have expected her to do.
+
+There was another queer thing about her which disturbed him in more
+senses than one.  During the last three weeks or so Ellen had taken
+to talking in her sleep.  "No, no, no!" she had cried out, only the
+night before.  "It isn't true - I won't have it said - it's a lie!"
+And there had been a wail of horrible fear and revolt in her usually
+quiet, mincing voice.
+
+******
+
+Whew!  it was cold; and he had stupidly forgotten his gloves.
+
+He put his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and began walking
+more quickly.
+
+As h& tramped steadily along, the ex-butler suddenly caught sight
+of his lodger walking along the opposite side of the solitary street
+ - one of those short streets leading off the broad road which
+encircles Regent's Park.
+
+Well!  This was a funny time o' night to be taking a stroll for
+pleasure, like!
+
+Glancing across, Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth's tall, thin figure
+was rather bowed, and that his head was bent toward the ground.  His
+left arm was thrust into his long Inverness tape, and so was quite
+hidden, but the other side of the cape bulged out, as if the lodger
+were carrying a bag or parcel in the hand which hung down straight.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was walking rather quickly, and as he walked he talked
+aloud, which, as Bunting knew, is not unusual with gentlemen who live
+much alone.  It was clear that he had not yet become aware of the
+proximity of his landlord.
+
+Bunting told himself that Ellen was right.  Their lodger was
+certainly a most eccentric, peculiar person.  Strange, was it not,
+that that odd, luny-like gentleman should have made all the
+difference to his, Bunting's, and Mrs. Bunting's happiness and
+comfort in life?
+
+Again glancing across at Mr. Sleuth, he reminded himself, not for
+the first time, of this perfect lodger's one fault - his odd dislike
+to meat, and to what Bunting vaguely called to himself, sensible food.
+
+But there, you can't have everything!  The more so that the lodger
+was not one of those crazy vegetarians who won't eat eggs and cheese.
+No, he was reasonable in this, as in everything else connected with
+his dealings with the Buntings.
+
+As we know, Bunting saw far less of the lodger than did his wife.
+Indeed, he had been upstairs only three or four times since Mr.
+Sleuth had been with them, and when his landlord had had occasion
+to wait on him the lodger had remained silent.  Indeed, their
+gentleman had made it very clear that he did not like either the
+husband or wife to come up to his rooms without being definitely
+asked to do so.
+
+Now, surely, would be a good opportunity for a little genial
+conversation?  Bunting felt pleased to see his lodger; it increased
+his general comfortable sense of satisfaction.
+
+So it was that the a-butler, still an active man for his years,
+crossed over the road, and, stepping briskly forward, began trying
+to overtake Mr. Sleuth.  But the more he hurried along, the more the
+other hastened, and that without ever turning round to see whose
+steps he could hear echoing behind him on the now freezing pavement.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's own footsteps were quite inaudible - an odd circumstance,
+when you came to think of it - as Bunting did think of it later,
+lying awake by Mrs. Bunting's side in the pitch darkness.  What it
+meant of course, was that the lodger had rubber soles on his shoes.
+Now Bunting had never had a pair of rubber-soled shoes sent down to
+him to dean.  He had always supposed the lodger had only one pair of
+outdoor boots.
+
+The two men - the pursued and the pursuer - at last turned into the
+Marylebone Road; they were now within a few hundred yards of home.
+Plucking up courage, Bunting called out, his voice echoing freshly
+on the still air:
+
+"Mr Sleuth, sir?  Mr. Sleuth!"
+
+The lodger stopped and turned round.
+
+He had been walking so quickly, and he was in so poor a physical
+condition, that the sweat was pouring down his face.
+
+"Ah!  So it's you, Mr. Bunting?  I heard footsteps behind me, and
+I hurried on.  I wish I'd known that it was you; there are so many
+queer characters about at night in London."
+
+"Not on a night like this, sir.  Only honest folk who have business
+out of doors would be out such a night as this.  It is cold, sir!"
+
+And then into Bunting's slow and honest mind there suddenly crept
+the query as to what on earth Mr. Sleuth's own business out could be
+on this bitter night.
+
+"Cold?" the lodger repeated; he was panting a little, and his words
+came out sharp and quick through his thin lips.  "I can't say that
+I find it cold, Mr. Bunting.  When the snow falls, the air always
+becomes milder."
+
+"Yes, sir; but to-night there's such a sharp east wind.  Why, it
+freezes the very marrow in one's bones!  Still, there's nothing like
+walking in cold weather to make one warm, as you seem to have found,
+sir."
+
+Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth kept his distance in a rather strange
+way; he walked at the edge of the pavement, leaving the rest of it,
+on the wall side, to his landlord.
+
+"I lost my way," he said abruptly.  "I've been over Primrose Hill to
+see a friend of mine, a man with whom I studied when I was a lad,
+and then, coming back, I lost my way.
+
+Now they had come right up to the little gate which opened on the
+shabby, paved court in front of the house - that gate which now was
+never locked.
+
+Mr. Sleuth, pushing suddenly forward, began walking up the flagged
+path, when, with a "By your leave, sir," the ex-butler, stepping
+aside, slipped in front of his lodger, in order to open the front
+door for him.
+
+As he passed by Mr. Sleuth, the back of Bunting's bare left hand
+brushed lightly against the long Inverness cape the lodger was
+wearing, and, to Bunting's surprise, the stretch of cloth against
+which his hand lay for a moment was not only damp, damp maybe from
+stray flakes of snow which had settled upon it, but wet - wet and
+gluey.
+
+Bunting thrust his left hand into his pocket; it was with the other
+that he placed the key in the lock of the door.
+
+The two men passed into the hail together.
+
+The house seemed blackly dark in comparison with the lighted-up
+road outside, and as he groped forward, closely followed by the
+lodger, there came over Bunting a sudden, reeling sensation of
+mortal terror, an instinctive, assailing knowledge of frightful
+immediate danger.
+
+A stuffless voice - the voice of his first wife, the long-dead
+girl to whom his mind so seldom reverted nowadays - uttered into
+his ear the words, "Take care!"
+
+And then the lodger spoke.  His voice was harsh and grating,
+though not loud.
+
+"I'm afraid, Mr. Bunting, that you must have felt something dirty,
+foul, on my coat?  It's too long a story to tell you now, but I
+brushed up against a dead animal, a creature to whose misery some
+thoughtful soul had put an end, lying across a bench on Primrose
+Hill."
+
+"No, sir, no.  I didn't notice nothing.  I scarcely touched you,
+sir."
+
+It seemed as if a power outside himself compelled Bunting to utter
+these lying words.  "And now, sir, I'll be saying good-night to you,"
+he said.
+
+Stepping back he pressed with all the strength that was in him
+against the wall, and let the other pass him.  There was a pause,
+and then - "Good-night," returned Mr. Sleuth, in a hollow voice.
+Bunting waited until the lodger had gone upstairs, and then,
+lighting the gas, he sat down there, in the hall.  Mr. Sleuth's 
+landlord felt very queer - queer and sick.
+
+He did not draw his left hand out of his pocket till he heard Mr.
+Sleuth shut the bedroom door upstairs.  Then he held up his left
+hand and looked at it curiously; it was flecked, streaked with
+pale reddish blood.
+
+Taking off his boots, he crept into the room where his wife lay
+asleep.  Stealthily he walked across to the wash-hand-stand, and
+dipped a hand into the water-jug.
+
+"Whatever are you doing?  What on earth are you doing?" came a
+voice from the bed, and Bunting started guiltily.
+
+"I'm just washing my hands."
+
+"Indeed, you're doing nothing of the sort!  I never heard of such
+a thing - putting your hand into the water in which I was going to
+wash my face to-morrow morning!"
+
+"I'm very sorry, Ellen," he said meekly; "I meant to throw it away.
+You don't suppose I would have let you wash in dirty water, do you?"
+
+She said no more, but, as he began undressing himself, Mrs. Bunting
+lay staring at him in a way that made her husband feel even more
+uncomfortable than he was already.
+
+At last he got into bed.  He wanted to break the oppressive silence
+by telling Ellen about the sovereign the young lady had given him,
+but that sovereign now seemed to Bunting of no more account than if
+it had been a farthing he had picked up in the road outside.
+
+Once more his wife spoke, and he gave so great a start that it shook
+the bed.
+
+"I suppose that you don't know that you've left the light burning in
+the hall, wasting our good money?" she observed tartly.
+
+He got up painfully and opened the door into the passage.  It was as
+she had said; the gas was flaring away, wasting their good money - or,
+rather, Mr. Sleuth's good money.  Since he had come to be their lodger
+they had not had to touch their rent money.
+
+Bunting turned out the light and groped his way back to the room, and
+so to bed.  Without speaking again to each other, both husband and
+wife lay awake till dawn.
+
+The next morning Mr. Sleuth's landlord awoke with a start; he felt
+curiously heavy about the limbs, and tired about the eyes.
+
+Drawing his watch from under his pillow, he saw that it was seven
+o'clock.  Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the
+blind a little to one side.  It was snowing heavily, and, as is the
+way when it snows, even in London, everything was strangely,
+curiously still.  After he had dressed he went out into the passage.
+As he had at once dreaded and hoped, their newspaper was already
+lying on the mat.  It was probably the sound of its being pushed
+through the letter-box which had waked him from his unrestful
+sleep.
+
+He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then,
+shutting the door behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper
+wide open on the table, and bent over it.
+
+As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression
+of intense relief shone upon his stolid face.  The item of news he
+had felt certain would be printed in big type on the middle sheet
+was not there.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Feeling amazingly light-hearted, almost light-headed, Bunting lit
+the gas-ring to make his wife her morning cup of tea.
+
+While he was doing it, he suddenly heard her call out:
+
+"Bunting!" she cried weakly.  "Bunting!"  Quickly he hurried in
+response to her call.  "Yes," he said.  "What is it, my dear?  I
+won't be a minute with your tea." And he smiled broadly, rather
+foolishly.
+
+She sat up and looked at him, a dazed expression on her face.
+
+"What are you grinning at?" she asked suspiciously.
+
+"I've had a wonderful piece of luck," he explained.  "But you was
+so cross last night that I simply didn't dare tell you about it."
+
+"Well, tell me now," she said in a low voice.
+
+"I had a sovereign given me by the young lady.  You see, it was her
+birthday party, Ellen, and she'd come into a nice bit of money, and
+she gave each of us waiters a sovereign."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no comment.  Instead, she lay back and closed her
+eyes.
+
+"What time d'you expect Daisy?" she asked languidly.  "You didn't
+say what time Joe was going to fetch her, when we was talking about
+it yesterday."
+
+"Didn't I?  Well, I expect they'll be in to dinner."
+
+"I wonder, how long that old aunt of hers expects us to keep her?"
+said Mrs. Bunting thoughtfully.  All the cheer died out of Bunting's
+round face.  He became sullen and angry.  It would be a pretty thing
+if he couldn't have his own daughter for a bit - especially now that
+they were doing so well!
+
+"Daisy'll stay here just as long as she can," he said shortly.
+"It's too bad of you, Ellen, to talk like that!  She helps you all
+she can; and she brisks us both up ever so much.  Besides, 'twould
+be cruel - cruel to take the girl away just now, just as she and
+that young chap are making friends-like.  One would suppose that
+even you would see the justice o' that!"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting made no answer.
+
+Bunting went off, back into the sitting-room.  The water was boiling
+now, so he made the tea; and then, as he brought the little tray in,
+his heart softened.  Ellen did look really ill - ill and wizened.
+He wondered if she had a pain about which she wasn't saying anything.
+She had never been one to grouse about herself.
+
+"The lodger and me came in together last night," he observed
+genially.  "He's certainly a funny kind of gentleman.  It wasn't
+the sort of night one would have chosen to go out for a walk, now
+was it?  And yet he must'a been out a long time if what he said
+was true."
+
+"I don't wonder a quiet gentleman like Mr. Sleuth hates the
+crowded streets," she said slowly.  "They gets worse every day - 
+that they do!  But go along now; I want to get up."
+
+He went back into their sitting-room, and, having laid the fire
+and put a match to it, he sat down comfortably with his newspaper.
+
+Deep down in his heart Bunting looked back to this last night with
+a feeling of shame and self-rebuke.  Whatever had made such horrible
+thoughts and suspicions as had possessed him suddenly come into his
+head?  And just because of a trifling thing like that blood.  No
+doubt Mr. Sleuth's nose had bled - that was what had happened;
+though, come to think of it, he had mentioned brushing up against
+a dead animal.
+
+Perhaps Ellen was right after all.  It didn't do for one to be
+always thinking of dreadful subjects, of murders and such-like.  It
+made one go dotty - that's what it did.
+
+And just as he was telling himself that, there came to the door a
+loud knock, the peculiar rat-tat-tat of a telegraph boy.  But before
+he had time to get across the room, let alone to the front door,
+Ellen had rushed through the room, clad only in a petticoat and
+shawl.
+
+"I'll go," she cried breathlessly.  "I'll go, Bunting; don't you
+trouble."
+
+He stared at her, surprised, and followed her into the hall.
+
+She put out a hand, and hiding herself behind the door, took the
+telegram from the invisible boy.  "You needn't wait," she said.
+"If there's an answer we'll send it out ourselves."  Then she tore
+the envelope open - "Oh!" she said with a gasp of relief.  "It's
+only from Joe Chandler, to say he can't go over to fetch Daisy this
+morning.  Then you'll have to go."
+
+She walked back into their sitting-room.  "There!" she said.
+"There it is, Bunting.  You just read it."
+
+"Am on duty this morning.  Cannot fetch Miss Daisy as arranged. -
+Chandler."
+
+"I wonder why he's on duty?" said Bunting slowly, uncomfortably.
+"I thought Joe's hours was as regular as clockwork - that nothing
+could make any difference to them.  However, there it is.  I suppose
+it'll do all right if I start about eleven o'clock?  It may have
+left off snowing by then.  I don't feel like going out again just
+now.  I'm pretty tired this morning."
+
+"You start about twelve," said his wife quickly.
+
+"That'll give plenty of time."
+
+The morning went on quietly, uneventfully.  Bunting received a
+letter from Old Aunt saying Daisy must come back next Monday, a
+little under a week from now.  Mr. Sleuth slept soundly, or, at
+any rate, he made no sign of being awake; and though Mrs. Bunting
+often, stopped to listen, while she was doing her room, there
+came no sounds at all from overhead.
+
+Scarcely aware that it was so, both Bunting and his wife felt more
+cheerful than they had done for a long time.  They had quite a
+pleasant little chat when Mrs. Bunting came and sat down for a bit,
+before going down to prepare Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+"Daisy will be surprised to see you - not to say disappointed!" she
+observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at
+the thought.  And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made
+him stay on a little longer.  "There's no such great hurry as that,"
+she said good-temperedly.  "It'll do quite well if you're there by
+half-past twelve.  I'll get dinner ready myself.  Daisy needn't help
+with that.  I expect Margaret has worked her pretty hard."
+
+But at last there came the moment when Bunting had to start, and
+his wife went with him to the front door.  It was still snowing,
+less heavily, but still snowing.  There were very few people coming
+and going, and only just a few cabs and carts dragging cautiously
+along through the slush.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was still in the kitchen when there came a ring and a
+knock at the door - a now very familiar ring and knock.  "Joe thinks
+Daisy's home again by now!" she said, smiling to herself.
+
+Before the door was well open, she heard Chandler's voice.  "Don't
+be scared this time, Mrs. Bunting!"  But though not exactly scared,
+she did give a gasp of surprise.  For there stood Joe, made up to
+represent a public-house loafer; and he looked the part to perfection,
+with his hair combed down raggedly over his forehead, his
+seedy-looking, ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and greenish-black pot hat.
+
+"I haven't a minute," he said a little breathlessly.  "But I thought
+I'd just run in to know if Miss Daisy was safe home again.  You got
+my telegram all right?  I couldn't send no other kind of message."
+
+"She's not back yet.  Her father hasn't been gone long after her."
+Then, struck by a look in his eyes, "Joe, what's the matter?" she
+asked quickly.
+
+There came a thrill of suspense in her voice, her face grew drawn,
+while what little colour there was in it receded, leaving it very
+pale.
+
+"Well," he said.  "Well, Mrs. Bunting, I've no business to say
+anything about it - but I will tell you !"
+
+He walked in and shut the door of the sitting-room carefully behind
+him.  "There's been another of 'em!" he whispered.  "But this time
+no one is to know anything about it - not for the present, I mean,"
+he corrected himself hastily.  "The Yard thinks we've got a clue - 
+and a good clue, too, this time."
+
+"But where - and how?" faltered Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Well, 'twas just a bit of luck being able to keep it dark for the
+present" - he still spoke in that stifled, hoarse whisper.  "The
+poor soul' was found dead on a bench on Primrose Hill.  And just by
+chance 'twas one of our fellows saw the body first. He was on his
+way home, over Hampstead way.  He knew where he'd be able to get an
+ambulance quick, and he made a very clever, secret job of it.  I
+'spect he'll get promotion for that!"
+
+"What about the clue?" asked Mrs. Bunting, with dry lips.  "You said
+there was a clue?"
+
+"Well, I don't rightly understand about the clue myself.  All I
+knows is it's got something to do with a public-house, 'The Hammer
+and Tongs,' which isn't far off there.  They feels sure The Avenger
+was in the bar just on closing - time."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat down.  She felt better now.  It was natural
+the police should suspect a public-house loafer.  "Then that's why you
+wasn't able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?"
+
+He nodded.  "Mum's the word, Mrs. Bunting!  It'll all be in the last
+editions of the evening newspapers - it can't be kep' out.  There'd be
+too much of a row if 'twas!"
+
+"Are you going off to that public-house now?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, I am.  I've got a awk'ard job - to try and worm something out
+of the barmaid."
+
+"Something out of the barmaid?" repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously. 
+"Why, whatever for?"
+
+He came and stood close to her.  "They think 'twas a gentleman," he
+whispered.
+
+"A gentleman?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression.  "Whatever
+makes them think such a silly thing as that?"
+
+"Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a
+leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of
+milk.  And what d'you think he did?  Paid for it with a sovereign!
+He wouldn't take no change - just made the girl a present of it!
+That's why the young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to
+give him away.  She won't tell now what he was like.  She doesn't
+know what he's wanted for, and we don't want her to know just yet.
+That's one reason why nothing's being said public about it.  But
+there!  I really must be going now.  My time'll be up at three
+o'clock.  I thought of coming in on the way back, and asking you for
+a cup o' tea, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Do," she said.  "Do, Joe.  You'll be welcome," but there was no
+welcome in her tired voice.
+
+She let him go alone to the door, and then she went down to her
+kitchen, and began cooking Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+The lodger would be sure to ring soon; and then any minute Bunting
+and Daisy might be home, and they'd want something, too.  Margaret
+always had breakfast even when "the family" were away, unnaturally
+early.
+
+As she bustled about Mrs. Bunting tried to empty her mind of all
+thought.  But it is very difficult to do that when one is in a state
+of torturing uncertainty.  She had not dared to ask Chandler what
+they supposed that man who had gone into the public-house was really
+like.  It was fortunate, indeed, that the lodger and that inquisitive
+young chap had never met face to face.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth's bell rang - a quiet little tinkle.  But when
+she went up with his breakfast the lodger was not in his sitting-room.
+
+Supposing him to be still in his bedroom, Mrs. Bunting put the cloth
+on the table, and then she heard the sound of his footsteps coming
+down the stairs, and her quick ears detected the slight whirring
+sound which showed that the gas-stove was alight.  Mr. Sleuth had
+already lit the stove; that meant that he would carry out some
+elaborate experiment this afternoon.
+
+"Still snowing?" he said doubtfully.  "How very, very quiet and
+still London is when under snow, Mrs. Bunting.  I have never known
+it quite as quiet as this morning.  Not a sound, outside or in.  A
+very pleasant change from the shouting which sometimes goes on in
+the Marylebone Road."
+
+"Yes," she said dully.  "It's awful quiet to-day - too quiet to my
+thinking.  'Tain't natural-like."
+
+The outside gate swung to, making a noisy clatter in the still air.
+
+"Is that someone coming in here?" asked Mr. Sleuth, drawing a quick,
+hissing breath.  "Perhaps you will oblige me by going to the window
+and telling me who it is, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+And his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"It's only Bunting, sir - Bunting and his daughter."
+
+"Oh!  Is that all?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth hurried after her, and she shrank back a little.  She
+had never been quite so near to the lodger before, save on that
+first day when she had been showing him her rooms.
+
+Side by side they stood, looking out of the window.  And, as if
+aware that someone was standing there, Daisy turned her bright face
+up towards the window and smiled at her stepmother, and at the
+lodger, whose face she could only dimly discern.
+
+"A very sweet-looking young girl," said Mr. Sleuth thoughtfully.
+And then he quoted a little bit of poetry, and this took Mrs.
+Bunting very much aback.
+
+"Wordsworth," he murmured dreamily.  "A poet too little read
+nowadays, Mrs. Bunting; but one with a beautiful feeling for nature,
+for youth, for innocence."
+
+"Indeed, sir?" Mrs. Bunting stepped back a little.  "Your breakfast
+will be getting cold, sir, if you don't have it now."
+
+He went back to the table, obediently, and sat down as a child
+rebuked might have done.,
+
+And then his landlady Left him.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting cheerily.  "Everything went off quite all right.
+And Daisy's a lucky girl - that she is! Her Aunt Margaret gave her
+five shillings."
+
+But Daisy did not look as pleased as her father thought she ought
+to do.
+
+"I hope nothing's happened to Mr. Chandler," she said a little
+disconsolately.  "The very last words he said to me last night was
+that he'd be there at ten o'clock.  I got quite fidgety as the time
+went on and he didn't come."
+
+"He's been here," said Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+
+"Been here?" cried her husband.  "Then why on earth didn't he go and
+fetch Daisy, if he'd time to come here?"
+
+"He was on the way to his job," his wife answered.  "You run along,
+child, downstairs.  Now that you are here you can make yourself
+useful."
+
+And Daisy reluctantly obeyed.  She wondered what it was her
+stepmother didn't want her to hear.
+
+"I've something to tell you, Bunting."
+
+"Yes?" He looked across uneasily.  "Yes, Ellen?"
+
+"There's been another o' those murders.  But the police don't want
+anyone to know about it - not yet.  That's why Joe couldn't go over
+and fetch Daisy.  They're all on duty again."
+
+Bunting put out his hand and clutched hold of the edge of the
+mantelpiece.  He had gone very red, but his wife was far too much
+concerned with her own feelings and sensations to notice it.
+
+There was a long silence between them.  Then he spoke, making a
+great effort to appear unconcerned.
+
+"And where did it happen?" he asked.  "Close to the other one?"
+
+She hesitated, then: "I don't know.  He didn't say.  But hush!"
+she added quickly.  "Here's Daisy!  Don't let's talk of that horror
+in front of her-like.  Besides, I promised Chandler I'd be mum."
+
+And he acquiesced.
+
+"You can be laying the cloth, child, while I go up and clear away
+the lodger's breakfast."  Without waiting for an answer, she hurried
+upstairs.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had left the greater part of the nice lemon sole untouched.
+"I don't feel well to-day," he said fretfully.  "And, Mrs. Bunting?
+I should be much obliged if your husband would lend me that paper I
+saw in his hand.  I do not often care to look at the public prints,
+but I should like to do so now.
+
+She flew downstairs.  "Bunting," she said a little breathlessly,
+"the lodger would like you just to lend him the Sun."
+
+Bunting handed it over to her.  "I've read it through," he observed.
+"You can tell him that I don't want it back again."
+
+On her way up she glanced down at the pink sheet.  Occupying a third
+of the space was an irregular drawing, and under it was written, in
+rather large characters:
+
+"We are glad to be able to present our readers with an authentic
+reproduction of the footprint of the half-worn rubber sole which
+was almost certainly worn by The Avenger when he committed his
+double murder ten days ago."
+
+She went into the sitting-room.  To her relief it was empty.
+
+"Kindly put the paper down on the table," came Mr. Sleuth's muffled
+voice from the upper landing.
+
+She did so.  "Yes, sir.  And Bunting don't want the paper back
+again, sir.  He says he's read it."  And then she hurried out of
+the room.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+All afternoon it went on snowing; and the three of them sat there,
+listening and waiting - Bunting and his wife hardly knew for what;
+Daisy for the knock which would herald Joe Chandler.
+
+And about four there came the now familiar sound.
+
+Mrs. Bunting hurried out into the passage, and as she opened the
+front door she whispered, "We haven't said anything to Daisy yet.
+Young girls can't keep secrets."
+
+Chandler nodded comprehendingly.  He now looked the low character
+he had assumed to the life, for he was blue with cold, disheartened,
+and tired out.
+
+Daisy gave a little cry of shocked surprise, of amusement, of
+welcome, when she saw how cleverly he was disguised.
+
+"I never!" she exclaimed.  "What a difference it do make, to be
+sure!  Why, you looks quite horrid, Mr. Chandler."
+
+And, somehow, that little speech of hers amused her father so much
+that he quite cheered up.  Bunting had been very dull and quiet
+all that afternoon.
+
+"It won't take me ten minutes to make myself respectable again,"
+said the young man rather ruefully.
+
+His host and hostess, looking at him eagerly, furtively, both came
+to the conclusion that he had been unsuccessful - that he had failed,
+that is, in getting any information worth having.  And though, in a
+sense, they all had a pleasant tea together, there was an air of
+constraint, even of discomfort, over the little party.
+
+Bunting felt it hard that he couldn't ask the questions that were
+trembling on his lips; he would have felt it hard any time during
+the last month to refrain from knowing anything Joe could tell him,
+but now it seemed almost intolerable to be in this queer kind of
+half suspense.  There was one important fact he longed to know,
+and at last came his opportunity of doing so, for Joe Chandler rose
+to leave, and this time it was Bunting who followed him out into
+the hall.
+
+"Where did it happen?" he whispered.  "Just tell me that, Joe?"
+
+"Primrose Hill," said the other briefly.  "You'll know all about it
+in a minute or two, for it'll be all in the last editions of the
+evening papers.  That's what's been arranged."
+
+"No arrest I suppose?"
+
+Chandler shook his head despondently.  "No," he said, "I'm inclined
+to think the Yard was on a wrong tack altogether this time.  But one
+can only do one's best. I don't know if Mrs. Bunting told you I'd
+got to question a barmaid about a man who was in her place just
+before closing-time.  Well, she's said all she knew, and it's as
+clear as daylight to me that the eccentric old gent she talks about
+was only a harmless luny.  He gave her a sovereign just because she
+told him she was a teetotaller!"  He laughed ruefully.
+
+Even Bunting was diverted at the notion.  "Well, that's a queer
+thing for a barmaid to be!" he exclaimed.  "She's niece to the people
+what keeps the public," explained Chandler; and then he went out of
+the front door with a cheerful "So long!"
+
+When Bunting went back into the sitting-room Daisy had disappeared.
+She had gone downstairs with the tray.  "Where's my girl?" he said
+irritably.
+
+"She's just taken the tray downstairs."
+
+He went out to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called out sharply,
+"Daisy!  Daisy, child!  Are you down there?"
+
+"Yes, father," came her eager, happy voice.
+
+"Better come up out of that cold kitchen."
+
+He turned and came back to his wife.  "Ellen, is the lodger in?  I
+haven't heard him moving about.  Now mind what I says, please!  I
+don't want Daisy to be mixed up with him."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't seem very well to-day," answered Mrs. Bunting
+quietly.  "'Tain't likely I should let Daisy have anything to do
+with him.  Why, she's never even seen him.  'Tain't likely I should
+allow her to begin waiting on him now."
+
+But though she was surprised and a little irritated by the tone in
+which Bunting had spoken, no glimmer of the truth illumined her mind.
+So accustomed had she become to bearing alone the burden of her awful
+secret, that it would have required far more than a cross word or
+two, far more than the fact that Bunting looked ill and tired, for
+her to have come to suspect that her secret was now shared by another,
+and that other her husband.
+
+Again and again the poor soul had agonised and trembled at the
+thought of her house being invaded by the police, but that was only
+because she had always credited the police with supernatural powers
+of detection.  That they should come to know the awful fact she kept
+hidden in her breast would have seemed to her, on the whole, a
+natural thing, but that Bunting should even dimly suspect it appeared
+beyond the range of possibility.
+
+And yet even Daisy noticed a change in her father.  He sat cowering
+over the fire - saying nothing, doing nothing.
+
+"Why, father, ain't you well?" the girl asked more than once.
+
+And, looking up, he would answer, "Yes, I'm well enough, nay girl,
+but I feels cold.  It's awful cold.  I never did feel anything like
+the cold we've got just now."
+
+
+At eight the now familiar shouts and cries began again outside.
+
+"The Avenger again!" "Another horrible crime!"  "Extra speshul
+edition!" - such were the shouts, the exultant yells, hurled through
+the clear, cold air.  They fell, like bombs into the quiet room.
+
+Both Bunting and his wife remained silent, but Daisy's cheeks grew
+pink with excitement, and her eye sparkled.
+
+"Hark, father!  Hark, Ellen!  D'you hear that?" she exclaimed
+childishly, and even clapped her hands.  "I do wish Mr. Chandler
+had been here.  He would 'a been startled!"
+
+"Don't, Daisy!" and Bunting frowned.
+
+Then, getting up, he stretched himself.  "It's fair getting on my
+mind," he said, "these horrible things happening.  I'd like to get
+right away  from London, just as far as I could - that I would!"
+
+"Up to John-o'-Groat's?" said Daisy, laughing.  And then, "Why,
+father, ain't you going out to get a paper?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose I must."
+
+Slowly he went out of the room, and, lingering a moment in the hall,
+he put on his greatcoat and hat.  Then he opened the front door,
+and walked down the flagged path.  Opening the iron gate, he stepped
+out on the pavement, then crossed the road to where the newspaper-boys
+now stood.
+
+The boy nearest to him only had the Sun - a late edition of the paper
+he had already read.  It annoyed Bunting to give a penny for a
+ha'penny rag of which he already knew the main contents.  But there
+was nothing else to do.
+
+Standing under a lamp-post, he opened out the newspaper.  It was
+bitingly cold; that, perhaps, was why his hand shook as he looked
+down at the big headlines.  For Bunting had been very unfair to the
+enterprise of the editor of his favourite evening paper.  This
+special edition was full of new matter - new matter concerning
+The Avenger.
+
+First, in huge type right across the page, was the brief statement
+that The Avenger had now committed his ninth crime, and that he had
+chosen quite a new locality, namely, the lonely stretch of rising
+ground known to Londoners as Primrose Hill.
+
+"The police." so Bunting read, "are very reserved as to the
+circumstances which led to the finding of the body of The Avenger's
+latest victim.  But we have reason to believe that they possess
+several really important clues, and that one of them is concerned
+with the half-worn rubber sole of which we are the first to reproduce
+an outline to-day.  (See over page.)"
+
+And Bunting, turning the sheet round about, saw the irregular outline
+he had already seen in the early edition of the Sun, that purporting
+to be a facsimile of the imprint left by The Avenger's rubber sole.
+
+He stared down at the rough outline which took up so much of the
+space which should have been devoted to reading matter with a queer,
+sinking feeling of terrified alarm.  Again and again criminals had
+been tracked by the marks their boots or shoes had made at or near
+the scenes of their misdoings.
+
+Practically the only job Bunting did in his own house of a menial
+kind was the cleaning of the boots and shoes.  He had already
+visualised early this very afternoon the little row with which he
+dealt each morning - first came his wife's strong, serviceable
+boots, then his own two pairs, a good deal patched and mended, and
+next to his own Mr. Sleuth's strong, hardly worn, and expensive
+buttoned boots.  Of late a dear little coquettish high-heeled pair
+of outdoor shoes with thin, paperlike soles, bought by Daisy for
+her trip to London, had ended the row.  The girl had worn these
+thin shoes persistently, in defiance of Ellen's reproof and advice,
+and he, Bunting, had only once had to clean her more sensible
+country pair, and that only because the others had become wet though
+the day he and she had accompanied young Chandler to Scotland Yard.
+
+Slowly he returned across the road.  Somehow the thought of going
+in again, of hearing his wife's sarcastic comments, of parrying
+Daisy's eager questions, had become intolerable.  So he walked
+slowly, trying to put off the evil moment when he would have to tell
+them what was in his paper.
+
+The lamp under which he had stood reading was not exactly opposite
+the house.  It was rather to the right of it.  And when, having
+crossed over the roadway, he walked along the pavement towards his
+own gate, he heard odd, shuffling sounds coming from the inner side
+of the low wall which shut off his little courtyard from the pavement.
+
+Now, under ordinary circumstances Bunting would have rushed forward
+to drive out whoever was there.  He and his wife had often had
+trouble, before the cold weather began, with vagrants seeking shelter
+there.  But to-night he stayed outside, listening intently, sick
+with suspense and fear.
+
+Was it possible that their place was being watched - already?  He
+thought it only too likely.  Bunting, like Mrs. Bunting, credited
+the police with almost supernatural powers, especially since he
+had paid that visit to Scotland Yard.
+
+But to Bunting's amazement, and, yes, relief, it was his lodger who
+suddenly loomed up in the dim light.
+
+Mr. Sleuth must have been stooping down, for his tall, lank form
+had been quite concealed till he stepped forward from behind the
+low wall on to the flagged path leading to the front door.
+
+The lodger was carrying a brown paper parcel, and, as he walked
+along, the new boots he was wearing creaked, and the tap-tap of
+hard nail-studded heels rang out on the flat-stones of the narrow
+path.
+
+Bunting, still standing outside the gate, suddenly knew what it was
+his lodger had been doing on the other side of the low wall.  Mr.
+Sleuth had evidently been out to buy himself another pair of new
+boots, and then be had gone inside the gate and had put them on,
+placing his old footgear in the paper in which the new pair had
+been wrapped.
+
+The ex-butler waited - waited quite a long time, not only until Mr.
+Sleuth had let himself into the house, but till the lodger had had
+time to get well away, upstairs.
+
+Then he also walked up the flagged pathway, and put his latchkey in
+the door.  He lingered as long over the job of hanging his hat and
+coat up in the hall as he dared, in fact till his wife called out
+to him.  Then he went in, and throwing the paper down on the table,
+he said sullenly: "There it is!  You can see it all for yourself - 
+not that there's very much to see," and groped his way to the fire.
+
+His wife looked at him in sharp alarm.  "Whatever have you done to
+yourself?" she exclaimed.  "You're ill - that's what it is, Bunting.
+You got a chill last night!"
+
+"I told you I'd got a chill," he muttered.  "'Twasn't last night,
+though; 'twas going out this morning, coming back in the bus.
+Margaret keeps that housekeeper's room o' hers like a hothouse - 
+that's what she does.  'Twas going out from there into the biting
+wind, that's what did for me.  It must be awful to stand about in
+such weather; 'tis a wonder to me how that young fellow, Joe Chandler,
+can stand the life - being out in all weathers like he is."
+
+Bunting spoke at random, his one anxiety being to get away from what
+was in the paper, which now lay, neglected, on the table.
+
+"Those that keep out o' doors all day never do come to no harm,"
+said his wife testily.  "But if you felt so bad, whatever was you
+out so long for, Bunting?  I thought you'd gone away somewhere!
+D'you mean you only went to get the paper?"
+
+"I just stopped for a second to look at it under the lamp," he
+muttered apologetically.
+
+"That was a silly thing to do!"
+
+"Perhaps it was," he admitted meekly.
+
+Daisy had taken up the paper.  "Well, they don't say much," she
+said disappointedly.  "Hardly anything at all!  But perhaps Mr.
+Chandler 'll be in soon again.  If so, he'll tell us more about it."
+
+"A young girl like you oughtn't to want to know anything about
+murders," said her stepmother severely.  "Joe won't think any the
+better of you for your inquisitiveness about such things.  If I
+was you, Daisy, I shouldn't say nothing about it if he does come in
+ - which I fair tell you I hope he won't.  I've seen enough of that
+young chap to-day."
+
+"He didn't come in for long - not to-day," said Daisy, her lip
+trembling.
+
+"I can tell you one thing that'll surprise you, my dear" - Mrs.
+Bunting looked significantly at her step-daughter.  She also wanted
+to get away from that dread news - which yet was no news.
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy, rather defiantly.  "What is it, Ellen?"
+
+"Maybe you'll be surprised to hear that Joe did come in this morning.
+He knew all about that affair then, but he particular asked that
+you shouldn't be told anything about it."
+
+"Never!" cried Daisy, much mortified.
+
+"Yes," went on her stepmother ruthlessly.  "You just ask your father
+over there if it isn't true."
+
+"'Tain't a healthy thing to speak overmuch about such happenings,"
+said Bunting heavily.
+
+"If I was Joe," went on Mrs. Bunting, quickly pursuing her advantage,
+"I shouldn't want to talk about such horrid things when I comes in
+to have a quiet chat with friends.  But the minute he comes in that
+poor young chap is set upon - mostly, I admit, by your father," she
+looked at her husband severely.  "But you does your share, too,
+Daisy!  You asks him this, you asks him that - he's fair puzzled
+sometimes.  It don't do to be so inquisitive."
+
+******
+
+And perhaps because of this little sermon on Mrs. Bunting's part
+when young Chandler did come in again that evening, very little was
+said of the new Avenger murder.
+
+Bunting made no reference to it at all, and though Daisy said a
+word, it was but a word.  And Joe Chandler thought he had never
+spent a pleasanter evening in his life - for it was he and Daisy
+who talked all the time, their elders remaining for the most part
+silent.
+
+Daisy told of all that she had done with Aunt Margaret.  She
+described the long, dull hours and the queer jobs her aunt set her
+to do - the washing up of all the fine drawing-room china in a big
+basin lined with flannel, and how terrified she (Daisy) had been
+lest there should come even one teeny little chip to any of it.
+Then she went on to relate some of the funny things Aunt Margaret
+had told her about "the family."
+
+There came a really comic tale, which hugely interested and delighted
+Chandler.  This was of how Aunt Margaret's lady had been taken in by
+an impostor - an impostor who had come up, just as she was stepping
+out of her carriage, and pretended to have a fit on the doorstep.
+Aunt Margaret's lady, being a soft one, had insisted on the man
+coming into the hall, where he had been given all kinds of
+restoratives.  When the man had at last gone off, it was found that
+he had "wolfed" young master's best walking-stick, one with a fine
+tortoise-shell top to it.  Thus had Aunt Margaret proved to her lady
+that the man had been shamming, and her lady had been very angry - 
+near had a fit herself!
+
+"There's a lot of that about," said Chandler, laughing.
+"Incorrigible rogues and vagabonds - that's what those sort of people
+are!"
+
+And then he, in his turn, told an elaborate tale of an exceptionally
+clever swindler whom he himself had brought to book.  He was very
+proud of that job, it had formed a white stone in his career as a
+detective.  And even Mrs. Bunting was quite interested to hear about
+it.
+
+Chandler was still sitting there when Mr. Sleuth's bell rang.  For
+awhile no one stirred; then Bunting looked questioningly at his wife.
+
+"Did you hear that?" he said.  "I think, Ellen, that was the lodger's
+bell."
+
+She got up, without alacrity, and went upstairs.
+
+"I rang," said Mr. Sleuth weakly, "to tell you I don't require any
+supper to-night, Mrs. Bunting.  Only a glass of milk, with a lump
+of sugar in it.  That is all I require - nothing more.  I feel very
+very far from well"  - and he had a hunted, plaintive expression on
+his face.  "And then I thought your husband would like his paper
+back again, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+Mrs. Bunting, looking at him fixedly, with a sad intensity of gaze
+of which she was quite unconscious, answered, "Oh, no, sir!
+Bunting don't require that paper now.  He read it all through."
+Something impelled her to add, ruthlessly, "He's got another paper
+by now, sir.  You may have heard them come shouting outside.  Would
+you like me to bring you up that other paper, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth shook his head.  "No," he said querulously.  "I much
+regret now having asked for the one paper I did read, for it
+disturbed me, Mrs. Bunting.  There was nothing of any value in it - 
+there never is in any public print.  I gave up reading newspapers
+years ago, and I much regret that I broke though my rule to-day."
+
+As if to indicate to her that he did not wish for any more
+conversation, the lodger then did what he had never done before in
+his landlady's presence.  He went over to the fireplace and
+deliberately turned his back on her.
+
+She went down and brought up the glass of milk and the lump of
+sugar he had asked for.
+
+Now he was in his usual place, sitting at the table, studying the
+Book.
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went back to the others they were chatting
+merrily.  She did not notice that the merriment was confined to the
+two young people.
+
+"Well?" said Daisy pertly.  "How about the lodger, Ellen?  Is he
+all right?"
+
+"Yes," she said stiffly.  "Of course he is!"
+
+"'He must feel pretty dull sitting up there all by himself - awful
+lonely-like, I call it," said the girl.
+
+But her, stepmother remained silent.
+
+"Whatever does he do with himself all day?" persisted Daisy.
+
+"Just now he's reading the Bible," Mrs. Bunting answered, shortly
+and dryly.
+
+"Well, I never!  That's a funny thing for a gentleman to do!"
+
+And Joe, alone of her three listeners, laughed - a long hearty peal
+of amusement.
+
+"There's nothing to laugh at," said Mrs. Bunting sharply.  "I should
+feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected with the
+Bible."
+
+And poor Joe became suddenly quite serious.  This was the first time
+that Mrs. Bunting had ever spoken really nastily to him, and he
+answered very humbly, "I beg pardon.  I know I oughtn't to have
+laughed at anything to do with the Bible, but you see, Miss Daisy
+said it so funny-like, and, by all accounts, your lodger must be a
+queer card, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"He's no queerer than many people I could mention," she said quickly;
+and with these enigmatic words she got up, and left the room.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+Each hour of the days that followed held for Bunting its full meed
+of aching fear and suspense.
+
+The unhappy man was ever debating within himself what course he
+should pursue, and, according to his mood and to the state of his
+mind at any particular moment, he would waver between various
+widely-differing lines of action.
+
+He told himself again and again, and with fretful unease, that the
+most awful thing about it all was that he wasn't sure.  If only he
+could have been sure, he might have made up his mind exactly what
+it was he ought to do.
+
+But when telling himself this he was deceiving himself, and he was
+vaguely conscious of the fact; for, from Bunting's point of view,
+almost any alternative would have been preferable to that which to
+some, nay, perhaps to most, householders would have seemed the only
+thing to do, namely, to go to the police.  But Londoners of Bunting's
+class have an uneasy fear of the law.  To his mind it would be ruin
+for him and for his Ellen to be mixed up publicly in such a terrible
+affair.  No one concerned in the business would give them and their
+future a thought, but it would track them to their dying day, and,
+above all, it would make it quite impossible for them ever to get
+again into a good joint situation.  It was that for which Bunting,
+in his secret soul, now longed with all his heart.
+
+No, some other way than going to the police must be found - and he
+racked his slow brain to find it.
+
+The worst of it was that every hour that went by made his future
+course more difficult and more delicate, and increased the awful
+weight on his conscience.
+
+If only he really knew!  If only he could feel quite sure!  And
+then he would tell himself that, after all, he had very little to
+go upon; only suspicion - suspicion, and a secret, horrible
+certainty that his suspicion was justified.
+
+And so at last Bunting began to long for a solution which he knew
+to be indefensible from every point of view; he began to hope, that
+is, in the depths of his heart, that the ledger would again go out
+one evening on his horrible business and be caught - red-handed.
+
+But far from going out on any business, horrible or other, Mr.
+Sleuth now never went out at all.  He kept upstairs, and often spent
+quite a considerable part of his day in bed.  He still felt, so he
+assured Mrs. Bunting, very far from well.  He had never thrown off
+the chill he had caught on that bitter night he and his landlord
+had met on their several ways home.
+
+Joe Chandler, too, had become a terrible complication to Daisy's
+father.  The detective spent every waking hour that he was not on
+duty with the Buntings; and Bunting, who at one time had liked him
+so well and so cordially, now became mortally afraid of him.
+
+But though the young man talked of little else than The Avenger,
+and though on one evening he described at immense length the
+eccentric-looking gent who had given the barmaid a sovereign,
+picturing Mr. Sleuth with such awful accuracy that both Bunting and
+Mrs. Bunting secretly and separately turned sick when they listened
+to him, he never showed the slightest interest in their lodger.
+
+At last there came a morning when Bunting and Chandler held a strange
+conversation about The Avenger.  The young fellow had come in earlier
+than usual, and just as he arrived Mrs. Bunting and Daisy were
+starting out to do some shopping.  The girl would fain have stopped
+behind, but her stepmother had given her a very peculiar, disagreeable
+look, daring her, so to speak, to be so forward, and Daisy had gone
+on with a flushed, angry look on her pretty face.
+
+And then, as young Chandler stepped through into the sitting-room,
+it suddenly struck Bunting that the young man looked unlike himself
+ - indeed, to the ex-butler's apprehension there was something almost
+threatening in Chandler's attitude.
+
+"I want a word with you, Mr. Bunting," he began abruptly, falteringly.
+"And I'm glad to have the chance now that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Daisy
+are out."
+
+Bunting braced himself to hear the awful words - the accusation of
+having sheltered a murderer, the monster whom all the world was
+seeking, under his roof.  And then he remembered a phrase, a
+horrible legal phrase - "Accessory after the fact."  Yes, he had
+been that, there wasn't any doubt about it!
+
+"Yes?" he said.  "What is it, Joe?" and then the unfortunate man
+sat down in his chair.  "Yes?" he said again uncertainly; for young
+Chandler had now advanced to the table, he was looking at Bunting
+fixedly - the other thought threateningly.  "Well, out with it,
+Joe!  Don't keep me in suspense."
+
+And then a slight smile broke over the young man's face.  "I don't
+think what I've got to say can take you by surprise, Mr. Bunting."
+
+And Bunting wagged his head in a way that might mean anything - yes
+or no, as the case might be.
+
+The two men looked at one another for what seemed a very, very long
+time to the elder of them.  And then, making a great effort, Joe
+Chandler brought out the words, "Well, I suppose you know what it
+is I want to talk about.  I'm sure Mrs. Bunting would, from a look
+or two she's lately cast on me.  It's your daughter -  it's Miss
+Daisy."
+
+And then Bunting gave a kind of cry, 'twixt a sob and a laugh.
+"My girl?" he cried.  "Good Lord, Joe!  Is that all you wants to
+talk about?  Why, you fair frightened me - that you did!"
+
+And, indeed, the relief was so great that the room swam round as
+he stared across it at his daughter's lover, that lover who was
+also the embodiment of that now awful thing to him, the law.  He
+smiled, rather foolishly, at his visitor; and Chandler felt a sharp
+wave of irritation, of impatience sweep over his good-natured soul.
+Daisy's father was an old stupid - that's what he was.
+
+And then Bunting grew serious.  The room ceased to go round.  "As
+far as I'm concerned," he said, with a good deal of solemnity, even
+a little dignity, "you have my blessing, Joe.  You're a very likely
+young chap, and I had a true respect for your father."
+
+"Yes," said Chandler, "that's very kind of you, Mr. Bunting.  But
+how about her - her herself?"
+
+Bunting stared at him.  It pleased him to think that Daisy hadn't
+given herself away, as Ellen was always hinting the girl was doing.
+
+"I can't answer for Daisy," he said heavily.  "You'll have to ask
+her yourself - that's not a job any other man can do for you, my lad."
+
+"I never gets a chance.  I never sees her, not by our two selves,"
+said Chandler, with some heat.  "You don't seem to understand, Mr.
+Bunting, that I never do see Miss Daisy alone," he repeated.  "I
+hear now that she's going away Monday, and I've only once had the
+chance of a walk with her.  Mrs. Bunting's very particular, not to
+say pernickety in her ideas, Mr. Bunting - "
+
+"That's a fault on the right side, that is - with a young girl,"
+said Bunting thoughtfully.
+
+And Chandler nodded.  He quite agreed that as regarded other young
+chaps Mrs. Bunting could not be too particular.
+
+"She's been brought up like a lady, my Daisy has," went on Bunting,
+with some pride.  "That Old Aunt of hers hardly lets her out of her
+sight."
+
+"I was coming to the old aunt," said Chandler heavily.  "Mrs.
+Bunting she talks as if your daughter was going to stay with that
+old woman the whole of her natural life - now is that right?  That's
+what I wants to ask you, Mr. Bunting, - is that right?"
+
+"I'll say a word to Ellen, don't you fear," said Bunting abstractedly.
+
+His mind had wandered off, away from Daisy and this nice young chap,
+to his now constant  anxious preoccupation.  "You come along
+to-morrow," he said, "and I'll see you gets your walk with Daisy.
+It's only right you and she should have a chance of seeing one
+another without old folk being by; else how's the girl to tell
+whether she likes you or not!  For the matter of that, you hardly
+knows her, Joe - "  He looked at the young man consideringly.
+
+Chandler shook his head impatiently.  "I knows her quite as well as
+I wants to know her," he said.  "I made up my mind the very first
+time I see'd her, Mr. Bunting."
+
+"No!  Did you really?" said Bunting.  "Well, come to think of it,
+I did so with her mother; aye, and years after, with Ellen, too.
+But I hope you'll never want no second, Chandler,"
+
+"God forbid!" said the young man under his breath.  And then he
+asked, rather longingly, "D'you think they'll be out long now, Mr.
+Bunting?"
+
+And Bunting woke up to a due sense of hospitality.  "Sit down, sit
+down; do!" he said hastily.  "I don't believe they'll be very long.
+They've only got a little bit of shopping to do."
+
+And then, in a changed, in a ringing, nervous tone, he asked, "And
+how about your job, Joe?  Nothing new, I take it?  I suppose you're
+all just waiting for the next time?"
+
+"Aye - that's about the figure of it." Chandler's voice had also
+changed; it was now sombre, menacing.  "We're fair tired of it - 
+beginning to wonder when it'll end, that we are!"
+
+"Do you ever try and make to yourself a picture of what the master's
+like?" asked Bunting.  Somehow, he felt he must ask that.
+
+"Yes," said Joe slowly.  "I've a sort of notion - a savage,
+fierce-looking devil, the chap must be.  It's that description that
+was circulated put us wrong.  I don't believe it was the man that
+knocked up against that woman in the fog - no, not one bit I don't.
+But I wavers, I can't quite make up my mind.  Sometimes I think it's
+a sailor - the foreigner they talks about, that goes away for eight
+or nine days in between, to Holland maybe, or to France.  Then,
+again, I says to myself that it's a butcher, a man from the Central
+Market.  Whoever it is, it's someone used to killing, that's flat."
+
+"Then it don't seem to you possible - ?" (Bunting got up and walked
+over to the window.)  "You don't take any stock, I suppose, in that
+idea some of the papers put out, that the man is" - then he
+hesitated and brought out, with a gasp - "a gentleman?"
+
+Chandler looked at him, surprised.  "No," he said deliberately.
+"I've made up my mind that's quite a wrong tack, though I knows that
+some of our fellows - big pots, too - are quite sure that the fellow
+what gave the girl the sovereign is the man we're looking for.  You
+see, Mr. Bunting, if that's the fact - well, it stands to reason the
+fellow's an escaped lunatic; and if he's an escaped lunatic he's got
+a keeper, and they'd be raising a hue and cry after him; now,
+wouldn't they?"
+
+"You don't think," went on Bunting, lowering his voice, "that he
+could be just staying somewhere, lodging like?"
+
+" D'you mean that The Avenger may be a toff, staying in some
+West-end hotel, Mr. Bunting?  Well, things almost as funny as that
+'ud be have come to pass."  He smiled as if the notion was a funny
+one.
+
+"Yes, something o' that sort," muttered Bunting.
+
+"Well, if your idea's correct, Mr.- Bunting - "
+
+"I never said 'twas my idea," said Bunting, all in a hurry.
+
+"Well, if that idea's correct then, 'twill make our task more
+difficult than ever.  Why, 'twould be looking for a needle in a
+field of hay, Mr. Bunting!  But there!  I don't think it's
+anything quite so unlikely as that - not myself I don't."  He
+hesitated.  "There's some of us" - he lowered his voice-" that
+hopes he'll betake himself off - The Avenger, I mean - to another
+big city, to Manchester or to Edinburgh.  There'd be plenty of
+work for him to do there," and Chandler chuckled at his own grim
+joke.
+
+And then, to both men's secret relief, for Bunting was now
+mortally afraid of this discussion concerning The Avenger and
+his doings, they heard Mrs. Bunting's key in the lock.
+
+Daisy blushed rosy-red with pleasure when she saw that young
+Chandler was still there.  She had feared that when they got home
+he would be gone, the more so that Ellen, just as if she was doing
+it on purpose, had lingered aggravatingly long over each small
+purchase.
+
+"Here's Joe come to ask if he can take Daisy out for a walk,"
+blurted out Bunting.
+
+"My mother says as how she'd like you to come to tea, over at
+Richmond," said Chandler awkwardly, "I just come in to see whether
+we could fix it up, Miss Daisy."  And Daisy looked imploringly at
+her stepmother.
+
+"D'you mean now - this minute?" asked Mrs. Bunting tartly.
+
+"No, o' course not" - Bunting broke in hastily.  "How you do go on,
+Ellen!"
+
+"What day did your mother mention would be convenient to her?"
+asked Mrs. Bunting, looking at the young man satirically.
+
+Chandler hesitated.  His mother had not mentioned any special day
+ - in fact, his mother had shown a surprising lack of anxiety to
+see Daisy at all.  But he had talked her round.
+
+"How about Saturday?" suggested Bunting.  "That's Daisy's' birthday.
+'Twould be a birthday treat for her to go to Richmond, and she's
+going back to Old Aunt on Monday."
+
+"I can't go Saturday," said Chandler disconsolately.  "I'm on duty
+Saturday."
+
+"Well, then, let it be Sunday," said Bunting firmly.  And his wife
+looked at him surprised; he seldom asserted himself so much in her
+presence.
+
+"What do you say, Miss Daisy?" said Chandler.
+
+"Sunday would be very nice," said Daisy demurely.  And then, as the
+young man took up his hat, and as her stepmother did not stir, Daisy
+ventured to go out into the hall with him for a minute.
+
+Chandler shut the door behind them, and so was spared the hearing
+of Mrs. Bunting's whispered remark: "When I was a young woman folk
+didn't gallivant about on Sunday; those who was courting used to
+go to church together, decent-like - "
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Daisy's eighteenth birthday dawned uneventfully.  Her father gave
+her what he had always promised she should have on her eighteenth
+birthday - a watch.  It was a pretty little silver watch, which
+Bunting had bought secondhand on the last day he had been happy - 
+it seemed a long, long time ago now.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought a silver watch a very extravagant present but
+she was far too wretched, far too absorbed in her own thoughts, to
+trouble much about it.  Besides, in such matters she had generally
+had the good sense not to interfere between her husband and his
+child.
+
+In the middle of the birthday morning Bunting went out to buy
+himself some more tobacco.  He had never smoked so much as in the
+last four days, excepting, perhaps, the week that had followed on
+his leaving service.  Smoking a pipe had then held all the exquisite
+pleasure which we are told attaches itself to the eating of forbidden
+fruit.
+
+His tobacco had now become his only relaxation; it acted on his
+nerves as an opiate, soothing his fears and helping him to think.
+But he had been overdoing it, and it was that which now made him
+feel so "jumpy," so he assured himself, when he found himself
+starting at any casual sound outside, or even when his wife spoke
+to him suddenly.
+
+Just now Ellen and Daisy were down in the kitchen, and Bunting
+didn't quite like the sensation of knowing that there was only
+one pair of stairs between Mr. Sleuth and himself.  So he quietly
+slipped out of the house without telling Ellen that he was going
+out.
+
+In the last four days Bunting had avoided his usual haunts; above
+all, he had avoided even passing the time of day to his
+acquaintances and neighbours.  He feared, with a great fear, that
+they would talk to him of a subject which, because it filled his
+mind to the exclusion of all else, might make him betray the
+knowledge - no, not knowledge, rather the - the suspicion - that
+dwelt within him.
+
+But to-day the unfortunate man had a curious, instinctive longing
+for human companionship - companionship, that is, other than that
+of his wife and of his daughter.
+
+This longing for a change of company finally led him into a small,
+populous thoroughfare hard by the Edgeware Road.  There were more
+people there than usual just now, for the housewives of the
+neighbourhood were doing their Saturday marketing for Sunday.  The
+ex-butler turned into a small old-fashioned shop where he generally
+bought his tobacco.
+
+Bunting passed the time of day with the tobacconist, and the two
+fell into desultory talk, but to his customer's relief and surprise
+the man made no allusion to the subject of which all the
+neighbourhood must still be talking.
+
+And then, quite suddenly, while still standing by the counter, and
+before he had paid for the packet of tobacco he held in his hand,
+Bunting, through the open door, saw with horrified surprise that
+Ellen, his wife, was standing, alone, outside a greengrocer's shop
+just opposite.
+
+Muttering a word of apology, he rushed out of the shop and across
+the road.
+
+"Ellen!" he gasped hoarsely, "you've never gone and left my little
+girl alone in the house with the lodger?
+
+Mrs. Bunting's face went yellow with fear.  "I thought you was
+indoors," she cried.  "You was indoors!  Whatever made you come out
+for, without first making sure I'd stay in?"
+
+Bunting made no answer; but, as they stared at each other in
+exasperated silence, each now knew that the other knew.
+
+They turned and scurried down the crowded street.  "Don't run," he
+said suddenly; "we shall get there just as quickly if we walk fast.
+People are noticing you, Ellen.  Don't run."
+
+He spoke breathlessly, but it was breathlessness induced by fear
+and by excitement, not by the quick pace at which they were walking.
+
+At last they reached their own gate, and Bunting pushed past in
+front of his wife.
+
+After all, Daisy was his child; Ellen couldn't know how he was
+feeling.
+
+He seemed to take the path in one leap, then fumbled for a moment
+with his latchkey.
+
+Opening wide the door, "Daisy!" he called out, in a wailing voice,
+"Daisy, my dear!  where are you?"
+
+"Here I am, father.  What is it?"
+
+"She's all right " Bunting turned a grey face to his wife.  "She's
+all right Ellen."
+
+He waited a moment, leaning against the wall of the passage.  "It
+did give me a turn," he said, and then, warningly, "Don't frighten
+the girl, Ellen."
+
+Daisy was standing before the fire in their sitting room, admiring
+herself in the glass.
+
+"Oh, father," she exclaimed, without turning round, "I've seen the
+lodger!  He's quite a nice gentleman, though, to be sure, he does
+look a cure.  He rang his bell, but I didn't like to go up; and so
+he came down to ask Ellen for something.  We had quite a nice
+little chat - that we had.  I told him it was my birthday, and he
+asked me and Ellen to go to Madame Tussaud's with him this
+afternoon."  She laughed, a little self-consciously.  "Of course,
+I could see he was 'centric, and then at first he spoke so funnily.
+'And who be you?' he says, threatening-like.  And I says to him,
+'I'm Mr. Bunting's daughter, sir.'  'Then you're a very fortunate
+girl ' - that's what he says, Ellen - 'to 'ave such a nice
+step-mother as you've got.  That's why,' he says, 'you look such
+a good, innocent girl.'  And then he quoted a bit of the Prayer
+Book.  'Keep innocency,' he says, wagging his head at me.  Lor'!
+It made me feel as if I was with Old Aunt again."
+
+"I won't have you going out with the lodger - that's flat."
+
+Bunting spoke in a muffled, angry tone.  He was wiping his forehead
+with one hand, while with the other he mechanically squeezed the
+little packet of tobacco, for which, as he now remembered, he had
+forgotten to pay.
+
+Daisy pouted.  "Oh, father, I think you might let me have a treat
+on my birthday!  I told him that Saturday wasn't a very good day - 
+at least, so I'd heard - for Madame Tussaud's.  Then he said we
+could go early, while the fine folk are still having their dinners."
+She turned to her stepmother, then giggled happily.  "He particularly
+said you was to come, too.  The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you,
+Ellen; if I was father, I'd feel quite jealous!"
+
+Her last words were cut across by a, tap-tap on the door.
+
+Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively.  Was it
+possible that, in their agitation, they had left the front door
+open, and that someone, some merciless myrmidon of the law, had
+crept in behind them?
+
+Both felt a curious thrill of satisfaction when they saw that it
+was only Mr. Sleuth - Mr. Sleuth dressed for going out; the tall
+hat he had worn when he had first come to them was in his hand, but
+he was wearing a coat instead of his Inverness cape.
+
+"I heard you come in " - he addressed Mrs. Bunting in his high,
+whistling, hesitating voice - "and so I've come down to ask you if
+you and Miss Bunting will come to Madame Tussaud's now.  I have
+never seen those famous waxworks, though I've heard of the place
+all my life."
+
+As Bunting forced himself to look fixedly at his lodger, a sudden
+doubt bringing with it a sense of immeasurable relief, came to
+Mr. Sleuth's landlord.
+
+Surely it was inconceivable that this gentle, mild-mannered
+gentleman could be the monster of cruelty and cunning that Bunting
+had now for the terrible space of four days believed him to be!
+
+He tried to catch his wife's eye, but Mrs. Bunting was looking away,
+staring into vacancy.  She still, of course, wore the bonnet and
+cloak in which she had just been out to do her marketing.  Daisy
+was already putting on her hat and coat.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Sleuth.  Then Mrs. Bunting turned, and it seemed
+to his landlady that he was looking at her threateningly.  "Well?"
+
+"Yes, sir.  We'll come in a minute," she said dully.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+Madame Tussaud's had hitherto held pleasant memories for Mrs. Bunting.
+In the days when she and Bunting were courting they often spent there
+part of their afternoon-out.
+
+The butler had an acquaintance, a man named Hopkins, who was one of
+the waxworks staff, and this man had sometimes given him passes for
+"self and lady."  But this was the first time Mrs. Bunting had been
+inside the place since she had come to live almost next door, as it
+were, to the big building.
+
+They walked in silence to the familiar entrance, and then, after
+the ill-assorted trio had gone up the great staircase and into the
+first gallery, Mr. Sleuth suddenly stopped short.  The presence of
+those curious, still, waxen figures which suggest so strangely death
+in life, seemed to surprise and affright him.
+
+Daisy took quick advantage of the lodger's hesitation and unease.
+
+"Oh, Ellen," she cried, "do let us begin by going into the Chamber
+of Horrors!  I've never been in there.  Old Aunt made father promise
+he wouldn't take me the only time I've ever been here.  But now that
+I'm eighteen I can do just as I like; besides, Old Aunt will never
+know."
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked down at her, and a smile passed for a moment over
+his worn, gaunt face.
+
+"Yes," he said, "let us go into the Chamber of Horrors; that's a
+good idea, Miss Bunting.  I've always wanted to see the Chamber of
+Horrors."
+
+They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were
+then kept, and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where
+waxen effigies of dead criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband's
+old acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting
+the public to the Chamber of Horrors.
+
+"Well, you are a stranger," the man observed genially.  "I do believe
+that this is the very first time I've seen you in here, Mrs. Bunting,
+since you was married!"
+
+"Yes," she said, "that is so.  And this is my husband's daughter,
+Daisy; I expect you've heard of her, Mr. Hopkins.  And this" - she
+hesitated a moment - "is our lodger, Mr. Sleuth."
+
+But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away.  Daisy, leaving her
+stepmother's side, joined him.
+
+Two, as all the world knows, is company, three is none.  Mrs.
+Bunting put down three sixpences.
+
+"Wait a minute," said Hopkins; "you can't go into the Chamber of
+Horrors just yet.  But you won't have to wait more than four or
+five minutes, Mrs. Bunting.  It's this way, you see; our boss is
+in there, showing a party round." He lowered his voice.  "It's
+Sir John Burney - I suppose you know who Sir John Burney is?"
+
+"No," she answered indifferently, "I don't know that I ever heard
+of him."
+
+She felt slightly - oh, very sightly - uneasy about Daisy.  She
+would have liked her stepdaughter to keep well within sight and
+sound, but Mr. Sleuth was now taking the girl down to the other
+end of the room.
+
+"Well, I hope you never will know him - not in any personal sense,
+Mrs. Bunting."  The man chuckled.  "He's the Commissioner of Police
+ - the new one - that's what Sir John Burney is.  One of the
+gentlemen he's showing round our place is the Paris Police boss - 
+whose job is on all fours, so to speak, with Sir John's.  The
+Frenchy has brought his daughter with him, and there are several
+other ladies.  Ladies always likes horrors, Mrs. Bunting; that's
+our experience here.  'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors ' - 
+that's what they say the minute they gets into this here building!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him thoughtfully.  It occurred to Mr. Hopkins
+that she was very wan and tired; she used to look better in the old
+days, when she was still in service, before Bunting married her.
+
+"Yes," she said; "that's just what my stepdaughter said just now.
+'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors' - that's exactly what she
+did say when we got upstairs."
+
+******
+
+A group of people, all talking and laughing together; were advancing,
+from within the wooden barrier, toward the turnstile.
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at them nervously.  She wondered which of them
+was the gentleman with whom Mr. Hopkins had hoped she would never be
+brought into personal contact; she thought she could pick him out
+among the others.  He was a tall, powerful, handsome gentleman, with
+a military appearance.
+
+Just now he was smiling down into the face of a young lady.
+"Monsieur Barberoux is quite right," he was saying in a loud,
+cheerful voice, "our English law is too kind to the criminal,
+especially to the murderer.  If we conducted our trials in the
+French fashion, the place we have just left would be very much
+fuller than it is to-day.  A man of whose guilt we are absolutely
+assured is oftener than not acquitted, and then the public taunt
+us with 'another undiscovered crime!"'
+
+"D'you mean, Sir John, that murderers sometimes escape scot-free?
+Take the man who has been committing all these awful murders this
+last month?  I suppose there's no doubt he'll be hanged - if he's
+ever caught, that is!"
+
+Her girlish voice rang out, and Mrs. Bunting could hear every word
+that was said.
+
+The whole party gathered round, listening eagerly.  "Well, no."
+He spoke very deliberately.  "I doubt if that particular murderer
+ever will be hanged."
+
+"You mean that you'll never catch him?" the girl spoke with a touch
+of airy impertinence in her clear voice.
+
+"I think we shall end by catching him - because" - he waited a moment,
+then added in a lower voice - "now don't give me away to a newspaper
+fellow, Miss Rose - because now I think we do know who the murderer
+in question is - "
+
+Several of those standing near by uttered expressions of surprise and
+incredulity.
+
+"Then why don't you catch him?" cried the girl indignantly.
+
+"I didn't say we knew where he was; I only said we knew who he was,
+or, rather, perhaps I ought to say that I personally have a very
+strong suspicion of his identity."
+
+Sir John's French colleague looked up quickly.  "De Leipsic and
+Liverpool man?" he said interrogatively.
+
+The other nodded.  "Yes, I suppose you've had the case turned up?"
+
+Then, speaking very quickly, as if he wished to dismiss the subject
+from his own mind, and from that of his auditors, he went on:
+
+"Four murders of the kind were committed eight years ago - two in
+Leipsic, the others, just afterwards, in Liverpool, - and there were
+certain peculiarities connected with the crimes which made it clear
+they were committed by the same hand.  The perpetrator was caught,
+fortunately for us, red-handed, just as he was leaving the house of
+his last victim, for in Liverpool the murder was committed in a
+house.  I myself saw the unhappy man - I say unhappy, for there is
+no doubt at all that he was mad " - he hesitated, and added in a
+lower tone-" suffering from an acute form of religious mania.
+I myself saw him, as I say, at some length.  But now comes the really
+interesting point.  I have just been informed that a month ago this
+criminal lunatic, as we must of course regard him, made his escape
+from the asylum where he was confined.  He arranged the whole
+thing with extraordinary cunning and intelligence, and we should
+probably have caught him long ago, were it not that he managed, when
+on his way out of the place, to annex a considerable sum of money
+in gold, with which the wages of the asylum staff were about to be
+paid.  It is owing to that fact that his escape was. very wrongly,
+concealed - "
+
+He stopped abruptly, as if sorry he had said so much, and a moment
+later the party were walking in Indian file through the turnstile,
+Sir John Burney leading the
+way.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked straight before her.  She felt -  so she
+expressed it to her husband later - as if she had been turned to
+stone.
+
+Even had she wished to do so, she had neither the time nor the power
+to warn her lodger of his danger, for Daisy and her companion were
+now coming down the room, bearing straight for the Commissioner of
+Police.  In another moment Mrs. Bunting's lodger and Sir John Burney
+were face to face.
+
+Mr. Sleuth swerved to one side; there came a terrible change over
+his pale, narrow face; it became discomposed, livid with rage and
+terror.
+
+But, to Mrs. Bunting's relief - yes, to her inexpressible relief
+ - Sir John Burney and his friends swept on.  They passed Mr. Sleuth
+and the girl by his side, unaware, or so it seemed to her, that
+there was anyone else in the room hut themselves.
+
+"Hurry up, Mrs. Bunting," said the turnstile-keeper; "you and your
+friends will have the place all to yourselves for a bit."  From an
+official he had become a man, and it was the man in Mr. Hopkins that
+gallantly addressed pretty Daisy Bunting: "It seems strange that a
+young lady like you should want to go in and see all those 'orrible
+frights," he said jestingly.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I trouble you to come over here for a moment?"
+
+The words were hissed rather than spoken by Mr. Sleuth's lips.
+
+His landlady took a doubtful step towards him.
+
+"A last word with you, Mrs. Bunting." The lodger's face was still
+distorted with fear and passion.  "Do not think to escape the
+consequences of your hideous treachery.  I trusted you, Mrs. Bunting,
+and you betrayed me!  Put I am protected by a higher power, for
+I still have much to do."  Then, his voice sinking to a whisper, he
+hissed out "Your end will be bitter as wormwood and sharp as a
+two-edged sword.  Your feet shall go down to death, and your steps
+take hold on hell."
+
+Even while Mr. Sleuth was muttering these strange, dreadful words,
+he was looking round, glancing this way and that, seeking a way of
+escape.
+
+At last his eyes became fixed on a small placard placed above a
+curtain.  "Emergency Exit" was written there.  Mrs. Bunting thought
+he was going to make a dash for the place; but Mr. Sleuth did
+something very different.  Leaving his landlady's side, he walked
+over to the turnstile, he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and
+then touched the man on the arm.  "I feel ill," he said, speaking
+very rapidly; "very ill indeed!  It is the atmosphere of this place.
+I want you to let me out by the quickest way.  It would be a pity
+for me to faint here - especially with ladies about." 
+
+His left hand shot out and placed what he had been fumbling for in
+his pocket on the other's bare palm.  "I see there's an emergency
+exit over there.  Would it be possible for me to get out that way?"
+
+"Well, yes, sir; I think so."
+
+The man hesitated; he felt a slight, a very sight, feeling of
+misgiving.  He looked at Daisy, flushed and smiling, happy and
+unconcerned, and then at Mrs. Bunting.  She was very pale; but
+surely her lodger's sudden seizure was enough to make her feel
+worried.  Hopkins felt the half -sovereign pleasantly tickling his
+palm.  The Paris Prefect of Police had given him only half-a-crown
+ - mean, shabby foreigner!
+
+"Yes, sir; I can let you out that way," he said at last, "and p'raps
+when you're standing out in the air, on the iron balcony, you'll feel
+better.  But then, you know, sir, you'll have to come round to the
+front if you wants to come in again, for those emergency doors only
+open outward."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Sleuth hurriedly.  "I quite understand!  If I
+feel better I'll come in by the front way, and pay another shilling
+ - that's only fair."
+
+"You needn't do that if you'll just explain what happened here."
+
+The man went and pulled the curtain aside, and put his shoulder
+against the door.  It burst open, and the light, for a moment,
+blinded Mr. Sleuth.
+
+He passed his hand over his eyes.  "Thank you," he muttered, "thank
+you.  I shall get all right out there."
+
+An iron stairway led down into a small stable yard, of which the
+door opened into a side street.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked round once more; he really did feel very ill - 
+ill and dazed.  How pleasant it would be to take a flying leap over
+the balcony railing and find rest, eternal rest, below.
+
+But no - he thrust the thought the temptation, from him.  Again a
+convulsive look of rage came over his face.  He had remembered his
+landlady.  How could the woman whom he had treated so generously have
+betrayed him to his arch-enemy?  - to the official, that is, who had
+entered into a conspiracy years ago to have him confined - him, an
+absolutely sane man with a great avenging work to do in the world - 
+in a lunatic asylum.
+
+He stepped out into the open air, and the curtain, falling-to behind
+him, blotted out the tall, thin figure from the little group of
+people who had watched him disappear.
+
+Even Daisy felt a little scared.  "He did look bad, didn't he, now?"
+she turned appealingly to Mr. Hopkins.
+
+"Yes, that he did, poor gentleman - your lodger, too?" he looked
+sympathetically at Mrs. Bunting.
+
+She moistened her lips with her tongue.  "Yes," she repeated dully,
+"my lodger."
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+In vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughter
+to step through into the Chamber of Horrors.  "I think we ought to
+go straight home," said Mr. Sleuth's landlady decidedly.  And Daisy
+meekly assented.  Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared by
+the lodger's sudden disappearance.  Perhaps this unwonted feeling of
+hers was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on
+her step-mother's face.
+
+Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got
+home it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been
+taken.
+
+"I don't suppose he'll be long before he comes "home," said Bunting
+heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife.  She
+looked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that
+there was something wrong -  very wrong indeed.
+
+The hours dragged on.  All three felt moody and ill at ease.  Daisy
+knew there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.
+
+About six o'clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs.  She lit the gas in
+Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance.
+Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay
+her Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly
+as he had left chew, when he had come downstairs and suggested that
+ill-starred expedition to his landlord's daughter.  She took few
+steps forward, listening the while anxiously for the familiar sound
+of the click in the door which would tell her that the lodger had
+come back, and then she went over to the window and looked out.
+
+What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless,
+friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very little
+money on him!
+
+Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger's bedroom and opened the
+drawer of the looking-glass.
+
+Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns.  If only he
+had taken his money out with him!  She wondered painfully whether he
+had enough on his person to secure a good night's lodging, and then
+suddenly she remembered that which brought relief to her mind.  The
+lodger had given something to that Hopkins fellow - either a sovereign
+or half a sovereign, she wasn't sure which.
+
+The memory of Mr. Sleuth's cruel words to her, of his threat, did
+not disturb her overmuch.  It had been a mistake - all a mistake.
+Far from betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him - kept his awful
+secret as she could not have kept it had she known, or even dimly
+suspected, the horrible fact with which Sir John Burney's words had
+made her acquainted; namely, that Mr. Sleuth was victim of no
+temporary aberration, but that he was, and had been for years, a
+madman, a homicidal maniac.
+
+In her ears there still rang the Frenchman's half careless yet
+confident question, "De Leipsic and Liverpool man?"
+
+Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room,
+and taking a black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid the
+leaves of the Bible.  Then she opened the Book, and looked at the
+page the pin had marked: - 
+
+"My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . .   
+There is none to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up my
+curtains."
+
+At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and
+as she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her
+stepmother.
+
+"I'll go down and start getting the lodger's supper ready for you,"
+said the girl good-naturedly.  "He's certain to come in when he gets
+hungry.  But he did look upset, didn't he, Ellen?  Right down bad - 
+that he did!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy
+to go down.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't never come back no more," she said sombrely, and
+then she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change which
+came over her husband's face.  Yet, perversely, that look of relief,
+of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add,
+"That's to say, I don't suppose he will."
+
+And Bunting's face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look,
+the look it had worn the last few days, returned.
+
+"What makes you think he mayn't come back?" he muttered.
+
+"Too long to tell you now," she said.  "Wait till the child's gone
+to bed."
+
+And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.
+
+And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where
+she now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her
+husband to follow her upstairs.
+
+Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on the
+door.  And about this they had a few sharp whispered words.
+
+"You're never going to shut him out?" she expostulated angrily,
+beneath her breath.
+
+"I'm not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhaps
+walking in any minute."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't hurt Daisy, bless you!  Much more likely to hurt
+me," and she gave a half sob.
+
+Bunting stared at her.  "What do you mean?" he said roughly.
+"Come upstairs and tell me what you mean."
+
+And then, in what had been the lodger's sitting-room, Mrs. Bunting
+told her husband exactly what it was that had happened.
+
+He listened in heavy silence.
+
+"So you see," she said at last, "you see, Bunting, that 'twas me
+that was right after all.  The lodger was never responsible for
+his actions.  I never thought he was, for my part."
+
+And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly.  "Depends on what you call
+responsible - " he began argumentatively.
+
+But she would have none of that.  "I heard the gentleman say myself
+that he was a lunatic," she said fiercely.  And then, dropping, her
+voice, "A religious maniac - that's what he called him."
+
+"Well, he never seemed so to me," said Bunting stoutly.  "He simply
+seemed to me 'centric - that's all he did.  Not a bit madder than
+many I could tell you of."  He was walking round the room restlessly,
+but he stopped short at last. "And what d'you think we ought to do
+now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently.  "I don't think we ought
+to do nothing," she said.  "Why should we?"
+
+And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashion
+that irritated her.
+
+"If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where he
+would get it!  And his money, too?  I hate to feel it's in there."
+
+"Don't you make any mistake - he'll come back for that," said Bunting,
+with decision.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head.  She knew better.  "Now," she said,
+"you go off up to bed.  It's no use us sitting up any longer."
+
+And Bunting acquiesced.
+
+She ran down and got him a bedroom candle - there was no gas in the
+little back bedroom upstairs.  And then she watched him go slowly up.
+
+Suddenly he turned and came down again.  "Ellen," he said, in an
+urgent whisper, "if I was you I'd take the chain off the door, and
+I'd lock myself in - that's what I'm going to do.  Then he can sneak
+in and take his dirty money away.
+
+Mrs. Bunting neither nodded nor shook her head.  Slowly she went
+downstairs, and there she carried out half of Bunting's advice.
+She took, that is, the chain off the front door.  But she did not
+go to bed, neither did she lock herself in.  She sat up all night,
+waiting.  At half-past seven she made herself a cup of tea, and
+then she went into her bedroom.
+
+Daisy opened her eyes.
+
+"Why, Ellen," she said, "I suppose I was that tired, and slept so
+sound, that I never heard you come to bed or get up - funny,
+wasn't it?"
+
+"Young people don't sleep as light as do old folk's Mrs. Bunting
+said sententiously.
+
+"Did the lodger come in after all?  I suppose he's upstairs now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head.  "It looks as if 'twould be a fine
+day for you down at Richmond," she observed in a kindly tone.
+
+And Daisy smiled, a very happy, confident little smile.
+
+******
+
+That evening Mrs. Bunting forced herself to tell young Chandler
+that their lodger had, so to speak, disappeared.  She and Bunting
+had thought carefully over what they would say, and so well did
+they carry out their programme, or, what is more likely, so full
+was young Chandler of the long happy day he and Daisy had spent
+together, that he took their news very calmly.
+
+"Gone away, has he?" he observed casually.  "Well, I hope he paid
+up all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes," said Mrs. Bunting hastily.  "No trouble of that sort."
+
+And Bunting said shamefacedly, "Aye, aye, the lodger was quite an
+honest gentleman, Joe.  But I feel worried, about him.  He was such
+a poor, gentle chap - not the sort o' man one likes to think of as
+wandering about by himself."
+
+"You always said he was 'centric," said Joe thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes, he was that," said Bunting slowly.  "Regular right-down queer.
+Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch," and, as he tapped his
+head significantly, both young people burst out laughing.
+
+"Would you like a description of him circulated?" asked Joe
+good-naturedly.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.
+
+"No, I don't think so.  Not yet awhile at any rate. 'Twould upset
+him awfully, you see."
+
+And Joe acquiesced.  "You'd be surprised at the number o' people
+who disappears and are never heard of again" he said cheerfully.
+And then he got up, very reluctantly.
+
+Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into
+the passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.
+
+When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting
+in his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round
+his neck.
+
+Then she bent down her head.  "Father," she said, "I've a bit of
+news for you!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?"
+
+"Father, I'm engaged!  Aren't you surprised?"
+
+"Well, what do you think?" said Bunting fondly.  Then he turned
+round and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.
+
+"What'll Old Aunt say, I wonder?" he whispered.
+
+"Don't you worry about Old Aunt," exclaimed his wife suddenly.
+"I'll manage Old Aunt!  I'll go down and see her.  She and I have
+always got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy."
+
+"Yes," said Daisy a little wonderingly.  "I know you have, Ellen."
+
+******
+
+Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many
+nights had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click
+of the lock which she at once hoped and feared would herald her
+lodger's return.
+
+As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the "Avenger"
+murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when
+a gardener, working in the Regent's Park, found a newspaper in which
+was wrapped, together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes,
+a long, peculiarly shaped knife.  The fact, though of considerable
+interest to the police, was not chronicled in any newspaper, but
+about the same time a picturesque little paragraph went the round
+of the press concerning a small boxful of sovereigns which had been
+anonymously forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about "Old Aunt,"
+and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in a
+more philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her to
+do.  She only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolks
+leave a house in charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure to
+follow - a remark which Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.
+
+
+Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an old
+lady, by whom they are feared as well as respected, and whom they 
+make very comfortable.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Project Gutenberg Etext The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
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+Title: The Lodger
+
+Author: Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+Release Date: December, 1999 [EBook #2014]
+[This file was last updated on November 21, 2003]
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+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LODGER ***
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+
+
+This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Lodger
+
+by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+
+
+
+"Lover and friend hast thou put far from me,
+and mine acquaintance into darkness."
+    PSALM lxxxviii. 18
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+Robert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning,
+carefully-banked-up fire.
+
+The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house
+standing in a grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare,
+was exceptionally clean and well-cared-for. A casual stranger,
+more particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly
+opening the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr.
+and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of
+comfortable married life. Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep
+leather arm-chair, was clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance
+what he had been for many years of his life--a self-respecting
+man-servant.
+
+On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed
+chair, the marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they
+were there all the same--in her neat black stuff dress, and in
+her scrupulously clean, plain collar and cuffs. Mrs. Bunting, as
+a single woman, had been what is known as a useful maid.
+
+But peculiarly true of average English life is the time-worn
+English proverb as to appearances being deceitful. Mr. and Mrs.
+Bunting were sitting in a very nice room and in their time--how
+long ago it now seemed!--both husband and wife had been proud of
+their carefully chosen belongings. Everything in the room was
+strong and substantial, and each article of furniture had been
+bought at a well-conducted auction held in a private house.
+
+Thus the red damask curtains which now shut out the fog-laden,
+drizzling atmosphere of the Marylebone Road, had cost a mere song,
+and yet they might have been warranted to last another thirty years.
+A great bargain also had been the excellent Axminster carpet which
+covered the floor; as, again, the arm-chair in which Bunting now sat
+forward, staring into the dull, small fire. In fact, that arm-chair
+had been an extravagance of Mrs. Bunting. She had wanted her husband
+to be comfortable after the day's work was done, and she had paid
+thirty-seven shillings for the chair. Only yesterday Bunting had
+tried to find a purchaser for it, but the man who had come to look at
+it, guessing their cruel necessities, had only offered them twelve
+shillings and sixpence for it; so for the present they were keeping
+their arm-chair.
+
+But man and woman want something more than mere material comfort,
+much as that is valued by the Buntings of this world. So, on the
+walls of the sitting-room, hung neatly framed if now rather faded
+photographs--photographs of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's various former
+employers, and of the pretty country houses in which they had
+separately lived during the long years they had spent in a not
+unhappy servitude.
+
+But appearances were not only deceitful, they were more than
+usually deceitful with regard to these un-fortunate people. In
+spite of their good furniture--that substantial outward sign of
+respectability which is the last thing which wise folk who fall
+into trouble try to dispose of--they were almost at the end of
+their tether. Already they had learnt to go hungry, and they were
+beginning to learn to go cold. Tobacco, the last thing the sober
+man foregoes among his comforts, had been given up some time ago
+by Bunting. And even Mrs. Bunting--prim, prudent, careful woman
+as she was in her way--had realised what this must mean to him.
+So well, indeed, had she understood that some days back she had
+crept out and bought him a packet of Virginia.
+
+Bunting had been touched--touched as he had not been for years by
+any woman's thought and love for him. Painful tears had forced
+themselves into his eyes, and husband and wife had both felt in
+their odd, unemotional way, moved to the heart.
+
+Fortunately he never guessed--how could he have guessed, with his
+slow, normal, rather dull mind?--that his poor Ellen had since
+more than once bitterly regretted that fourpence-ha'penny, for they
+were now very near the soundless depths which divide those who dwell
+on the safe tableland of security--those, that is, who are sure of
+making a respectable, if not a happy, living--and the submerged
+multitude who, through some lack in themselves, or owing to the
+conditions under which our strange civilisation has become organised,
+struggle rudderless till they die in workhouse, hospital, or prison.
+
+Had the Buntings been in a class lower than their own, had they
+belonged to the great company of human beings technically known to
+so many of us as the poor, there would have been friendly neighbours
+ready to help them, and the same would have been the case had they
+belonged to the class of smug, well-meaning, if unimaginative, folk
+whom they had spent so much of their lives in serving.
+
+There was only one person in the world who might possibly be brought
+to help them. That was an aunt of Bunting's first wife. With this
+woman, the widow of a man who had been well-to-do, lived Daisy,
+Bunting's only child by his first wife, and during the last long two
+days he had been trying to make up his mind to write to the old lady,
+and that though he suspected that she would almost certainly retort
+with a cruel, sharp rebuff.
+
+As to their few acquaintances, former fellow-servants, and so on,
+they had gradually fallen out of touch with them. There was but
+one friend who often came to see them in their deep trouble. This
+was a young fellow named Chandler, under whose grandfather Bunting
+had been footman years and years ago. Joe Chandler had never gone
+into service; he was attached to the police; in fact not to put too
+fine a point upon it, young Chandler was a detective.
+
+When they had first taken the house which had brought them, so they
+both thought, such bad luck, Bunting had encouraged the young chap
+to come often, for his tales were well worth listening to--quite
+exciting at times. But now poor Bunting didn't want to hear that
+sort of stories--stories of people being cleverly "nabbed," or
+stupidly allowed to escape the fate they always, from Chandler's
+point of view, richly deserved.
+
+But Joe still came very faithfully once or twice a week, so timing
+his calls that neither host nor hostess need press food upon him
+--nay, more, he had done that which showed him to have a good and
+feeling heart. He had offered his father's old acquaintance a loan,
+and Bunting, at last, had taken 30s. Very little of that money
+now remained: Bunting still could jingle a few coppers in his pocket;
+and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.; that and the rent they would have to
+pay in five weeks, was all they had left. Everything of the light,
+portable sort that would fetch money had been said. Mrs. Bunting
+had a fierce horror of the pawnshop. She had never put her feet in
+such a place, and she declared she never would--she would rather
+starve first.
+
+But she had said nothing when there had occurred the gradual
+disappearance of various little possessions she knew that Bunting
+valued, notably of the old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been
+given to him after the death of his first master, a master he had
+nursed faithfully and kindly through a long and terrible illness.
+There had also vanished a twisted gold tie-pin, and a large mourning
+ring, both gifts of former employers.
+
+When people are living near that deep pit which divides the secure
+from the insecure--when they see themselves creeping closer and
+closer to its dread edge--they are apt, however loquacious by
+nature, to fall into long silences. Bunting had always been a
+talker, but now he talked no more. Neither did Mrs. Bunting, but
+then she had always been a silent woman, and that was perhaps one
+reason why Bunting had felt drawn to her from the very first moment
+he had seen her.
+
+It had fallen out in this way. A lady had just engaged him as
+butler, and he had been shown, by the man whose place he was to
+take, into the dining-room. There, to use his own expression, he
+had discovered Ellen Green, carefully pouring out the glass of port
+wine which her then mistress always drank at 11.30 every morning.
+And as he, the new butler, had seen her engaged in this task, as he
+had watched her carefully stopper the decanter and put it back into
+the old wine-cooler, he had said to himself, "That is the woman for
+me!"
+
+But now her stillness, her--her dumbness, had got on the
+unfortunate man's nerves. He no longer felt like going into the
+various little shops, close by, patronised by him in more prosperous
+days, and Mrs. Bunting also went afield to make the slender purchases
+which still had to be made every day or two, if they were to be
+saved from actually starving to death.
+
+Suddenly, across the stillness of the dark November evening there
+came the muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting
+outside--boys crying the late afternoon editions of the evening
+papers.
+
+Bunting turned uneasily in his chair. The giving up of a daily
+paper had been, after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation. And
+the paper was an older habit than the tobacco, for servants are
+great readers of newspapers.
+
+As the shouts came through the closed windows and the thick damask
+curtains, Bunting felt a sudden sense of mind hunger fall upon him.
+
+It was a shame--a damned shame--that he shouldn't know what was
+happening in the world outside! Only criminals are kept from hearing
+news of what is going on beyond their prison walls. And those
+shouts, those hoarse, sharp cries must portend that something really
+exciting had happened, something warranted to make a man forget for
+the moment his own intimate, gnawing troubles.
+
+He got up, and going towards the nearest window strained his ears to
+listen. There fell on them, emerging now and again from the confused
+babel of hoarse shouts, the one clear word "Murder!"
+
+Slowly Bunting's brain pieced the loud, indistinct cries into some
+sort of connected order. Yes, that was it--"Horrible Murder!
+Murder at St. Pancras!" Bunting remembered vaguely another murder
+which had been committed near St. Pancras--that of an old lady by
+her servant-maid. It had happened a great many years ago, but was
+still vividly remembered, as of special and natural interest, among
+the class to which he had belonged.
+
+The newsboys--for there were more than one of them, a rather unusual
+thing in the Marylebone Road--were coming nearer and nearer; now
+they had adopted another cry, but he could not quite catch what they
+were crying. They were still shouting hoarsely, excitedly, but he
+could only hear a word or two now and then. Suddenly "The Avenger!
+The Avenger at his work again!" broke on his ear.
+
+During the last fortnight four very curious and brutal murders had
+been committed in London and within a comparatively small area.
+
+The first had aroused no special interest--even the second had only
+been awarded, in the paper Bunting was still then taking in, quite a
+small paragraph.
+
+Then had come the third--and with that a wave of keen excitement,
+for pinned to the dress of the victim--a drunken woman--had been
+found a three-cornered piece of paper, on which was written, in red
+ink, and in printed characters, the words,
+
+"THE AVENGER"
+
+It was then realised, not only by those whose business it is to
+investigate such terrible happenings, but also by the vast world
+of men and women who take an intelligent interest in such sinister
+mysteries, that the same miscreant had committed all three crimes;
+and before that extraordinary fact had had time to soak well into
+the public mind there took place yet another murder, and again the
+murderer had been to special pains to make it clear that some
+obscure and terrible lust for vengeance possessed him.
+
+Now everyone was talking of The Avenger and his crimes! Even the
+man who left their ha'porth of milk at the door each morning had
+spoken to Bunting about them that very day.
+
+******
+
+Bunting came back to the fire and looked down at his wife with mild
+excitement. Then, seeing her pale, apathetic face, her look of
+weary, mournful absorption, a wave of irritation swept through him.
+He felt he could have shaken her!
+
+Ellen had hardly taken the trouble to listen when he, Bunting, had
+come back to bed that morning, and told her what the milkman had
+said. In fact, she had been quite nasty about it, intimating that
+she didn't like hearing about such horrid things.
+
+It was a curious fact that though Mrs. Bunting enjoyed tales of
+pathos and sentiment, and would listen with frigid amusement to
+the details of a breach of promise action, she shrank from stories
+of immorality or of physical violence. In the old, happy days,
+when they could afford to buy a paper, aye, and more than one paper
+daily, Bunting had often had to choke down his interest in some
+exciting "case" or "mystery" which was affording him pleasant mental
+relaxation, because any allusion to it sharply angered Ellen.
+
+But now he was at once too dull and too miserable to care how she
+felt.
+
+Walking away from the window he took a slow, uncertain step towards
+the door; when there he turned half round, and there came over his
+close-shaven, round face the rather sly, pleading look with which
+a child about to do something naughty glances at its parent.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting remained quite still; her thin, narrow shoulders
+just showed above the back of the chair on which she was sitting,
+bolt upright, staring before her as if into vacancy.
+
+Bunting turned round, opened the door, and quickly he went out into
+the dark hall--they had given up lighting the gas there some time
+ago--and opened the front door.
+
+Walking down the small flagged path outside, he flung open the iron
+gate which gave on to the damp pavement. But there he hesitated.
+The coppers in his pocket seemed to have shrunk in number, and he
+remembered ruefully how far Ellen could make even four pennies go.
+
+Then a boy ran up to him with a sheaf of evening papers, and Bunting,
+being sorely tempted--fell. "Give me a Sun," he said roughly, "Sun
+or Echo!"
+
+But the boy, scarcely stopping to take breath, shook his head. "Only
+penny papers left," he gasped. "What'll yer 'ave, sir?"
+
+With an eagerness which was mingled with shame, Bunting drew a penny
+out of his pocket and took a paper--it was the Evening Standard--
+from the boy's hand.
+
+Then, very slowly, he shut the gate and walked back through the raw,
+cold air, up the flagged path, shivering yet full of eager, joyful
+anticipation.
+
+Thanks to that penny he had just spent so recklessly he would pass
+a happy hour, taken, for once, out of his anxious, despondent,
+miserable self. It irritated him shrewdly to know that these moments
+of respite from carking care would not be shared with his poor wife,
+with careworn, troubled Ellen.
+
+A hot wave of unease almost of remorse, swept over Bunting. Ellen
+would never have spent that penny on herself--he knew that well
+enough--and if it hadn't been so cold, so foggy, so--so drizzly,
+he would have gone out again through the gate and stood under the
+street lamp to take his pleasure. He dreaded with a nervous dread
+the glance of Ellen's cold, reproving light-blue eye. That glance
+would tell him that he had had no business to waste a penny on a
+paper, and that well he knew it!
+
+Suddenly the door in front of him opened, and he beard a familiar
+voice saying crossly, yet anxiously, "What on earth are you doing
+out there, Bunting? Come in--do! You'll catch your death of cold!
+I don't want to have you ill on my hands as well as everything else!"
+Mrs. Bunting rarely uttered so many words at once nowadays.
+
+He walked in through the front door of his cheerless house. "I
+went out to get a paper," he said sullenly.
+
+After all, he was master. He had as much right to spend the money
+as she had; for the matter of that the money on which they were now
+both living had been lent, nay, pressed on him--not on Ellen--by
+that decent young chap, Joe Chandler. And he, Bunting, had done
+all he could; he had pawned everything he could pawn, while Ellen,
+so he resentfully noticed, still wore her wedding ring.
+
+He stepped past her heavily, and though she said nothing, he knew
+she grudged him his coming joy. Then, full of rage with her and
+contempt for himself, and giving himself the luxury of a mild, a
+very mild, oath--Ellen had very early made it clear she would
+have no swearing in her presence--he lit the hall gas full-flare.
+
+"How can we hope to get lodgers if they can't even see the card?"
+he shouted angrily.
+
+And there was truth in what he said, for now that he had lit the
+gas, the oblong card, though not the word "Apartments" printed on
+it, could be plainly seen out-lined against the old-fashioned
+fanlight above the front door.
+
+Bunting went into the sitting-room, silently followed by his wife,
+and then, sitting down in his nice arm-chair, he poked the little
+banked-up fire. It was the first time Bunting had poked the fire
+for many a long day, and this exertion of marital authority made
+him feel better. A man has to assert himself sometimes, and he,
+Bunting, had not asserted himself enough lately.
+
+A little colour came into Mrs. Bunting's pale face. She was not
+used to be flouted in this way. For Bunting, when not thoroughly
+upset, was the mildest of men.
+
+She began moving about the room, flicking off an imperceptible
+touch of dust here, straightening a piece of furniture there.
+
+But her hands trembled--they trembled with excitement, with
+self-pity, with anger. A penny? It was dreadful--dreadful to
+have to worry about a penny! But they had come to the point when
+one has to worry about pennies. Strange that her husband didn't
+realise that.
+
+Bunting looked round once or twice; he would have liked to ask Ellen
+to leave off fidgeting, but he was fond of peace, and perhaps, by
+now, a little bit ashamed of himself, so he refrained from remark,
+and she soon gave over what irritated him of her own accord.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting did not come and sit down as her husband would have
+liked her to do. The sight of him, absorbed in his paper as he was,
+irritated her, and made her long to get away from him. Opening the
+door which separated the sitting-room from the bedroom behind, and
+--shutting out the aggravating vision of Bunting sitting comfortably
+by the now brightly burning fire, with the Evening Standard spread
+out before him--she sat down in the cold darkness, and pressed her
+hands against her temples.
+
+Never, never had she felt so hopeless, so--so broken as now. Where
+was the good of having been an upright, conscientious, self-respecting
+woman all her life long, if it only led to this utter, degrading
+poverty and wretchedness? She and Bunting were just past the age
+which gentlefolk think proper in a married couple seeking to enter
+service together, unless, that is, the wife happens to be a professed
+cook. A cook and a butler can always get a nice situation. But Mrs.
+Bunting was no cook. She could do all right the simple things any
+lodger she might get would require, but that was all.
+
+Lodgers? How foolish she had been to think of taking lodgers! For
+it had been her doing. Bunting bad been like butter in her hands.
+
+Yet they had begun well, with a lodging-house in a seaside place.
+There they had prospered, not as they had hoped to do, but still
+pretty well; and then had come an epidemic of scarlet fever, and
+that had meant ruin for them, and for dozens, nay, hundreds, of
+other luckless people. Then had followed a business experiment
+which had proved even more disastrous, and which had left them in
+debt--in debt to an extent they could never hope to repay, to a
+good-natured former employer.
+
+After that, instead of going back to service, as they might have
+done, perhaps, either together or separately, they had made up
+their minds to make one last effort, and they had taken over, with
+the trifle of money that remained to them, the lease of this house
+in the Marylebone Road.
+
+In former days, when they had each been leading the sheltered,
+impersonal, and, above all, financially easy existence which is
+the compensation life offers to those men and women who deliberately
+take upon themselves the yoke of domestic service, they had both
+lived in houses overlooking Regent's Park. It had seemed a wise
+plan to settle in the same neighbourhood, the more so that Bunting,
+who had a good appearance, had retained the kind of connection
+which enables a man to get a job now and again as waiter at private
+parties.
+
+But life moves quickly, jaggedly, for people like the Buntings.
+Two of his former masters had moved to another part of London, and
+a caterer in Baker Street whom he had known went bankrupt.
+
+And now? Well, just now Bunting could not have taken a job had
+one been offered him, for he had pawned his dress clothes. He had
+not asked his wife's permission to do this, as so good a husband
+ought to have done. He had just gone out and done it. And she had
+not had the heart to say anything; nay, it was with part of the
+money that he had handed her silently the evening he did it that
+she had bought that last packet of tobacco.
+
+And then, as Mrs. Bunting sat there thinking these painful thoughts,
+there suddenly came to the front door the sound of a loud, tremulous,
+uncertain double knock.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Mr. Bunting jumped nervously to her feet. She stood for a moment
+listening in the darkness, a darkness made the blacker by the line
+of light under the door behind which sat Bunting reading his paper.
+
+And then it came again, that loud, tremulous, uncertain double
+knock; not a knock, so the listener told herself, that boded any
+good. Would-be lodgers gave sharp, quick, bold, confident raps.
+No; this must be some kind of beggar. The queerest people came at
+all hours, and asked--whining or threatening--for money.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had had some sinister experiences with men and women
+--especially women--drawn from that nameless, mysterious class
+made up of the human flotsam and jetsam which drifts about every
+great city. But since she had taken to leaving the gas in the
+passage unlit at night she had been very little troubled with that
+kind of visitors, those human bats which are attracted by any kind
+of light but leave alone those who live in darkness.
+
+She opened the door of the sitting-room. It was Bunting's place
+to go to the front door, but she knew far better than he did how
+to deal with difficult or obtrusive callers. Still, somehow, she
+would have liked him to go to-night. But Bunting sat on, absorbed
+in his newspaper; all he did at the sound of the bedroom door
+opening was to look up and say, "Didn't you hear a knock?"
+
+Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
+
+Slowly she opened the front door.
+
+On the top of the thee steps which led up to the door, there stood
+the long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an
+old-fashioned top hat. He waited for a few seconds blinking at her,
+perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage. Mrs.
+Bunting's trained perception told her at once that this man, odd as
+he looked, was a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class with
+whom her former employment had brought her in contact.
+
+"Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?" he asked, and there was
+something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
+
+"Yes, sir," she said uncertainly--it was a long, long time since
+anyone had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they
+could think of taking into their respectable house.
+
+Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger
+walked past her, and so into the hall.
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held a
+narrow bag in his left hand. It was quite a new bag, made of strong
+brown leather.
+
+"I am looking for some quiet rooms," he said; then he repeated the
+words, "quiet rooms," in a dreamy, absent way, and as he uttered
+them he looked nervously round him.
+
+Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had been carefully
+furnished, and was very clean.
+
+There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the stranger's weary
+feet fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red drugget, which
+matched in colour the flock-paper on the walls.
+
+A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a superior
+lodging-house keeper.
+
+"You'd find my rooms quite quiet, sir," she said gently. "And just
+now I have four to let. The house is empty, save for my husband
+and me, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice. It seemed too
+good to be true, this sudden coming of a possible lodger, and of a
+lodger who spoke in the pleasant, courteous way and voice which
+recalled to the poor Woman her happy, far-off days of youth and
+of security.
+
+"That sounds very suitable," he said. "Four rooms? Well, perhaps
+I ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should like to see
+all four before I make my choice."
+
+How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit the
+gas! But for that circumstance this gentleman would have passed
+them by.
+
+She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitation
+that the front door was still open; and it was the stranger whom
+she already in her mind described as "the lodger," who turned and
+rather quickly walked down the passage and shut it.
+
+"Oh, thank you, sir!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry you should have
+had the trouble."
+
+For a moment their eyes met. "It's not safe to leave a front door
+open in London," he said, rather sharply. "I hope you do not often
+do that. It would be so easy for anyone to slip in."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had still spoken
+courteously, but he was evidently very much put out.
+
+"I assure you, sir, I never lave my front door open," she answered
+hastily. "You needn't be at all afraid of that!"
+
+And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came the
+sound of Bunting coughing--it was just a little, hard cough, but
+Mrs. Bunting's future lodger started violently.
+
+"Who's that?" he said, putting out a hand and clutching her arm.
+"Whatever was that?"
+
+"Only my husband, sir. He went out to buy a paper a few minutes
+ago, and the cold just caught him, I suppose."
+
+"Your husband--?" he looked at her intently, suspiciously. "What
+--what, may I ask, is your husband's occupation?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting drew herself up. The question as to Bunting's
+occupation was no one's business but theirs. Still, it wouldn't do
+for her to show offence. "He goes out waiting," she said stiffly.
+"He was a gentleman's servant, sir. He could, of course, valet you
+should you require him to do so."
+
+And then she turned and led the way up the steep, narrow staircase.
+
+At the top of the first flight of stairs was what Mrs. Bunting, to
+herself, called the drawing-room floor. It consisted of a
+sitting-room in front, and a bedroom behind. She opened the door
+of the sitting-room and quickly lit the chandelier.
+
+This, front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps a little
+over-encumbered with furniture. Covering the floor was a green
+carpet simulating moss; four chairs were placed round the table
+which occupied the exact middle of the apartment, and in the
+corner, opposite the door giving on to the landing, was a roomy,
+old-fashioned chiffonnier.
+
+On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight engravings, portraits
+of early Victorian belles, clad in lace and tarletan ball dresses,
+clipped from an old Book of Beauty. Mrs. Bunting was very fond of
+these pictures; she thought they gave the drawing-room a note of
+elegance and refinement.
+
+As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad, glad indeed, that
+she had summoned up sufficient energy, two days ago, to give the
+room a thorough turn-out.
+
+It had remained for a long time in the state in which it had been
+left by its last dishonest, dirty occupants when they had been
+scared into going away by Bunting's rough threats of the police.
+But now it was in apple-pie order, with one paramount exception,
+of which Mrs. Bunting was painfully aware. There were no white
+curtains to the windows, but that omission could soon be remedied
+if this gentleman really took the lodgings.
+
+But what was this--? The stranger was looking round him rather
+dubiously. "This is rather--rather too grand for me," he said at
+last "I should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er--"
+
+"--Bunting," she said softly. "Bunting, sir."
+
+And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again came down and
+settled on her sad, burdened heart. Perhaps she had been mistaken,
+after all--or rather, she had not been mistaken in one sense, but
+perhaps this gentleman was a poor gentleman--too poor, that is, to
+afford the rent of more than one room, say eight or ten shillings
+a week; eight or ten shillings a week would be very little use to
+her and Bunting, though better than nothing at all.
+
+"Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?"
+
+"No," he said, "no. I think I should like to see what you have
+farther up the house, Mrs.--," and then, as if making a prodigious
+mental effort, he brought out her name, "Bunting," with a kind of
+gasp.
+
+The two top rooms were, of course, immediately above the
+drawing-room floor. But they looked poor and mean, owing to the fact
+that they were bare of any kind of ornament. Very little trouble had
+been taken over their arrangement; in fact, they bad been left in much
+the same condition as that in which the Buntings had found them.
+
+For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a nice, genteel
+sitting-room out of an apartment of which the principal features
+are a sink and a big gas stove. The gas stove, of an obsolete
+pattern, was fed by a tiresome, shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+It had been the property of the people from whom the Buntings had
+taken over the lease of the house, who, knowing it to be of no
+monetary value, had thrown it in among the humble fittings they
+had left behind.
+
+What furniture there was in the room was substantial and clean, as
+everything belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be, but it was a
+bare, uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady now felt sorry
+that she had done nothing to make it appear more attractive.
+
+To her surprise, however, her companion's dark, sensitive,
+hatchet-shaped face became irradiated with satisfaction. "Capital!
+Capital!" he exclaimed, for the first time putting down the bag he
+held at his feet, and rubbing his long, thin hands together with a
+quick, nervous movement.
+
+"This is just what I have been looking for." He walked with long,
+eager strides towards the gas stove. "First-rate--quite first-rate!
+Exactly what I wanted to find! You must understand, Mrs.--er--
+Bunting, that I am a man of science. I make, that is, all sorts of
+experiments, and I often require the--ah, well, the presence of
+great heat."
+
+He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a little, towards the
+stove. "This, too, will be useful--exceedingly useful, to me," and
+he touched the edge of the stone sink with a lingering, caressing
+touch.
+
+He threw his head back and passed his hand over his high, bare
+forehead; then, moving towards a chair, he sat down--wearily.
+"I'm tired," he muttered in a low voice, "tired--tired! I've been
+walking about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find nothing to sit
+down upon. They do not put benches for tired men in the London
+streets. They do so on the Continent. In some ways they are far
+more humane on the Continent than they are in England, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Indeed, sir," she said civilly; and then, after a nervous glance,
+she asked the question of which the answer would mean so much to her,
+"Then you mean to take my rooms, sir?"
+
+"This room, certainly," he said, looking round. "This room is
+exactly what I have been looking for, and longing for, the last
+few days;" and then hastily he added, "I mean this kind of place
+is what I have always wanted to possess, Mrs. Bunting. You would
+be surprised if you knew how difficult it is to get anything of
+the sort. But now my weary search has ended, and that is a relief
+--a very, very great relief to me!"
+
+He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy, abstracted air. And
+then, "Where's my bag?" he asked suddenly, and there came a note of
+sharp, angry fear in his voice. He glared at the quiet woman
+standing before him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting felt a tremor of
+fright shoot through her. It seemed a pity that Bunting was so far
+away, right down the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has always been a
+perquisite, as it were the special luxury, of the well-born and of
+the well-educated. Scholars, as she well knew, are never quite like
+other people, and her new lodger was undoubtedly a scholar. "Surely
+I had a bag when I came in?" he said in a scared, troubled voice.
+
+"Here it is, sir," she said soothingly, and, stooping, picked it
+up and handed it to him. And as she did so she noticed that the
+bag was not at all heavy; it was evidently by no means full.
+
+He took it eagerly from her. "I beg your pardon," he muttered.
+"But there is something in that bag which is very precious to me
+--something I procured with infinite difficulty, and which I could
+never get again without running into great danger, Mrs. Bunting.
+That must be the excuse for my late agitation."
+
+"About terms, sir?" she said a little timidly, returning to the
+subject which meant so much, so very much to her.
+
+"About terms?" he echoed. And then there came a pause. "My name
+is Sleuth," he said suddenly,--"S-l-e-u-t-h. Think of a hound,
+Mrs. Bunting, and you'll never forget my name. I could provide you
+with a reference--" (he gave her what she described to herself as
+a funny, sideways look), "but I should prefer you to dispense with
+that, if you don't mind. I am quite willing to pay you--well, shall
+we say a month in advance?"
+
+A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting's cheeks. She felt sick with
+relief--nay, with a joy which was almost pain. She had not known
+till that moment how hungry she was--how eager for--a good meal.
+"That would be all right, sir," she murmured.
+
+"And what are you going to charge me?" There had come a kindly,
+almost a friendly note into his voice. "With attendance, mind! I
+shall expect you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask if
+you can cook, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir," she said. "I am a plain cook. What would you say
+to twenty-five shillings a week, sir?" She looked at him
+deprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on falteringly,
+"You see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would have the best
+of attendance and careful cooking--and my husband, sir--he would
+be pleased to valet you."
+
+"I shouldn't want anything of that sort done for me," said Mr.
+Sleuth hastily. "I prefer looking after my own clothes. I am used
+to waiting on myself. But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike to
+sharing lodgings--"
+
+She interrupted eagerly, "I could let you have the use of the two
+floors for the same price--that is, until we get another lodger.
+I shouldn't like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir. It's
+such a poor little room. You could do as you say, sir--do your work
+and your experiments up here, and then have your meals in the
+drawing-room."
+
+"Yes," he said hesitatingly, "that sounds a good plan. And if I
+offered you two pounds, or two guineas? Might I then rely on your
+not taking another lodger?"
+
+"Yes," she said quietly. "I'd be very glad only to have you to
+wait on, sir."
+
+"I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting?
+I don't like to be disturbed while I'm working."
+
+He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, "I suppose
+you have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir, there's a key--a very nice little key. The people
+who lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door."
+She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a round
+disk had been fitted above the old keyhole.
+
+He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if
+absorbed in thought, "Forty-two shillings a week? Yes, that will
+suit me perfectly. And I'll begin now by paying my first month's
+rent in advance. Now, four times forty-two shillings is"--he
+jerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for the first
+time he smiled, a queer, wry smile--"why, just eight pounds eight
+shillings, Mrs. Bunting!"
+
+He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his long
+cape-like coat and took out a handful of sovereigns. Then he began
+putting these down in a row on the bare wooden table which stood in
+the centre of the room. "Here's five--six--seven--eight--nine
+--ten pounds. You'd better keep the odd change, Mrs. Bunting,
+for I shall want you to do some shopping for me to-morrow morning.
+I met with a misfortune to-day." But the new lodger did not speak
+as if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on his spirits.
+
+"Indeed, sir. I'm sorry to hear that." Mrs. Bunting's heart was
+going thump--thump--thump. She felt extraordinarily moved, dizzy
+with relief and joy.
+
+"Yes, a very great misfortune! I lost my luggage, the few things
+I managed to bring away with me." His voice dropped suddenly. "I
+shouldn't have said that," he muttered. "I was a fool to say that!"
+Then, more loudly, "Someone said to me, 'You can't go into a
+lodging-house without any luggage. They wouldn't take you in.' But
+you have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I'm grateful for--for the
+kind way you have met me--" He looked at her feelingly, appealingly,
+and Mrs. Bunting was touched. She was beginning to feel very kindly
+towards her new lodger.
+
+"I hope I know a gentleman when I see one," she said, with a break
+in her staid voice,
+
+"I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs. Bunting."
+Again he looked at her appealingly.
+
+"I expect you'd like to wash your hands now, sir. And would you tell
+me what you'd like for supper? We haven't much in the house."
+
+"Oh, anything'll do," he said hastily. "I don't want you to go out
+for me. It's a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting. If you have a
+little bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite satisfied."
+
+"I have a nice sausage," she said hesitatingly.
+
+It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morning
+for Bunting's supper; as to herself, she had been going to content
+herself with a little bread and cheese. But now--wonderful, almost,
+intoxicating thought--she could send Bunting out to get anything
+they both liked. The ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfort
+and good cheer.
+
+"A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never touch flesh
+meat," he said; "it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage,
+Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Is it indeed, sir?" She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly,
+"And will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?"
+
+A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth's
+pale face.
+
+"Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting.
+I had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer--"
+
+"So I am, sir, lifelong. And so's Bunting been since we married."
+She might have said, had she been a woman given to make such
+confidences, that she had made Buntlng abstain very early in their
+acquaintance. That he had given in about that had been the thing
+that first made her believe, that he was sincere in all the nonsense
+that he talked to her, in those far-away days of his courting. Glad
+she was now that he had taken the pledge as a younger man; but for
+that nothing would have kept him from the drink during the bad times
+they had gone through.
+
+And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth the nice bedroom
+which opened out of the drawing-room. It was a replica of Mrs.
+Bunting's own room just underneath, excepting that everything up
+here had cost just a little more, and was therefore rather better
+in quality.
+
+The new lodger looked round him with such a strange expression of
+content and peace stealing over his worn face. "A haven of rest,"
+he muttered; and then, "'He bringeth them to their desired haven.'
+Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled. It was the first time anyone
+had quoted the Bible to her for many a long day. But it seemed to
+set the seal, as it were, on Mr. Sleuth's respectability.
+
+What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal with only one
+lodger, and that a gentleman, instead of with a married couple!
+Very peculiar married couples had drifted in and out of Mr. and
+Mrs. Bunting's lodgings, not only here, in London, but at the
+seaside.
+
+How unlucky they had been, to be sure! Since they had come to
+London not a single pair of lodgers had been even moderately
+respectable and kindly. The last lot had belonged to that horrible
+underworld of men and women who, having, as the phase goes, seen
+better days, now only keep their heads above water with the help of
+petty fraud.
+
+"I'll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir, and some clean
+towels," she said, going to the door.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round. "Mrs. Bunting "--and as
+he spoke he stammered a little--"I--I don't want you to interpret
+the word attendance too liberally. You need not run yourself off
+your feet for me. I'm accustomed to look after myself."
+
+And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself dismissed--even a
+little snubbed. "All right, sir," she said. "I'll only just let
+you know when I've your supper ready."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+But what was a little snub compared with the intense relief and joy
+of going down and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortune
+which had fallen their way?
+
+Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down the steep stairs.
+In the hall, however, she pulled herself together, and tried to still
+her agitation. She had always disliked and despised any show of
+emotion; she called such betrayal of feeling "making a fuss."
+
+Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood for a moment
+looking at her husband's bent back, and she realised, with a pang
+of pain, how the last few weeks had aged him.
+
+Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife, stood up. He
+put the paper he had been holding down on to the table: "Well," he
+said, "well, who was it, then?"
+
+He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who ought to have
+answered the door and done all that parleying of which he had heard
+murmurs.
+
+And then in a moment his wife's hand shot out, and the ten sovereigns
+fell in a little clinking heap on the table.
+
+"Look there!" she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in her
+voice. "Look there, Bunting!"
+
+And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.
+
+He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusion
+that his wile had just had in a furniture dealer, and that this
+ten pounds represented all their nice furniture upstairs. If that
+were so, then it was the beginning of the end. That furniture in
+the first-floor front had cost--Ellen had reminded him of the fact
+bitterly only yesterday--seventeen pounds nine shillings, and
+every single item had been a bargain. It was too bad that she had
+only got ten pounds for it.
+
+Yet he hadn't the heart to reproach her.
+
+He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting that
+troubled, rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thought
+had happened.
+
+"We've a new lodger!" she cried. "And--and, Bunting? He's quite
+the gentleman! He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, at
+two guineas a week."
+
+"No, never!"
+
+Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there,
+fascinated by the little heap of gold. "But there's ten sovereigns
+here," he said suddenly.
+
+"Yes, the gentleman said I'd have to buy some things for him
+to-morrow. And, oh, Bunting, he's so well spoken, I really felt
+that--I really felt that--" and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a step
+or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron over
+her face burst into gasping sobs.
+
+Bunting patted her back timidly. "Ellen?" he said, much moved by her
+agitation, "Ellen? Don't take on so, my dear--"
+
+"I won't," she sobbed, "I--I won't! I'm a fool--I know I am!
+But, oh, I didn't think we was ever going to have any luck again!"
+
+And then she told him--or rather tried to tell him--what the
+lodger was like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing
+she did impress on her husband's mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was
+eccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric--that is, in a
+harmless way--and that he must be humoured.
+
+"He says he doesn't want to be waited on much," she said at last
+wiping her eyes, "but I can see he will want a good bit of looking
+after, all the same, poor gentleman."
+
+And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound
+of a loud ring. It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled
+again and again.
+
+Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. "I think I'd better go up, eh,
+Ellen?" he said. He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger.
+For the matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something
+again.
+
+"Yes," she answered, "you go up! Don't keep him waiting! I wonder
+what it is he wants? I said I'd let him know when his supper was
+ready."
+
+A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an odd smile on
+his face. "Whatever d'you think he wanted?" he whispered
+mysteriously. And as she said nothing, he went on, "He's asked me
+for the loan of a Bible!"
+
+"Well, I don't see anything so out of the way in that," she said
+hastily, "'specially if he don't feel well. I'll take it up to him."
+
+And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows,
+Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her
+as a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she had
+lived for several years.
+
+"He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper," said
+Bunting; and, then, "Ellen? He's a queer-looking cove--not like
+any gentleman I ever had to do with."
+
+"He is a gentleman," said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.
+
+"Oh, yes, that's all right." But still he looked at her doubtfully.
+"I asked him if he'd like me to just put away his clothes. But,
+Ellen, he said he hadn't got any clothes!"
+
+"No more he hasn't;" she spoke quickly, defensively. "He had the
+misfortune to lose his luggage. He's one dishonest folk 'ud take
+advantage of."
+
+"Yes, one can see that with half an eye," Buntlng agreed.
+
+And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Bunting
+put down on a little bit of paper the things she wanted her husband
+to go out and buy for her. She handed him the list, together with
+a sovereign. "Be as quick as you can," she said, "for I feel a bit
+hungry. I'll be going down now to see about Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+He only wants a glass of milk and two eggs. I'm glad I've never
+fallen to bad eggs!"
+
+"Sleuth," echoed Bunting, staring at her. "What a queer name!
+How d'you spell it--S-l-u-t-h?"
+
+"No," she shot out, "S-l-e--u--t--h."
+
+"Oh," he said doubtfully.
+
+"He said, 'Think of a hound and you'll never forget my name,'"
+and Mrs. Bunting smiled.
+
+When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: "We'll now be able
+to pay young Chandler back some o' that thirty shillings. I am
+glad." She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.
+
+And then each went about his and her business--Bunting out into
+the drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.
+
+The lodger's tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and
+daintily arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.
+
+Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly
+remembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible. Putting the tray down
+in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book;
+but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it
+was worth while to make two journeys. But, no, she thought she
+could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and
+taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.
+
+But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped
+the tray. She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy
+thud to the ground.
+
+The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the
+early Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud,
+with their faces to the wall!
+
+For a moment she was really too surprised to speak. Putting the
+tray down on the table, she stooped and picked up the Book. It
+troubled her that the Book should have fallen to the ground; but
+really she hadn't been able to help it--it was mercy that the
+tray hadn't fallen, too.
+
+Mr. Sleuth got up. "I--I have taken the liberty to arrange the
+room as I should wish it to be," he said awkwardly. "You see,
+Mrs.--er--Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these women's eyes
+followed me about. It was a most unpleasant sensation, and gave
+me quite an eerie feeling."
+
+The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of the
+table. She made no answer to her lodger's remark, for the good
+reason that she did not know what to say.
+
+Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After what seemed a
+long pause, he spoke again.
+
+"I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting," he spoke with some agitation.
+"As a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls about
+me for a long time." And then, at last his landlady answered him,
+in a composed, soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear.
+"I quite understand, sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall take
+the pictures all down. We have plenty of space in our own rooms
+for them."
+
+"Thank you--thank you very much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.
+
+"And I have brought you up my Bible, sir. I understood you wanted
+the loan of it?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing
+himself, he said, "Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book.
+There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of
+body too--"
+
+"Very true, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what really
+looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut
+the door.
+
+She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for
+Bunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as she
+did so there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident of
+her long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, had
+maided a dear old lady.
+
+The old lady had a favourite nephew--a bright, jolly young gentleman,
+who was learning to paint animals in Paris. And one morning Mr.
+Algernon--that was his rather peculiar Christian name--had had the
+impudence to turn to the wall six beautiful engravings of paintings
+done by the famous Mr. Landseer!
+
+Mrs. Bunting remembered all the circumstances as if they had only
+occurred yesterday, and yet she had not thought of them for years.
+
+It was quite early; she had come down--for in those days maids
+weren't thought so much of as they are now, and she slept with the
+upper housemaid, and it was the upper housemaid's duty to be down
+very early--and, there, in the dining-room, she had found Mr.
+Algernon engaged in turning each engraving to the wall! Now, his
+aunt thought all the world of those pictures, and Ellen had felt
+quite concerned, for it doesn't do for a young gentleman to put
+himself wrong with a kind aunt.
+
+"Oh, sir," she had exclaimed in dismay, "whatever are you doing?"
+And even now she could almost hear his merry voice, as he had
+answered, "I am doing my duty, fair Helen"--he had always called
+her "fair Helen" when no one was listening. "How can I draw ordinary
+animals when I see these half-human monsters staring at me all the
+time I am having my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner?" That was
+what Mr. Algernon had said in his own saucy way, and that was what
+he repeated in a more serious, respectful manner to his aunt, when
+that dear old lady had come downstairs. In fact he had declared,
+quite soberly, that the beautiful animals painted by Mr. Landseer
+put his eye out!
+
+But his aunt had been very much annoyed--in fact, she had made him
+turn the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there he
+just had to put up with what he called "those half-human monsters."
+Mrs. Bunting, sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth's
+odd behaviour over, was glad to recall that funny incident of her
+long-gone youth. It seemed to prove that her new lodger was not so
+strange as he appeared to be. Still, when Bunting came in, she did
+not tell him the queer thing which had happened. She told herself
+that she would be quite able to manage the taking down of the
+pictures in the drawing-room herself.
+
+But before getting ready their own supper, Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+went upstairs to dear away, and when on the staircase she heard the
+sound of--was it talking, in the drawing-room? Startled, she
+waited a moment on the landing outside the drawing-room door, then
+she realised that it was only the lodger reading aloud to himself.
+There was something very awful in the words which rose and fell on
+her listening ears:
+
+"A strange woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth in wait as for
+a prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men."
+
+She remained where she was, her hand on the handle of the door,
+and again there broke on her shrinking ears that curious, high,
+sing-song voice, "Her house is the way to hell, going down to
+the chambers of death."
+
+It made the listener feel quite queer. But at last she summoned up
+courage, knocked, and walked in.
+
+"I'd better clear away, sir, had I not?" she said. And Mr. Sleuth
+nodded.
+
+Then he got up and dosed the Book. "I think I'll go to bed now,"
+he said. "I am very, very tired. I've had a long and a very
+weary day, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+After he had disappeared into the back room, Mrs. Bunting climbed
+up on a chair and unhooked the pictures which had so offended Mr.
+Sleuth. Each left an unsightly mark on the wall--but that, after
+all, could not be helped.
+
+Treading softly, so that Bunting should not hear her, she carried
+them down, two by two, and stood them behind her bed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Mrs. Bunting woke up the next morning feeling happier than she had
+felt for a very, very long time.
+
+For just one moment she could not think why she felt so different
+--and then she suddenly remembered.
+
+How comfortable it was to know that upstairs, just over her head,
+lay, in the well-found bed she had bought with such satisfaction at
+an auction held in a Baker Street house, a lodger who was paying two
+guineas a week! Something seemed to tell her that Mr. Sleuth would
+be "a permanency." In any case, it wouldn't be her fault if he
+wasn't. As to his--his queerness, well, there's always something
+funny in everybody. But after she had got up, and as the morning
+wore itself away, Mrs. Bunting grew a little anxious, for there
+came no sound at all from the new lodger's rooms. At twelve,
+however, the drawing-room bell rang. Mrs. Bunting hurried upstairs.
+She was painfully anxious to please and satisfy Mr. Sleuth. His
+coming had only been in the nick of time to save them from terrible
+disaster.
+
+She found her lodger up, and fully dressed. He was sitting at the
+round table which occupied the middle of the sitting-room, and his
+landlady's large Bible lay open before him.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting came in, he looked up, and she was troubled to see
+how tired and worn he seemed.
+
+"You did not happen," he asked, "to have a Concordance, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She shook her head; she had no idea what a Concordance could be,
+but she was quite sure that she had nothing of the sort about.
+
+And then her new lodger proceeded to tell her what it was he
+desired her to buy for him. She had supposed the bag he had
+brought with him to contain certain little necessaries of
+civilised life--such articles, for instance, as a comb and brush,
+a set of razors, a toothbrush, to say nothing of a couple of
+nightshirts--but no, that was evidently not so, for Mr. Sleuth
+required all these things to be bought now.
+
+After having cooked him a nice breakfast Mrs. Bunting hurried
+out to purchase the things of which he was in urgent need.
+
+How pleasant it was to feel that there was money in her purse
+again--not only someone else's' money, but money she was now in
+the very act of earning so agreeably.
+
+Mrs. Bunting first made her way to a little barber's shop close by.
+It was there she purchased the brush and comb and the razors. It
+was a funny, rather smelly little place, and she hurried as much as
+she could, the more so that the foreigner who served her insisted
+on telling her some of the strange, peculiar details of this
+Avenger murder which had taken place forty-eight hours before, and
+in which Bunting took such a morbid interest.
+
+The conversation upset Mrs. Bunting. She didn't want to think of
+anything painful or disagreeable on such a day as this.
+
+Then she came back and showed the lodger her various purchases. Mr.
+Sleuth was pleased with everything, and thanked her most courteously.
+But when she suggested doing his bedroom he frowned, and looked
+quite put out.
+
+"Please wait till this evening," he said hastily. "It is my custom
+to stay at home all day. I only care to walk about the streets when
+the lights are lit. You must bear with me, Mrs. Bunting, if I seem
+a little, just a little, unlike the lodgers you have been accustomed
+to. And I must ask you to understand that I must not be disturbed
+when thinking out my problems--" He broke off short, sighed, then
+added solemnly, "for mine are the great problems of life and death."
+
+And Mrs. Bunting willingly fell in with his wishes. In spite of her
+prim manner and love of order, Mr. Sleuth's landlady was a true woman
+--she had, that is, an infinite patience with masculine vagaries
+and oddities.
+
+
+When she was downstairs again, Mr. Sleuth's landlady met with a
+surprise; but it was quite a pleasant surprise. While she had
+been upstairs, talking to the lodger, Bunting's young friend, Joe
+Chandler, the detective, had come in, and as she walked into the
+sitting-room she saw that her husband was pushing half a sovereign
+across the table towards Joe.
+
+Joe Chandler's fair, good-natured face was full of satisfaction:
+not at seeing his money again, mark you, but at the news Bunting
+had evidently been telling him--that news of the sudden wonderful
+change in their fortunes, the coming of an ideal lodger.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't want me to do his bedroom till he's gone out!"
+she exclaimed. And then she sat down for a bit of a rest.
+
+It was a comfort to know that the lodger was eating his good
+breakfast? and there was no need to think of him for the present.
+In a few minutes she would be going down to make her own and
+Bunting's dinner, and she told Joe Chandler that he might as well
+stop and have a bite with them.
+
+Her heart warmed to the young man, for Mrs. Bunting was in a mood
+which seldom surprised her--a mood to be pleased with anything
+and everything. Nay, more. When Bunting began to ask Joe Chandler
+about the last of those awful Avenger murders, she even listened
+with a certain languid interest to all he had to say.
+
+In the morning paper which Bunting had begun taking again that
+very day three columns were devoted to the extraordinary mystery
+which was now beginning to be the one topic of talk all over London,
+West and East, North and South. Bunting had read out little bits
+about it while they ate their breakfast, and in spite of herself
+Mrs. Bunting had felt thrilled and excited.
+
+"They do say," observed Bunting cautiously, "They do say, Joe, that
+the police have a clue they won't say nothing about?" He looked
+expectantly at his visitor. To Bunting the fact that Chandler was
+attached to the detective section of the Metropolitan Police
+invested the young man with a kind of sinister glory--especially
+just now, when these awful and mysterious crimes were amazing and
+terrifying the town.
+
+"Them who says that says wrong," answered Chandler slowly, and a
+look of unease, of resentment came over his fair, stolid face.
+"'Twould make a good bit of difference to me if the Yard had a clue."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting interposed. "Why that, Joe?" she said,
+smiling indulgently; the young man's keenness about his work pleased
+her. And in his slow, sure way Joe Chandler was very keen, and took
+his job very seriously. He put his whole heart and mind into it.
+
+"Well, 'tis this way," he explained. "From to-day I'm on this
+business myself. You see, Mrs. Bunting, the Yard's nettled--that's
+what it is, and we're all on our mettle--that we are. I was right
+down sorry for the poor chap who was on point duty in the street
+where the last one happened--"
+
+"No!" said Bunting incredulously. "You don't mean there was a
+policeman there, within a few yards?"
+
+That fact hadn't been recorded in his newspaper.
+
+Chandler nodded. "That's exactly what I do mean, Mr. Bunting! The
+man is near off his head, so I'm told. He did hear a yell, so he
+says, but he took no notice--there are a good few yells in that
+part o' London, as you can guess. People always quarrelling and
+rowing at one another in such low parts."
+
+"Have you seen the bits of grey paper on which the monster writes
+his name?" inquired Bunting eagerly.
+
+Public imagination had been much stirred by the account of those
+three-cornered pieces of grey paper, pinned to the victims' skirts,
+on which was roughly written in red ink and in printed characters
+the words "The Avenger."
+
+His round, fat face was full of questioning eagerness. He put his
+elbows on the table, and stared across expectantly at the young man.
+
+"Yes, I have," said Joe briefly.
+
+"A funny kind of visiting card, eh!" Bunting laughed; the notion
+struck him as downright comic.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting coloured. "It isn't a thing to make a joke about,"
+she said reprovingly.
+
+And Chandler backed her up. "No, indeed," he said feelingly. "I'll
+never forget what I've been made to see over this job. And as for
+that grey bit of paper, Mr. Bunting--or, rather, those grey bits of
+paper"--he corrected himself hastily--"you know they've three of
+them now at the Yard--well, they gives me the horrors!"
+
+And then he jumped up. "That reminds me that I oughtn't to be
+wasting my time in pleasant company--"
+
+"Won't you stay and have a bit of dinner?" said Mrs. Bunting
+solicitously.
+
+But the detective shook his head. "No," he said, "I had a bite
+before I came out. Our job's a queer kind of job, as you know. A
+lot's left to our discretion, so to speak, but it don't leave us
+much time for lazing about, I can tell you."
+
+When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate
+carelessness he inquired, "Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London
+again soon?"
+
+Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened. He was very, very
+fond of his only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom. "No,"
+he said, "I'm afraid not Joe. Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady,
+keeps Daisy pretty tightly tied to her apron-string. She was quite
+put about that week the child was up with us last June."
+
+"Indeed? Well, so long!"
+
+After his wife had let their friend out, Bunting said cheerfully,
+"Joe seems to like our Daisy, eh, Ellen?"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head scornfully. She did not exactly
+dislike the girl, though she did not hold with the way Bunting's
+daughter was being managed by that old aunt of hers--an idle,
+good-for-nothing way, very different from the fashion in which
+she herself had been trained at the Foundling, for Mrs. Bunting
+as a little child bad known no other home, no other family than
+those provided by good Captain Coram.
+
+"Joe Chandler's too sensible a young chap to be thinking of girls
+yet awhile," she said tartly.
+
+"No doubt you're right," Bunting agreed. "Times be changed. In my
+young days chaps always had time for that. 'Twas just a notion that
+came into my head, hearing him asking, anxious-like, after her."
+
+******
+
+About five o'clock, after the street lamps were well alight, Mr.
+Sleuth went out, and that same evening there came two parcels
+addressed to his landlady. These parcels contained clothes. But
+it was quite clear to Mrs. Bunting's eyes that they were not new
+clothes. In fact, they had evidently been bought in some good
+second-hand clothes-shop. A funny thing for a real gentleman like
+Mr. Sleuth to do! It proved that he had given up all hope of
+getting back his lost luggage.
+
+When the lodger had gone out he had not taken his bag with him, of
+that Mrs. Bunting was positive. And yet, though she searched high
+and low for it, she could not find the place where Mr. Sleuth kept
+it. And at last, had it not been that she was a very clear-headed
+woman, with a good memory, she would have been disposed to think
+that the bag had never existed, save in her imagination.
+
+But no, she could not tell herself that! She remembered exactly
+how it had looked when Mr. Sleuth had first stood, a strange,
+queer-looking figure of a man, on her doorstep.
+
+She further remembered how he had put the bag down on the floor of
+the top front room, and then, forgetting what he had done, how he
+had asked her eagerly, in a tone of angry fear, where the bag was
+--only to find it safely lodged at his feet!
+
+As time went on Mrs. Bunting thought a great deal about that bag,
+for, strange and amazing fact, she never saw Mr. Sleuth's bag again.
+But, of course, she soon formed a theory as to its whereabouts.
+The brown leather bag which had formed Mr. Sleuth's only luggage
+the afternoon of his arrival was almost certainly locked up in the
+lower part of the drawing-room chiffonnier. Mr. Sleuth evidently
+always carried the key of the little corner cupboard about his
+person; Mrs. Bunting had also had a good hunt for that key, but,
+as was the case with the bag, the key disappeared, and she never
+saw either the one or the other again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next few
+days. Already life was settling down into a groove. Waiting on
+Mr. Sleuth was just what Mrs. Bunting could manage to do easily,
+and without tiring herself.
+
+It had at once become clear that the lodger preferred to be waited
+on only by one person, and that person his landlady. He gave her
+very little trouble. Indeed, it did her good having to wait on the
+lodger; it even did her good that he was not like other gentlemen;
+for the fact occupied her mind, and in a way it amused her. The
+more so that whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of those
+tiresome, disagreeable ways with which landladies are only too
+familiar, and which seem peculiar only to those human beings who
+also happen to be lodgers. To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth did
+not ask to be called unduly early. Bunting and his Ellen had fallen
+into the way of lying rather late in the morning, and it was a great
+comfort not to have to turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea at
+seven, or even half-past seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything
+before eleven.
+
+But odd he certainly was.
+
+The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought in
+a book of which the queer name was Cruden's Concordance. That and
+the Bible--Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was a
+relation between the two books--seemed to be the lodger's only
+reading. He spent hours each day, generally after he had eaten
+the breakfast which also served for luncheon, poring over the Old
+Testament and over that, strange kind of index to the Book.
+
+As for the delicate and yet the all-important question of money,
+Mr. Sleuth was everything--everything that the most exacting
+landlady could have wished. Never had there been a more confiding
+or trusting gentleman. On the very first day he had been with them
+he had allowed his money--the considerable sum of one hundred and
+eighty-four sovereigns--to lie about wrapped up in little pieces
+of rather dirty newspaper on his dressing-table. That had quite
+upset Mrs. Bunting. She had allowed herself respectfully to point
+out to him that what he was doing was foolish, indeed wrong. But
+as only answer he had laughed, and she had been startled when the
+loud, unusual and discordant sound had issued from his thin lips.
+
+"I know those I can trust," he had answered, stuttering rather, as
+was his way when moved. "And--and I assure you, Mrs. Bunting, that
+I hardly have to speak to a human being--especially to a woman"
+(and he had drawn in his breath with a hissing sound) "before I
+know exactly what manner of person is before me."
+
+It hadn't taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodger
+had a queer kind of fear and dislike of women. When she was doing
+the staircase and landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth reading
+aloud to himself passages in the Bible that were very uncomplimentary
+to her sex. But Mrs. Bunting had no very great opinion of her sister
+woman, so that didn't put her out. Besides, where one's lodger is
+concerned, a dislike of women is better than--well, than the other
+thing.
+
+In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about the
+lodger's funny ways? Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric. If he
+hadn't been, as Bunting funnily styled it, "just a leetle touched
+upstairs," he wouldn't be here, living this strange, solitary life
+in lodgings. He would be living in quite a different sort of way
+with some of his relatives, or with a friend of his own class.
+
+There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back--as even the
+least imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of our
+own past lives which becomes for any reason poignantly memorable
+--wondered how soon it was that she had discovered that her
+lodger was given to creeping out of the house at a time when
+almost all living things prefer to sleep.
+
+She brought herself to believe--but I am inclined to doubt whether
+she was right in so believing--that the first time she became aware
+of this strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth's happened to be
+during the night which preceded the day on which she had observed a
+very curious circumstance. This very curious circumstance was the
+complete disappearance of one of Mr. Sleuth's three suits of clothes.
+
+It always passes my comprehension how people can remember, over any
+length of time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that is
+natural enough, but the day, the hour, the minute when these
+happenings took place! Much as she thought about it afterwards,
+even Mrs. Bunting never quite made up her mind whether it was during
+the fifth or the sixth night of Mr. Sleuth's stay under her roof
+that she became aware that he had gone out at two in the morning and
+had only come in at five.
+
+But that there did come such a night is certain--as certain as is
+the fact that her discovery coincided with various occurrences
+which were destined to remain retrospectively memorable.
+
+******
+
+It was intensely dark, intensely quiet--the darkest quietest hour
+of the night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep,
+dreamless sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. She
+knew at once what those sounds were. They were those made by Mr.
+Sleuth, first coming down the stairs, and walking on tiptoe--she
+was sure it was on tiptoe--past her door, and finally softly
+shutting the front door behind him.
+
+Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go to
+sleep again. There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Bunting
+should waken up too, till she heard Mr. Sleuth, three hours later,
+creep back into the house and so up to bed.
+
+Then, and not till then, she slept again. But in the morning she
+felt very tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad when
+Bunting good-naturedly suggested that he should go out and do their
+little bit of marketing.
+
+The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter of
+catering it was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth,
+and that though he always tried to appear pleased. This perfect
+lodger had one serious fault from the point of view of those who
+keep lodgings. Strange to say, he was a vegetarian. He would not
+eat meat in any form. He sometimes, however, condescended to a
+chicken, and when he did so condescend he generously intimated that
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were welcome to a share in it.
+
+Now to-day--this day of which the happenings were to linger in Mrs.
+Bunting's mind so very long, and to remain so very vivid, it had
+been arranged that Mr. Sleuth was to have some fish for his lunch,
+while what he left was to be "done up" to serve for his simple supper.
+
+Knowing that Bunting would be out for at least an hour, for he was
+a gregarious soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops he
+frequented, Mrs. Bunting rose and dressed in a leisurely manner;
+then she went and "did" her front sitting-room.
+
+She felt languid and dull, as one is apt to feel after a broken
+night, and it was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was not
+likely to ring before twelve.
+
+But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through the
+quiet house. She knew it for the front door bell.
+
+Mrs. Bunting frowned. No doubt the ring betokened one of those
+tiresome people who come round for old, bottles and such-like
+fal-lals.
+
+She went slowly, reluctantly to the door. And then her face cleared,
+for it was that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waiting
+outside.
+
+He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quickly
+through the moist, foggy air.
+
+"Why, Joe?" said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly. "Come in--do! Bunting's
+out, but he won't be very long now. You've been quite a stranger
+these last few days."
+
+"Well, you know why, Mrs. Bunting--"
+
+She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he could mean. Then,
+suddenly she remembered. Why, of course, Joe was on a big job just
+now--the job of trying to catch The Avenger! Her husband had
+alluded to the fact again and again when reading out to her little
+bits from the halfpenny evening paper he was taking again.
+
+She led the way to the sitting-room. It was a good thing Bunting
+had insisted on lighting the fire before he went out, for now the
+room was nice and warm--and it was just horrible outside. She had
+felt a chill go right through her as she had stood, even for that
+second, at the front door.
+
+And she hadn't been alone to feel it, for, "I say, it is jolly to
+be in here, out of that awful cold!" exclaimed Chandler, sitting
+down heavily in Bunting's easy chair.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting bethought herself that the young man was tired,
+as well as cold. He was pale, almost pallid under his usual healthy,
+tanned complexion--the complexion of the man who lives much out of
+doors.
+
+"Wouldn't you like me just to make you a cup of tea?" she said
+solicitously.
+
+"Well, to tell truth, I should be right down thankful for one, Mrs.
+Bunting!" Then he looked round, and again he said her name, "Mrs.
+Bunting--?"
+
+He spoke in so odd, so thick a tone that she turned quickly. "Yes,
+what is it, Joe?" she asked. And then, in sudden terror, "You've
+never come to tell me that anything's happened to Bunting? He's
+not had an accident?"
+
+"Goodness, no! Whatever made you think that? But--but, Mrs.
+Bunting, there's been another of them!"
+
+His voice dropped almost to a whisper. He was staring at her with
+unhappy, it seemed to her terror-filled, eyes.
+
+"Another of them?" She looked at him, bewildered--at a loss.
+And then what he meant flashed across her--"another of them"
+meant another of these strange, mysterious, awful murders.
+
+But her relief for the moment was so great--for she really had
+thought for a second that he had come to give her ill news of
+Bunting--that the feeling that she did experience on hearing
+this piece of news was actually pleasurable, though she would
+have been much shocked had that fact been brought to her notice.
+
+Almost in spite of herself, Mrs. Bunting had become keenly interested
+in the amazing series of crimes which was occupying the imagination
+of the whole of London's nether-world. Even her refined mind had
+busied itself for the last two or three days with the strange problem
+so frequently presented to it by Bunting--for Bunting, now that they
+were no longer worried, took an open, unashamed, intense interest in
+"The Avenger" and his doings.
+
+She took the kettle off the gas-ring. "It's a pity Bunting isn't
+here," she said, drawing in her breath. "He'd a-liked so much to
+hear you tell all about it, Joe."
+
+As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
+
+But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him. "Why,
+you do look bad!" she exclaimed.
+
+And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad--very bad indeed.
+
+"I can't help it," he said, with a kind of gasp. "It was your
+saying that about my telling you all about it that made me turn
+queer. You see, this time I was one of the first there, and it
+fairly turned me sick--that it did. Oh, it was too awful, Mrs.
+Bunting! Don't talk of it."
+
+He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
+
+She looked at him with sympathetic interest. "Why, Joe," she said,
+"I never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see,
+that anything could upset you like that."
+
+"This isn't like anything there's ever been before," he said. "And
+then--then--oh, Mrs. Bunting, 'twas I that discovered the piece of
+paper this time."
+
+"Then it is true," she cried eagerly. "It is The Avenger's bit of
+paper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in that
+practical joker."
+
+"I did," said Chandler reluctantly. "You see, there are some queer
+fellows even--even--" (he lowered his voice, and looked round him
+as if the walls had ears)--"even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, and
+these murders have fair got on our nerves."
+
+"No, never!" she said. "D'you think that a Bobby might do a thing
+like that?"
+
+He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn't worth answering.
+Then, "It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while
+the poor soul was still warm,"--he shuddered--"that brought me out
+West this morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince
+Albert Terrace, and I had to go and tell him all about it. They
+never offered me a bit or a sup--I think they might have done that,
+don't you, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Yes," she said absently. "Yes, I do think so."
+
+"But, there, I don't know that I ought to say that," went on Chandler.
+"He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like to
+me while I was telling him."
+
+"Have a bit of something now?" she said suddenly.
+
+"Oh, no, I couldn't eat anything," he said hastily. "I don't feel
+as if I could ever eat anything any more."
+
+"That'll only make you ill." Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly,
+for she was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a bite
+out of the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
+
+"I expect you're right," he said. "And I've a goodish heavy day
+in front of me. Been up since four, too--"
+
+"Four?" she said. "Was it then they found--" she hesitated a
+moment, and then said, "it?"
+
+He nodded. "It was just a chance I was near by. If I'd been half
+a minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have
+knocked up against that--that monster. But two or three people
+do think they saw him slinking away."
+
+"What was he like?" she asked curiously.
+
+"Well, that's hard to answer. You see, there was such an awful
+fog. But there's one thing they all agree about. He was carrying
+a bag--"
+
+"A bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice. "Whatever sort of
+bag might it have been, Joe?"
+
+There had come across her--just right in her middle, like--such a
+strange sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.
+
+She was at a loss to account for it,
+
+"Just a hand-bag," said Joe Chandler vaguely. "A woman I spoke to
+--cross-examining her, like--who was positive she had seen him,
+said, 'Just a tall, thin shadow--that's what he was, a tall, thin
+shadow of a man--with a bag."'
+
+"With a bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently. "How very strange
+and peculiar--"
+
+"Why, no, not strange at all. He has to carry the thing he does
+the deed with in something, Mrs. Bunting. We've always wondered how
+he hid it. They generally throws the knife or fire-arms away, you
+know."
+
+"Do they, indeed?" Mrs. Bunting still spoke in that absent, wondering
+way. She was thinking that she really must try and see what the
+lodger had done with his bag. It was possible--in fact, when one
+came to think of it, it was very probable--that he had just lost
+it, being so forgetful a gentleman, on one of the days he had gone
+out, as she knew he was fond of doing, into the Regent's Park.
+
+"There'll be a description circulated in an hour or two," went on
+Chandler. "Perhaps that'll help catch him. There isn't a London
+man or woman, I don't suppose, who wouldn't give a good bit to lay
+that chap by the heels. Well, I suppose I must be going now."
+
+"Won't you wait a bit longer for Bunting?" she said hesitatingly.
+
+"No, I can't do that. But I'll come in, maybe, either this evening
+or to-morrow, and tell you any more that's happened. Thanks kindly
+for the tea. It's made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Well, you've had enough to unman you, Joe."
+
+"Aye, that I have," he said heavily.
+
+A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife had
+quite a little tiff--the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuth
+became their lodger.
+
+It fell out this way. When he heard who had been there, Bunting
+was angry that Mrs. Bunting hadn't got more details of the horrible
+occurrence which had taken place that morning, out of Chandler.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Ellen, that you can't even tell me where it
+happened?" he said indignantly. "I suppose you put Chandler off
+--that's what you did! Why, whatever did he come here for,
+excepting to tell us all about it?"
+
+"He came to have something to eat and drink," snapped out Mrs.
+Bunting. "That's what the poor lad came for, if you wants to know.
+He could hardly speak of it at all--he felt so bad. In fact, he
+didn't say a word about it until he'd come right into the room and
+sat down. He told me quite enough!"
+
+"Didn't he tell you if the piece of paper on which the murderer had
+written his name was square or three-cornered?" demanded Bunting.
+
+"No; he did not. And that isn't the sort of thing I should have
+cared to ask him."
+
+"The more fool you!" And then he stopped abruptly. The newsboys
+were coming down the Marylebone Road, shouting out the awful
+discovery which had been made that morning--that of The Avenger's
+fifth murder. Bunting went out to buy a paper, and his wife took
+the things he had brought in down to the kitchen.
+
+The noise the newspaper-sellers made outside had evidently wakened
+Mr. Sleuth, for his landlady hadn't been in the kitchen ten minutes
+before his bell rang.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell rang again.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's breakfast was quite ready, but for the first time since
+he had been her lodger Mrs. Bunting did not answer the summons at
+once. But when there came the second imperative tinkle--for
+electric hells had not been fitted into that old-fashioned house--
+she made up her mind to go upstairs.
+
+As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting,
+sitting comfortably in their parlour, heard his wile stepping heavily
+under the load of the well-laden tray.
+
+"Wait a minute!" he called out. "I'll help you, Ellen," and he came
+out and took the tray from her.
+
+She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-room
+floor landing.
+
+There she stopped him. "Here," she whispered quickly, "you give me
+that, Bunting. The lodger won't like your going in to him." And
+then, as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, she
+added in a rather acid tone, "You might open the door for me, at
+any rate! How can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray on
+my hands?"
+
+She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised--rather
+put out. Ellen wasn't exactly what you'd call a lively, jolly woman,
+but when things were going well--as now--she was generally equable
+enough. He supposed she was still resentful of the way he had
+spoken to her about young Chandler and the new Avenger murder.
+
+However, he was always for peace, so he opened the drawing-room door,
+and as soon as he had started going downstairs Mrs. Bunting walked
+into the room.
+
+And then at once there came over her the queerest feeling of relief,
+of lightness of heart.
+
+As usual, the lodger was sitting at his old place, reading the Bible.
+
+Somehow--she could not have told you why, she would not willingly
+have told herself--she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth looking
+different. But no, he appeared to be exactly the same--in fact,
+as he glanced up at her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted up
+his thin, pallid face.
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting," he said genially, "I overslept myself this
+morning, but I feel all the better for the rest."
+
+"I'm glad of that, sir," she answered, in a low voice. "One of the
+ladies I once lived with used to say, 'Rest is an old-fashioned
+remedy, but it's the best remedy of all."
+
+Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden's Concordance off
+the table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady
+laying the cloth.
+
+Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in the
+morning. "I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you
+outside the door just now?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Bunting helped me up with the tray."
+
+"I'm afraid I give you a good deal of trouble," he said hesitatingly.
+
+But she answered quickly, "Oh, no, sir! Not at all, sir! I was
+only saying yesterday that we've never had a lodger that gave us as
+little trouble as you do, sir."
+
+"I'm glad of that. I am aware that my habits are somewhat peculiar."
+
+He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of
+denial to this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and
+truthful woman. It never occurred to her to question his statement.
+Mr. Sleuth's habits were somewhat peculiar. Take that going out at
+night, or rather in the early morning, for instance? So she remained
+silent.
+
+After she had laid the lodger's breakfast on the table she prepared
+to leave the room. "I suppose I'm not to do your room till you goes
+out, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply. "No, no!" he said. "I never
+want my room done when I am engaged in studying the Scriptures, Mrs.
+Bunting. But I am not going out to-day. I shall be carrying out a
+somewhat elaborate experiment--upstairs. If I go out at all" he
+waited a moment, and again he looked at her fixedly "--I shall wait
+till night-time to do so." And then, coming back to the matter in
+hand, he added hastily, "Perhaps you could do my room when I go
+upstairs, about five o'clock--if that time is convenient to you,
+that is?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sir! That'll do nicely!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she did so she took herself
+wordlessly, ruthlessly to task, but she did not face--even in her
+inmost heart--the strange tenors and tremors which had so shaken
+her. She only repeated to herself again and again, "I've got upset
+--that's what I've done," and then she spoke aloud, "I must get
+myself a dose at the chemist's next time I'm out. That's what I
+must do."
+
+And just as she murmured the word "do," there came a loud double
+knock on the front door.
+
+It was only the postman's knock, but the postman was an unfamiliar
+visitor in that house, and Mrs. Bunting started violently. She was
+nervous, that's what was the matter with her,--so she told herself
+angrily. No doubt this was a letter for Mr. Sleuth; the lodger must
+have relations and acquaintances somewhere in the world. All
+gentlefolk have. But when she picked the small envelope off the
+hall floor, she saw it was a letter from Daisy, her husband's daughter.
+
+"Bunting!" she called out sharply. "Here's a letter for you."
+
+She opened the door of their sitting-room and looked in. Yes, there
+was her husband, sitting back comfortably in his easy chair, reading
+a paper. And as she saw his broad, rather rounded back, Mrs. Bunting
+felt a sudden thrill of sharp irritation. There he was, doing
+nothing--in fact, doing worse than nothing--wasting his time
+reading all about those horrid crimes.
+
+She sighed--a long, unconscious sigh. Bunting was getting into
+idle ways, bad ways for a man of his years. But how could she
+prevent it? He had been such an active, conscientious sort of man
+when they had first made acquaintance. . .
+
+She also could remember, even more clearly than Bunting did himself,
+that first meeting of theirs in the dining-room of No. 90 Cumberland
+Terrace. As she had stood there, pouring out her mistress's glass of
+port wine, she had not been too much absorbed in her task to have a
+good out-of-her-eye look at the spruce, nice, respectable-looking
+fellow who was standing over by the window. How superior he had
+appeared even then to the man she already hoped he would succeed as
+butler!
+
+To-day, perhaps because she was not feeling quite herself, the past
+rose before her very vividly, and a lump came into her throat.
+
+Putting the letter addressed to her husband on the table, she closed
+the door softly, and went down into the kitchen; there were various
+little things to put away and clean up, as well as their dinner to
+cook. And all the time she was down there she fixed her mind
+obstinately, determinedly on Bunting and on the problem of Bunting.
+She wondered what she'd better do to get him into good ways again.
+
+Thanks to Mr. Sleuth, their outlook was now moderately bright. A
+week ago everything had seemed utterly hopeless. It seemed as if
+nothing could save them from disaster. But everything was now
+changed!
+
+Perhaps it would be well for her to go and see the new proprietor
+of that registry office, in Baker Street, which had lately changed
+hands. It would be a good thing for Bunting to get even an
+occasional job--for the matter of that he could now take up a
+fairly regular thing in the way of waiting. Mrs. Bunting knew that
+it isn't easy to get a man out of idle ways once he has acquired
+those ways.
+
+When, at last, she went upstairs again she felt a little ashamed of
+what she had been thinking, for Bunting had laid the cloth, and laid
+it very nicely, too, and brought up the two chairs to the table.
+
+"Ellen?" he cried eagerly, "here's news! Daisy's coming to-morrow!
+There's scarlet fever in their house. Old Aunt thinks she'd better
+come away for a few days. So, you see, she'll be here for her
+birthday. Eighteen, that's what she be on the nineteenth! It do
+make me feel old--that it do!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting put down the tray. "I can't have the girl here just
+now," she said shortly. "I've just as much to do as I can manage.
+The lodger gives me more trouble than you seem to think for."
+
+"Rubbish!" he said sharply. "I'll help you with the lodger. It's
+your own fault you haven't had help with him before. Of course,
+Daisy must come here. Whatever other place could the girl go to?"
+
+Bunting felt pugnacious--so cheerful as to be almost light-hearted.
+But as he looked across at his wife his feeling of satisfaction
+vanished. Ellen's face was pinched and drawn to-day; she looked ill
+--ill and horribly tired. It was very aggravating of her to go and
+behave like this--just when they were beginning to get on nicely
+again.
+
+"For the matter of that," he said suddenly, "Daisy'll be able to help
+you with the work, Ellen, and she'll brisk us both up a bit."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer. She sat down heavily at the table.
+And then she said languidly, "You might as well show me the girl's
+letter."
+
+He handed it across to her, and she read it slowly to herself.
+
+"DEAR FATHER (it ran)--I hope this finds you as well at it leaves
+me. Mrs. Puddle's youngest has got scarlet fever, and Aunt thinks
+I had better come away at once, just to stay with you for a few
+days. Please tell Ellen I won't give her no trouble. I'll start
+at ten if I don't hear nothing.--Your loving daughter,
+
+
+"Yes, I suppose Daisy will have to come here," Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+"It'll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her life."
+
+And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to content
+himself.
+
+******
+
+Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by. When dusk fell Mr.
+Sleuth's landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor. She
+remembered that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
+
+He was a tidy man, was the lodger; he did not throw his things
+about as so many gentlemen do, leaving them all over the place.
+No, he kept everything scrupulously tidy. His clothes, and the
+various articles Mrs. Bunting had bought for him during the first
+two days he had been there, were carefully arranged in the chest
+of drawers. He had lately purchased a pair of boots. Those he
+had arrived in were peculiar-looking footgear, buff leather shoes
+with rubber soles, and he had told his landlady on that very first
+day that he never wished them to go down to be cleaned.
+
+A funny idea--a funny habit that, of going out for a walk after
+midnight in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk were
+glad to be at home, snug in bed. But then Mr. Sleuth himself
+admitted that he was a funny sort of gentleman.
+
+After she had done his bedroom the landlady went into the
+sitting-room and gave it a good dusting. This room was not kept
+quite as nice as she would have liked it to be. Mrs. Bunting
+longed to give the drawing-room something of a good turn out; but
+Mr. Sleuth disliked her to be moving about in it when he himself
+was in his bedroom; and when up he sat there almost all the time.
+Delighted as he had seemed to be with the top room, he only used
+it when making his mysterious experiments, and never during the
+day-time.
+
+And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier with
+longing eyes--she even gave that pretty little piece of furniture
+a slight shake. If only the doors would fly open, as the locked
+doors of old cupboards sometimes do, even after they have been
+securely fastened, how pleased she would be, how much more
+comfortable somehow she would feel!
+
+But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret.
+
+******
+
+About eight o'clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, just
+for a few minutes' chat. He had recovered from his agitation of the
+morning, but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Bunting
+listened in silence, intensely interested in spite of herself, while
+he and Bunting talked.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I'm as right as a trivet now! I've had a good rest
+--laid down all this afternoon. You see, the Yard thinks there's
+going to be something on to-night. He's always done them in pairs."
+
+"So he has," exclaimed Hunting wonderingly. "So he has! Now, I
+never thought o' that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster'll be
+on the job again to-night?"
+
+Chandler nodded. "Yes. And I think there's a very good chance of
+his being caught too--"
+
+"I suppose there'll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?"
+
+"I should think there will be! How many of our men d'you think
+there'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
+
+Bunting shook his head. "I don't know," he said helplessly.
+
+"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice.
+
+"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
+
+"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting."
+
+"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
+
+And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!" incredulously.
+
+"Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!"
+Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. "Just
+listen to this:
+
+"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to
+the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any
+surprise at the information that a popular attack has been organised
+on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is even
+talk of an indignation mass meeting.'
+
+"What d'you think of that? That's not a pleasant thing for a
+gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
+
+"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't catch him, now
+doesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
+
+"I don't think it's queer at all," said young Chandler crossly.
+"Now you just listen again! Here's a bit of the truth for once--
+in a newspaper." And slowly he read out:
+
+"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind
+man's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes
+bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through
+the slums of a great city."'
+
+"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting. "Your hands aren't tied,
+and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
+
+"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr. Bunting. We haven't
+got the same facilities--no, not a quarter of them--that the
+French 'tecs have."
+
+And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: "What was that
+word, Joe--'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit you read out."
+
+"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
+
+"Then do they think there's more than one of them?" she said, and
+a look of relief came over her thin face.
+
+"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said Chandler.
+"They say it can't be the work of one man."
+
+"What do you think, Joe?"
+
+"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think. I'm fair puzzled."
+
+He got up. "Don't you come to the door. I'll shut it all right.
+So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps." As he had done the other
+evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door. "Any
+news of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
+
+"Yes; she's coming to-morrow," said her father. "They've got scarlet
+fever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks she'd better clear out."
+
+
+The husband and wife went to bed early that night, but Mrs. Bunting
+found she could not sleep. She lay wide awake, hearing the hours,
+the half-hours, the quarters chime out from the belfry of the old
+church close by.
+
+And then, just as she was dozing off--it must have been about one
+o'clock--she heard the sound she had half unconsciously been
+expecting to hear, that of the lodger's stealthy footsteps coming
+down the stairs just outside her room.
+
+He crept along the passage and let himself out very, very quietly.
+
+But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did not hear him
+come in again, for she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
+
+Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next morning; odder
+still, it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of bed, and going
+out into the passage, picked up the newspaper which had just been
+pushed through the letter-box.
+
+But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go back at once into
+her bedroom. Instead she lit the gas in the passage, and leaning
+up against the wall to steady herself, for she was trembling with
+cold and fatigue, she opened the paper.
+
+Yes, there was the heading she sought:
+
+"The AVENGER Murders"
+
+But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that followed:
+
+"Up to the time of going to press there is little new to report
+concerning the extraordinary series of crimes which are amazing,
+and, indeed, staggering not only London, but the whole civilised
+world, and which would seem to be the work of some woman-hating
+teetotal fanatic. Since yesterday morning, when the last of these
+dastardly murders was committed, no reliable clue to the perpetrator,
+or perpetrators, has been obtained, though several arrests were made
+in the course of the day. In every case, however, those arrested
+were able to prove a satisfactory alibi."
+
+And then, a little lower down
+
+"The excitement grows and grows. It is not too much to say that
+even a stranger to London would know that something very unusual
+was in the air. As for the place where the murder was committed
+last night--"
+
+"Last night!" thought Mrs. Bunting, startled; and then she realised
+that "last night," in this connection, meant the night before last.
+
+She began the sentence again:
+
+"As for the place where the murder was committed last night, all
+approaches to it were still blocked up to a late hour by hundreds
+of onlookers, though, of course, nothing now remains in the way of
+traces of the tragedy."
+
+Slowly and carefully Mrs. Bunting folded the paper up again in its
+original creases, and then she stooped and put it back down on the
+mat where she had found it. She then turned out the gas, and going
+back into bed she lay down by her still sleeping husband.
+
+"Anything the matter?" Bunting murmured, and stirred uneasily.
+"Anything the matter, Ellen?"
+
+She answered in a whisper, a whisper thrilling with a strange
+gladness, "No, nothing, Bunting--nothing the matter! Go to sleep
+again, my dear."
+
+They got up an hour later, both in a happy, cheerful mood. Bunting
+rejoiced at the thought of his daughter's coming, and even Daisy's
+stepmother told herself that it would be pleasant having the girl
+about the house to help her a bit.
+
+About ten o'clock Bunting went out to do some shopping. He brought
+back with him a nice little bit of pork for Daisy's dinner, and
+three mince-pies. He even remembered to get some apples for the
+sauce.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+Just as twelve was striking a four-wheeler drew up to the gate.
+
+It brought Daisy--pink-cheeked, excited, laughing-eyed Daisy--a
+sight to gladden any father's heart.
+
+"Old Aunt said I was to have a cab if the weather was bad," she
+cried out joyously.
+
+There was a bit of a wrangle over the fare. King's Cross, as all
+the world knows, is nothing like two miles from the Marylebone Road,
+but the man clamoured for one and sixpence, and hinted darkly that
+he had done the young lady a favour in bringing her at all.
+
+While he and Bunting were having words, Daisy, leaving them to it,
+walked up the flagged path to the door where her stepmother was
+awaiting her.
+
+As they were exchanging a rather frigid kiss, indeed, 'twas a mere
+peck on Mrs. Bunting's part, there fell, with startling suddenness,
+loud cries on the still, cold air. Long-drawn and wailing, they
+sounded strangely sad as they rose and fell across the distant roar
+of traffic in the Edgware Road.
+
+"What's that?" exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. "Why, whatever's
+that?"
+
+The cabman lowered his voice. "Them's 'a-crying out that 'orrible
+affair at King's Cross. He's done for two of 'em this time! That's
+what I meant when I said I might 'a got a better fare. I wouldn't
+say nothink before little missy there, but folk 'ave been coming
+from all over London the last five or six hours; plenty of toffs,
+too--but there, there's nothing to see now!"
+
+"What? Another woman murdered last night?"
+
+Bunting felt tremendously thrilled. What had the five thousand
+constables been about to let such a dreadful thing happen?
+
+The cabman stared at him, surprised. "Two of 'em, I tell yer--
+within a few yards of one another. He 'ave--got a nerve--But,
+of course, they was drunk. He are got a down on the drink!"
+
+"Have they caught him?" asked Bunting perfunctorily.
+
+"Lord, no! They'll never catch 'im! It must 'ave happened hours
+and hours ago--they was both stone cold. One each end of a little
+passage what ain't used no more. That's why they didn't find 'em
+before."
+
+The hoarse cries were coming nearer and nearer--two news vendors
+trying to outshout each other.
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross!" they yelled exultingly.
+"The Avenger again!"
+
+And Bunting, with his daughter's large straw hold-all in his hand,
+ran forward into the roadway and recklessly gave a boy a penny for
+a halfpenny paper.
+
+He felt very much moved and excited. Somehow his acquaintance with
+young Joe Chandler made these murders seem a personal affair. He
+hoped that Chandler would come in soon and tell them all about it,
+as he had done yesterday morning when he, Bunting, had unluckily
+been out.
+
+As he walked back into the little hall, he heard Daisy's voice--
+high, voluble, excited--giving her stepmother a long account of
+the scarlet fever case, and how at first Old Aunt's neighbours had
+thought it was not scarlet fever at all, but just nettlerash.
+
+But as Bunting pushed open the door of the sitting-room, there
+came a note of sharp alarm in his daughter's voice, and he heard
+her cry, "Why, Ellen, whatever is the matter? You do look bad!"
+and his wife's muffled answer, "Open the window--do."
+
+"'Orrible discovery near King's Cross--a clue at last!" yelled
+the newspaper-boys triumphantly.
+
+And then, helplessly, Mrs. Bunting began to laugh. She laughed,
+and laughed, and laughed, rocking herself to and fro as if in an
+ecstasy of mirth.
+
+"Why, father, whatever's the matter with her?"
+
+Daisy looked quite scared.
+
+"She's in 'sterics--that's what it is," he said shortly.
+"I'll just get the water-jug. Wait a minute!"
+
+Bunting felt very put out. Ellen was ridiculous--that's what she
+was, to be so easily upset.
+
+The lodger's bell suddenly pealed through the quiet house. Either
+that sound, or maybe the threat of the water-jug, had a magical
+effect on Mrs. Bunting. She rose to her feet, still shaking all
+over, but mentally composed.
+
+"I'll go up," she skid a little chokingly. "As for you, child,
+just run down into the kitchen. You'll find a piece of pork
+roasting in the oven. You might start paring the apples for the
+sauce."
+
+As Mrs. Bunting went upstairs her legs felt as if they were made
+of cotton wool. She put out a trembling hand, and clutched at the
+banister for support. But soon, making a great effort over herself,
+she began to feel more steady; and after waiting for a few moments
+on the landing, she knocked at the door of the drawing-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's voice answered her from the bedroom. "I'm not well,"
+he called out querulously; "I think I've caught a chill. I should
+be obliged if you would kindly bring me up a cup of tea, and put it
+outside my door, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Very well, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bunting turned and went downstairs. She still felt queer and
+giddy, so instead of going into the kitchen, she made the lodger his
+cup of tea over her sitting-room gas-ring.
+
+During their midday dinner the husband and wile had a little
+discussion as to where Daisy should sleep. It had been settled
+that a bed should be made up for her in the top back room, but
+Mrs. Bunting saw reason to change this plan. "I think 'twould be
+better if Daisy were to sleep with me, Bunting, and you was to
+sleep upstairs."
+
+Bunting felt and looked rather surprised, but he acquiesced. Ellen
+was probably right; the girl would be rather lonely up there, and,
+after all, they didn't know much about the lodger, though he seemed
+a respectable gentleman enough.
+
+Daisy was a good-natured girl; she liked London, and wanted to make
+herself useful to her stepmother. "I'll wash up; don't you bother to
+come downstairs," she said cheerfully.
+
+Bunting began to walk up and down the room. His wife gave him a
+furtive glance; she wondered what he was thinking about.
+
+"Didn't you get a paper?" she said at last.
+
+"Yes, of course I did," he answered hastily. "But I've put it away.
+I thought you'd rather not look at it, as you're that nervous."
+
+Again she glanced at him quickly, furtively, but he seemed just as
+usual--he evidently meant just what he said and no more.
+
+"I thought they was shouting something in the street--I mean just
+before I was took bad."
+
+It was now Bunting's turn to stare at his wife quickly and rather
+furtively. He had felt sure that her sudden attack of queerness,
+of hysterics--call it what you might--had been due to the shouting
+outside. She was not the only woman in London who had got the
+Avenger murders on her nerves. His morning paper said quite a lot
+of women were afraid to go out alone. Was it possible that the
+curious way she had been taken just now had had nothing to do with
+the shouts and excitement outside?
+
+"Don't you know what it was they were calling out?" he asked slowly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked across at him. She would have given a very
+great deal to be able to lie, to pretend that she did not know what
+those dreadful cries had portended. But when it came to the point
+she found she could not do so.
+
+"Yes," she said dully. "I heard a word here and there. There's
+been another murder, hasn't there?"
+
+"Two other murders," he said soberly.
+
+"Two? That's worse news!" She turned so pale--a sallow
+greenish-white--that Bunting thought she was again going queer.
+
+"Ellen?" he said warningly, "Ellen, now do have a care! I can't
+think what's come over, you about these murders. Turn your mind
+away from them, do! We needn't talk about them--not so much,
+that is--"
+
+"But I wants to talk about them," cried Mrs. Bunting hysterically.
+
+The husband and wife were standing, one each side of the table,
+the man with his back to the fire, the woman with her back to the
+door.
+
+Bunting, staring across at his wife, felt sadly perplexed and
+disturbed. She really did seem ill; even her slight, spare figure
+looked shrunk. For the first time, so he told himself ruefully,
+Ellen was beginning to look her full age. Her slender hands--she
+had kept the pretty, soft white hands of the woman who has never
+done rough work--grasped the edge of the table with a convulsive
+movement.
+
+Bunting didn't at all like the look of her. "Oh, dear," he said
+to himself, "I do hope Ellen isn't going to be ill! That would be
+a to-do just now."
+
+"Tell me about it," she commanded, in a low voice. "Can't you see
+I'm waiting to hear? Be quick now, Bunting!"
+
+"There isn't very much to tell," he said reluctantly. "There's
+precious little in this paper, anyway. But the cabman what brought
+Daisy told me--"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"What I said just now. There's two of 'em this time, and they'd
+both been drinking heavily, poor creatures."
+
+"Was it where the others was done?" she asked looking at her husband
+fearfully.
+
+"No," he said awkwardly. "No, it wasn't, Ellen. It was a good bit
+farther West--in fact, not so very far from here. Near King's Cross
+--that's how the cabman knew about it, you see. They seems to have
+been done in a passage which isn't used no more." And then, as he
+thought his wife's eyes were beginning to look rather funny, he added
+hastily. "There, that's enough for the present! We shall soon be
+hearing a lot more about it from Joe Chandler. He's pretty sure to
+come in some time to-day."
+
+"Then the five thousand constables weren't no use?" said Mrs.
+Bunting slowly.
+
+She had relaxed her grip of the table, and was standing more
+upright.
+
+"No use at all," said Bunting briefly. "He is artful and no mistake
+about it. But wait a minute--" he turned and took up the paper
+which he had laid aside, on a chair. "Yes they says here that they
+has a clue."
+
+"A clue, Bunting?" Mrs. Bunting spoke in a soft, weak, die-away
+voice, and again, stooping somewhat, she grasped the edge of the
+table.
+
+But her husband was not noticing her now. He was holding the paper
+close up to his eyes, and he read from it, in a tone of considerable
+satisfaction:
+
+"'It is gratifying to be able to state that the police at last
+believe they are in possession of a clue which will lead to the
+arrest of the--'" and then Bunting dropped the paper and rushed
+round the table.
+
+His wife, with a curious sighing moan, had slipped down on to the
+floor, taking with her the tablecloth as she went. She lay there
+in what appeared to be a dead faint. And Bunting, scared out of
+his wits, opened the door and screamed out, "Daisy! Daisy! Come
+up, child. Ellen's took bad again."
+
+And Daisy, hurrying in, showed an amount of sense and resource
+which even at this anxious moment roused her fond father's
+admiration.
+
+"Get a wet sponge, Dad--quick!" she cried, "a sponge,--and, if
+you've got such a thing, a drop o' brandy. I'll see after her!"
+And then, after he had got the little medicine flask, "I can't think
+what's wrong with Ellen," said Daisy wonderingly. "She seemed quite
+all right when I first came in. She was listening, interested-like,
+to what I was telling her, and then, suddenly--well, you saw how
+she was took, father? 'Taint like Ellen this, is now?"
+
+"No," he whispered. "No, 'taint. But you see, child, we've been
+going through a pretty bad time--worse nor I should ever have let
+you know of, my dear. Ellen's just feeling it now--that's what it
+is. She didn't say nothing, for Ellen's a good plucked one, but
+it's told on her--it's told on her!"
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting, sitting up, slowly opened her eyes, and
+instinctively put her hand up to her head to see if her hair was
+all right.
+
+She hadn't really been quite "off." It would have been better for
+her if she had. She had simply had an awful feeling that she
+couldn't stand up--more, that she must fall down. Bunting's words
+touched a most unwonted chord in the poor woman's heart, and the
+eyes which she opened were full of tears. She had not thought her
+husband knew how she had suffered during those weeks of starving
+and waiting.
+
+But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment. To her
+such betrayal betokened "foolishness," and so all she said was,
+"There's no need to make a fuss! I only turned over a little queer.
+I never was right off, Daisy."
+
+Pettishly she pushed away the glass in which Bunting had hurriedly
+poured a little brandy. "I wouldn't touch such stuff--no, not if
+I was dying!" she exclaimed.
+
+Putting out a languid hand, she pulled herself up, with the help of
+the table, on to her feet. "Go down again to the kitchen, child";
+but there was a sob, a kind of tremor in her voice.
+
+"You haven't been eating properly, Ellen--that's what's the matter
+with you," said Bunting suddenly. "Now I come to think of it, you
+haven't eat half enough these last two days. I always did say--in
+old days many a time I telled you--that a woman couldn't live on
+air. But there, you never believed me!"
+
+Daisy stood looking from one to the other, a shadow over her bright,
+pretty face. "I'd no idea you'd had such a bad time, father," she
+said feelingly. "Why didn't you let me know about it? I might have
+got something out of Old Aunt."
+
+"We didn't want anything of that sort," said her stepmother hastily.
+"But of course--well, I expect I'm still feeling the worry now. I
+don't seem able to forget it. Those days of waiting, of--of--"
+she restrained herself; another moment and the word "starving" would
+have left her lips.
+
+"But everything's all right now," said Bunting eagerly, "all right,
+thanks to Mr. Sleuth, that is."
+
+"Yes," repeated his wife, in a low, strange tone of voice. "Yes,
+we're all right now, and as you say, Bunting, it's all along of
+Mr. Sleuth."
+
+She walked across to a chair and sat down on it. "I'm just a little
+tottery still," she muttered.
+
+And Daisy, looking at her, turned to her father and said in a
+whisper, but not so low but that Mrs. Bunting heard her, "Don't you
+think Ellen ought to see a doctor, father? He might give her
+something that would pull her round."
+
+"I won't see no doctor!" said Mrs. Bunting with sudden emphasis. "I
+saw enough of doctors in my last place. Thirty-eight doctors in ten
+months did my poor missis have. Just determined on having 'em she
+was! Did they save her? No! She died just the same! Maybe a bit
+sooner."
+
+"She was a freak, was your last mistress, Ellen," began Bunting
+aggressively.
+
+Ellen had insisted on staying on in that place till her poor mistress
+died. They might have been married some months before they were
+married but for that fact. Bunting had always resented it.
+
+His wife smile wanly. "We won't have no words about that," she said,
+and again she spoke in a softer, kindlier tone than usual. "Daisy?
+If you won't go down to the kitchen again, then I must"--she turned
+to her stepdaughter, and the girl flew out of the room.
+
+"I think the child grows prettier every minute," said Bunting fondly.
+
+"Folks are too apt to forget that beauty is but skin deep," said his
+wife. She was beginning to feel better. "But still, I do agree,
+Bunting, that Daisy's well enough. And she seems more willing, too."
+
+"I say, we mustn't forget the lodger's dinner," Bunting spoke
+uneasily. "It's a bit of fish to-day, isn't it? Hadn't I better
+just tell Daisy to see to it, and then I can take it up to him, as
+you're not feeling quite the thing, Ellen?"
+
+"I'm quite well enough to take up Mr. Sleuth's luncheon," she said
+quickly. It irritated her to hear her husband speak of the lodger's
+dinner. They had dinner in the middle of the day, but Mr. Sleuth
+had luncheon. However odd he might be, Mrs. Bunting never forgot
+her lodger was a gentleman.
+
+"After all, he likes me to wait on him, doesn't he? I can manage
+all right. Don't you worry," she added after a long pause.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+Perhaps because his luncheon was served to him a good deal later
+than usual, Mr. Sleuth ate his nice piece of steamed sole upstairs
+with far heartier an appetite than his landlady had eaten her nice
+slice of roast pork downstairs.
+
+"I hope you're feeling a little better, sir," Mrs. Bunting had forced
+herself to say when she first took in his tray.
+
+And he had answered plaintively, querulously, "No, I can't say I
+feel well to-day, Mrs. Bunting. I am tired--very tired. And as I
+lay in bed I seemed to hear so many sounds--so much crying and
+shouting. I trust the Marylebone Road is not going to become a noisy
+thoroughfare, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I don't think that. We're generally reckoned very
+quiet indeed, sir."
+
+She waited a moment--try as she would, she could not allude to what
+those unwonted shouts and noises had betokened. "I expect you've
+got a chill, sir," she said suddenly. "If I was you, I shouldn't
+go out this afternoon; I'd just stay quietly indoors. There's a lot
+of rough people about--" Perhaps there was an undercurrent of
+warning, of painful pleading, in her toneless voice which penetrated
+in some way to the brain of the lodger, for Mr. Sleuth looked up, and
+an uneasy, watchful look came into his luminous grey eyes.
+
+"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bunting. But I think I'll take your
+advice. That is, I will stay quietly at home, I am never at a loss
+to know what to do with myself so long as I can study the Book of
+Books."
+
+"Then you're not afraid about your eyes, sir?" said Mrs. Bunting
+curiously. Somehow she was beginning to feel better. It comforted
+her to be up here, talking to Mr. Sleuth, instead of thinking about
+him downstairs. It seemed to banish the terror which filled her
+soul--aye, and her body, too--at other times. When she was with
+him Mr. Sleuth was so gentle, so reasonable, so--so grateful.
+
+Poor kindly, solitary Mr. Sleuth! This kind of gentleman surely
+wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a human being. Eccentric--so much
+must be admitted. But Mrs. Bunting had seen a good deal of eccentric
+folk, eccentric women rather than eccentric men, in her long career
+as useful maid.
+
+Being at ordinary times an exceptionally sensible, well-balanced
+woman, she had never, in old days, allowed her mind to dwell on
+certain things she had learnt as to the aberrations of which human
+nature is capable--even well-born, well-nurtured, gentle human
+nature--as exemplified in some of the households where she had
+served. It would, indeed, be unfortunate if she now became morbid
+or--or hysterical.
+
+So it was in a sharp, cheerful voice, almost the voice in which she
+had talked during the first few days of Mr. Sleuth's stay in her
+house, that she exclaimed, "Well, sir, I'll be up again to clear
+away in about half an hour. And if you'll forgive me for saying so,
+I hope you will stay in and have a rest to-day. Nasty, muggy weather
+--that's what it is! If there's any little thing you want, me or
+Bunting can go out and get it."
+
+******
+
+It must have been about four o'clock when there came a ring at the
+front door.
+
+The three were sitting chatting together, for Daisy had washed up
+--she really was saving her stepmother a good bit of trouble--and
+the girl was now amusing her elders by a funny account of Old Aunt's
+pernickety ways.
+
+"Whoever can that be?" said Bunting, looking up. "It's too early
+for Joe Chandler, surely."
+
+"I'll go," said his wife, hurriedly jumping up from her chair.
+"I'll go! We don't want no strangers in here."
+
+And as she stepped down the short bit of passage she said to herself,
+"A clue? What clue?"
+
+But when she opened the front door a glad sigh of relief broke from
+her. "Why, Joe? We never thought 'twas you! But you're very
+welcome, I'm sure. Come in."
+
+And Chandler came in, a rather sheepish look on his good-looking,
+fair young face.
+
+"I thought maybe that Mr. Bunting would like to know--" he began,
+in a loud, cheerful voice, and Mrs. Bunting hurriedly checked him.
+She didn't want the lodger upstairs to hear what young Chandler
+might be going to say.
+
+"Don't talk so loud," she said a little sharply. "The lodger is
+not very well to-day. He's had a cold," she added hastily, "and
+during the last two or three days he hasn't been able to go out."
+
+She wondered at her temerity, her--her hypocrisy, and that moment,
+those few words, marked an epoch in Ellen Bunting's life. It was
+the first time she had told a bold and deliberate lie. She was
+one of those women--there are many, many such--to whom there is
+a whole world of difference between the suppression of the truth
+and the utterance of an untruth.
+
+But Chandler paid no heed to her remarks. "Has Miss Daisy arrived?"
+he asked, in a lower voice.
+
+She nodded. And then he went through into the room where the father
+and daughter were sitting.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting, starting up. "Well, Joe? Now you can tell
+us all about that mysterious clue I suppose it'd be too good news
+to expect you to tell us they've caught him?"
+
+"No fear of such good news as that yet awhile. If they'd caught
+him," said Joe ruefully, "well, I don't suppose I should be here,
+Mr. Bunting. But the Yard are circulating a description at last.
+And--well, they've found his weapon!"
+
+"No?" cried Bunting excitedly. "You don't say so! Whatever sort
+of a thing is it? And are they sure 'tis his?"
+
+"Well, 'tain't sure, but it seems to be likely."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.
+But she was still standing with her back against the door, looking
+at the group in front of her. None of them were thinking of her
+--she thanked God for that! She could hear everything that was
+said without joining in the talk and excitement.
+
+"Listen to this!" cried Joe Chandler exultantly. "'Tain't given
+out yet--not for the public, that is--but we was all given it by
+eight o'clock this morning. Quick work that eh?" He read out:
+
+
+  "WANTED
+
+  A man, of age approximately 28, slight in figure, height
+  approximately 5 ft. '8 in. Complexion dark. No beard or
+  whiskers. Wearing a black diagonal coat hard felt hat, high
+  white collar, and tie. Carried a newspaper parcel. Very
+  respectable appearance."
+
+
+Mrs. Bunting walked forward. She gave a long, fluttering sigh of
+unutterable relief.
+
+"There's the chap!" said Joe Chandler triumphantly. "And now, Miss
+Daisy"--he turned to her jokingly, but there was a funny little
+tremor in his frank, cheerful-sounding voice--"if you knows of any
+nice, likely young fellow that answers to that description--well,
+you've only got to walk in and earn your reward of five hundred
+pounds."
+
+"Five hundred pounds!" cried Daisy and her father simultaneously.
+
+"Yes. That's what the Lord Mayor offered yesterday. Some private
+bloke--nothing official about it. But we of the Yard is barred
+from taking that reward, worse luck. And it's too bad, for we has
+all the trouble, after all"
+
+"Just hand that bit of paper over, will you?" said Bunting. "I'd
+like to con it over to myself."
+
+Chandler threw over the bit of flimsy.
+
+A moment later Bunting looked up and handed it back. "Well, it's
+clear enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes. And there's hundreds--nay, thousands--of young fellows
+that might be a description of," said Chandler sarcastically. "As
+a pal of mine said this morning, 'There isn't a chap will like to
+carry a newspaper parcel after this.' And it won't do to have a
+respectable appearance--eh?"
+
+Daisy's voice rang out in merry, pealing laughter. She greatly
+appreciated Mr. Chandler's witticism.
+
+"Why on earth didn't the people who saw him try and catch him?"
+asked Bunting suddenly.
+
+And Mrs. Bunting broke in, in a lower voice, "Yes, Joe--that seems
+odd, don't it?"
+
+Joe Chandler coughed. "Well, it's this way," he said. "No one
+person did see all that. The man who's described here is just made
+up from the description of two different folk who think they saw
+him. You see, the murders must have taken place--well, now, let
+me see--perhaps at two o'clock this last time. Two o'clock--
+that's the idea. Well, at such a time as that not many people are
+about, especially on a foggy night. Yes, one woman declares she
+saw a young chap walking away from the spot where 'twas done; and
+another one--but that was a good bit later--says The Avenger
+passed by her. It's mostly her they're following in this 'ere
+description. And then the boss who has charge of that sort of
+thing looked up what other people had said--I mean when the other
+crimes was committed. That's how he made up this 'Wanted."'
+
+"Then The Avenger may be quite a different sort of man?" said
+Bunting slowly, disappointedly.
+
+"Well, of course he may be. But, no; I think that description
+fits him all right," said Chandler; but he also spoke in a
+hesitating voice.
+
+"You was saying, Joe, that they found a weapon?" observed Bunting
+insinuatingly.
+
+He was glad that Ellen allowed the discussion to go on--in fact,
+that she even seemed to take an intelligent interest in it. She
+had come up close to them, and now looked quite her old self again.
+
+"Yes. They believe they've found the weapon what he does his awful
+deeds with," said Chandler. "At any rate, within a hundred yards
+of that little dark passage where they found the bodies--one at
+each end, that was--there was discovered this morning a very
+peculiar kind o' knife--'keen as a razor, pointed as a dagger'--
+that's the exact words the boss used when he was describing it to
+a lot of us. He seemed to think a lot more of that clue than of
+the other--I mean than of the description people gave of the chap
+who walked quickly by with a newspaper parcel. But now there's a
+pretty job in front of us. Every shop where they sell or might a'
+sold, such a thing as that knife, including every eating-house in
+the East End, has got to be called at!"
+
+"Whatever for?" asked Daisy.
+
+"Why, with an idea of finding out if anyone saw such a knife fooling
+about there any time, and, if so, in whose possession it was at the
+time. But, Mr. Bunting"--Chandler's voice changed; it became
+businesslike, official--"they're not going to say anything about
+that--not in newspapers--till to-morrow, so don't you go and
+tell anybody. You see, we don't want to frighten the fellow off.
+If he knew they'd got his knife--well, he might just make himself
+scarce, and they don't want that! If it's discovered that any knife
+of that kind was sold, say a month ago, to some customer whose ways
+are known, then--then--"
+
+"What'll happen then?" said Mrs. Bunting, coming nearer.
+
+"Well, then, nothing'll be put about it in the papers at all," said
+Chandler deliberately. "The only objec' of letting the public know
+about it would be if nothink was found--I mean if the search of
+the shops, and so on, was no good. Then, of course, we must try
+and find out someone--some private person-like, who's watched that
+knife in the criminal's possession. It's there the reward--the
+five hundred pounds will come in."
+
+"Oh, I'd give anything to see that knife!" exclaimed Daisy, clasping
+her hands together.
+
+"You cruel, bloodthirsty, girl!" cried her stepmother passionately.
+
+They all looked round at her, surprised.
+
+"Come, come, Ellen!" said Bunting reprovingly.
+
+"Well, it is a horrible idea!" said his wife sullenly. "To go and
+sell a fellow-being for five hundred pounds."
+
+But Daisy was offended. "Of course I'd like to see it!" she cried
+defiantly. "I never said nothing about the reward. That was Mr.
+Chandler said that! I only said I'd like to see the knife."
+
+Chandler looked at her soothingly. "Well, the day may come when
+you will see it," he said slowly.
+
+A great idea had come into his mind.
+
+"No! What makes you think that?"
+
+"If they catches him, and if you comes along with me to see our
+Black Museum at the Yard, you'll certainly see the knife, Miss Daisy.
+They keeps all them kind of things there. So if, as I say, this
+weapon should lead to the conviction of The Avenger--well, then,
+that knife 'ull be there, and you'll see' it!"
+
+"The Black Museum? Why, whatever do they have a museum in your
+place for?" asked Daisy wonderingly. "I thought there was only the
+British Museum--"
+
+And then even Mrs. Bunting, as well as Bunting and Chandler,
+laughed aloud.
+
+"You are a goosey girl!" said her father fondly. "Why, there's a
+lot of museums in London; the town's thick with 'em. Ask Ellen
+there. She and me used to go to them kind of places when we was
+courting--if the weather was bad."
+
+"But our museum's the one that would interest Miss Daisy," broke in
+Chandler eagerly. "It's a regular Chamber of 'Orrors!"
+
+"Why, Joe, you never told us about that place before," said Bunting
+excitedly. "D'you really mean that there's a museum where they
+keeps all sorts of things connected with crimes? Things like knives
+murders have been committed with?"
+
+"Knives?" cried Joe, pleased at having become the centre of
+attention, for Daisy had also fixed her blue eyes on him, and even
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him expectantly. "Much more than knives, Mr.
+Bunting! Why, they've got there, in little bottles, the real poison
+what people have been done away with."
+
+"And can you go there whenever you like?" asked Daisy wonderingly.
+She had not realised before what extraordinary and agreeable
+privileges are attached to the position of a detective member of
+the London Police Force.
+
+"Well, I suppose I could--" Joe smiled. "Anyway I can certainly
+get leave to take a friend there." He looked meaningly at Daisy,
+and Daisy looked eagerly at him.
+
+But would Ellen ever let her go out by herself with Mr. Chandler?
+Ellen was so prim, so--so irritatingly proper. But what was this
+father was saying? "D'you really mean that, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, of course I do!"
+
+"Well, then, look here! If it isn't asking too much of a favour, I
+should like to go along there with you very much one day. I don't
+want to wait till The Avenger's caught "--Bunting smiled broadly.
+"I'd be quite content as it is with what there is in that museum
+o' yours. Ellen, there,"--he looked across at his wife--"don't
+agree with me about such things. Yet I don't think I'm a
+bloodthirsty man! But I'm just terribly interested in all that sort
+of thing--always have been. I used to positively envy the butler
+in that Balham Mystery!"
+
+Again a look passed between Daisy and the young man--it was a look
+which contained and carried a great many things backwards and
+forwards, such as--"Now, isn't it funny that your father should
+want to go to such a place? But still, I can't help it if he does
+want to go, so we must put up with his company, though it would
+have been much nicer for us to go just by our two selves." And
+then Daisy's look answered quite as plainly, though perhaps Joe
+didn't read her glance quite as clearly as she had read his: "Yes,
+it is tiresome. But father means well; and 'twill be very pleasant
+going there, even if he does come too."
+
+"Well, what d'you say to the day after to-morrow, Mr. Bunting? I'd
+call for you here about--shall we say half-past two?--and just
+take you and Miss Daisy down to the Yard. 'Twouldn't take very
+long; we could go all the way by bus, right down to Westminster
+Bridge." He looked round at his hostess: "Wouldn't you join us,
+Mrs. Bunting? 'Tis truly a wonderful interesting place."
+
+But his hostess shook her head decidedly. "'Twould turn me sick,"
+she exclaimed, "to see the bottle of poison what had done away with
+the life of some poor creature!
+
+"And as for knives--!" a look of real horror, of startled fear,
+crept over her pale face.
+
+"There, there!" said Bunting hastily. "Live and let live--that's
+what I always say. Ellen ain't on in this turn. She can just
+stay at home and mind the cat--I beg his pardon, I mean the lodger!"
+
+"I won't have Mr. Sleuth laughed at," said Mrs. Bunting darkly.
+"But there! I'm sure it's very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving
+Bunting and Daisy such a rare treat "--she spoke sarcastically, but
+none of the three who heard her understood that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+The moment she passed though the great arched door which admits the
+stranger to that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart
+of that great organism which fights the forces of civilised crime,
+Daisy Bunting felt that she had indeed become free of the Kingdom of
+Romance. Even the lift in which the three of them were whirled up
+to one of the upper floors of the huge building was to the girl a
+new and delightful experience. Daisy had always lived a simple,
+quiet life in the little country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this
+was the first time a lift had come her way.
+
+With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler
+marched his friends down a wide, airy corridor.
+
+Daisy clung to her father's arm, a little bewildered, a little
+oppressed by her good fortune. Her happy young voice was
+stilled by the awe she felt at the wonderful place where she
+found herself, and by the glimpses she caught of great rooms full
+of busy, silent men engaged in unravelling--or so she supposed
+--the mysteries of crime.
+
+They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped
+short. "Look in there," he said, in a low voice, addressing the
+father rather than the daughter, "that's the Finger-Print Room.
+We've records here of over two hundred thousand men's and women's
+finger-tips! I expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once we've got
+the print of a man's five finger-tips, well, he's done for--if he
+ever does anything else, that is. Once we've got that bit of him
+registered he can't never escape us--no, not if he tries ever so.
+But though there's nigh on a quarter of a million records in there,
+yet it don't take--well, not half an hour, for them to tell
+whether any particular man has ever been convicted before! Wonderful
+thought, ain't it?"
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing a deep breath. And then a
+troubled look came over his stolid face. "Wonderful, but also a
+very fearful thought for the poor wretches as has got their
+finger-prints in, Joe."
+
+Joe laughed. "Agreed!" he said. "And the cleverer ones knows that
+only too well. Why, not long ago, one man who knew his record was
+here safe, managed to slash about his fingers something awful, just
+so as to make a blurred impression--you takes my meaning? But
+there, at the end of six weeks the skin grew all right again, and
+in exactly the same little creases as before!"
+
+"Poor devil!" said Bunting under his breath, and a cloud even came
+over Daisy's bright eager face.
+
+They were now going along a narrower passage, and then again they
+came to a half-open door, leading into a room far smaller than
+that of the Finger-Print Identification Room.
+
+"If you'll glance in there," said Joe briefly, "you'll see how we
+finds out all about any man whose finger-tips has given him away, so
+to speak. It's here we keeps an account of what he's done, his
+previous convictions, and so on. His finger-tips are where I told
+you, and his record in there--just connected by a number."
+
+"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing in his breath. But Daisy was
+longing to get on--to get to the Black Museum. All this that Joe
+and her father were saying was quite unreal to her, and, for the
+matter of that not worth taking the trouble to understand. However,
+she had not long to wait.
+
+A broad-shouldered, pleasant-looking young fellow, who seemed on
+very friendly terms with Joe Chandler, came forward suddenly, and,
+unlocking a common-place-looking door, ushered the little party of
+three through into the Black Museum.
+
+For a moment there came across Daisy a feeling of keen disappointment
+and surprise. This big, light room simply reminded her of what they
+called the Science Room in the public library of the town where she
+lived with Old Aunt. Here, as there, the centre was taken up with
+plain glass cases fixed at a height from the floor which enabled
+their contents to be looked at closely.
+
+She walked forward and peered into the case nearest the door. The
+exhibits shown there were mostly small, shabby-looking little things,
+the sort of things one might turn out of an old rubbish cupboard in
+an untidy house--old medicine bottles, a soiled neckerchief, what
+looked like a child's broken lantern, even a box of pills. . .
+
+As for the walls, they were covered with the queerest-looking
+objects; bits of old iron, odd-looking things made of wood and
+leather, and so on.
+
+It was really rather disappointing.
+
+Then Daisy Bunting gradually became aware that standing on a shelf
+just below the first of the broad, spacious windows which made the
+great room look so light and shadowless, was a row of life-size
+white plaster heads, each head slightly inclined to the right.
+There were about a dozen of these, not more--and they had such odd,
+staring, helpless, real-looking faces.
+
+"Whatever's those?" asked Bunting in a low voice.
+
+Daisy clung a thought closer to her father's arm. Even she guessed
+that these strange, pathetic, staring faces were the death-masks of
+those men and women who had fulfilled the awful law which ordains
+that the murderer shall be, in his turn, done to death.
+
+"All hanged!" said the guardian of the Black Museum briefly. "Casts
+taken after death."
+
+Bunting smiled nervously. "They don't look dead somehow.. They
+looks more as if they were listening," he said.
+
+"That's the fault of Jack Ketch," said the man facetiously. "It's
+his idea--that of knotting his' patient's necktie under the left
+ear! That's what he does to each of the gentlemen to whom he has
+to act valet on just one occasion only. It makes them lean just a
+bit to one side. You look here--?"
+
+Daisy and her father came a little closer, and the speaker pointed
+with his' finger to a little dent imprinted on the left side of each
+neck; running from this indentation was a curious little furrow,
+well ridged above, showing how tightly Jack Ketch's necktie had been
+drawn when its wearer was hurried through the gates of eternity.
+
+"They looks foolish-like, rather than terrified, or--or hurt," said
+Bunting wonderingly.
+
+He was extraordinarily moved and fascinated by those dumb, staring
+faces.
+
+But young Chandler exclaimed in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice,
+"Well, a man would look foolish at such a time as that, with all his
+plans brought to naught--and knowing he's only got a second to live
+--now wouldn't he?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose he would," said Bunting slowly.
+
+Daisy had gone a little pale. The sinister, breathless atmosphere
+of the place was beginning to tell on her. She now began to
+understand that the shabby little objects lying there in the glass
+case close to her were each and all links in the chain of evidence
+which, in almost every case, had brought some guilty man or woman
+to the gallows.
+
+"We had a yellow gentleman here the other day," observed the guardian
+suddenly; "one of those Brahmins--so they calls themselves. Well,
+you'd a been quite surprised to see how that heathen took on! He
+declared--what was the word he used?"--he turned to Chandler.
+
+"He said that each of these things, with the exception of the casts,
+mind you--queer to say, he left them out--exuded evil, that was
+the word he used! Exuded--squeezed out it means. He said that
+being here made him feel very bad. And twasn't all nonsense either.
+He turned quite green under his yellow skin, and we had to shove him
+out quick. He didn't feel better till he'd got right to the other
+end of the passage!"
+
+"There now! Who'd ever think of that?" said Bunting. "I should say
+that man 'ud got something on his conscience, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Well, I needn't stay now," said Joe's good-natured friend. "You
+show your friends round, Chandler. You knows the place nearly as
+well as I do, don't you?"
+
+He smiled at Joe's visitors, as if to say good-bye, but it seemed
+that he could not tear himself away after all.
+
+"Look here," he said to Bunting. "In this here little case are the
+tools of Charles Peace. I expect you've heard of him."
+
+"I should think I have!" cried Bunting eagerly.
+
+"Many gents as comes here thinks this case the most interesting of
+all. Peace was such a wonderful man! A great inventor they say he
+would have been, had he been put in the way of it. Here's his
+ladder; you see it folds up quite compactly, and makes a nice little
+bundle--just like a bundle of old sticks any man might have been
+seen carrying about London in those days without attracting any
+attention. Why, it probably helped him to look like an honest
+working man time and time again, for on being arrested he declared
+most solemnly he'd always carried that ladder openly under his arm."
+
+"The daring of that!" cried Bunting.
+
+"Yes, and when the ladder was opened out it could reach from the
+ground to the second storey of any old house. And, oh! how clever
+he was! Just open one section, and you see the other sections open
+automatically; so Peace could stand on the ground and force the
+thing quietly up to any window he wished to reach. Then he'd go
+away again, having done his job, with a mere bundle of old wood
+under his arm! My word, he was artful! I wonder if you've heard
+the tale of how Peace once lost a finger. Well, he guessed the
+constables were instructed to look out for a man missing a finger;
+so what did he do?"
+
+"Put on a false finger," suggested Bunting.
+
+"No, indeed! Peace made up his mind just to do without a hand
+altogether. Here's his false stump: you see, it's made of wood
+--wood and black felt? Well, that just held his hand nicely.
+Why, we considers that one of the most ingenious contrivances in
+the whole museum."
+
+Meanwhile, Daisy had let go her hold of her father. With Chandler
+in delighted attendance, she bad moved away to the farther end of
+the great room, and now she was bending over yet another glass case.
+"Whatever are those little bottles for?" she asked wonderingly.
+
+There were five small phials, filled with varying quantities of
+cloudy liquids.
+
+"They're full of poison, Miss Daisy, that's what they are. There's
+enough arsenic in that little whack o' brandy to do for you and me
+--aye, and for your father as well, I should say."
+
+"Then chemists shouldn't sell such stuff," said Daisy, smiling.
+Poison was so remote from herself, that the sight of these little
+bottles only brought a pleasant thrill.
+
+"No more they don't. That was sneaked out of a flypaper, that was.
+Lady said she wanted a cosmetic for her complexion, but what she was
+really going for was flypapers for to do away with her husband.
+She'd got a bit tired of him, I suspect."
+
+"Perhaps he was a horrid man, and deserved to be done away with,"
+said Daisy. The idea struck them both as so very comic that they
+began to laugh aloud in unison.
+
+"Did you ever hear what a certain Mrs. Pearce did?" asked Chandler,
+becoming suddenly serious.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Daisy, and she shuddered a little. "That was the
+wicked, wicked woman what killed a pretty little baby and its mother.
+They've got her in Madame Tussaud's. But Ellen, she won't let me go
+to the Chamber of Horrors. She wouldn't let father take me there
+last time I was in London. Cruel of her, I called it. But somehow
+I don't feel as if I wanted to go there now, after having been here!"
+
+"Well," said Chandler slowly, "we've a case full of relics of Mrs.
+Pearce. But the pram the bodies were found in, that's at Madame
+Tussaud's--at least so they claim, I can't say. Now here's something
+just as curious, and not near so dreadful. See that man's jacket
+there?!"
+
+"Yes," said Daisy falteringly. She was beginning to feel oppressed,
+frightened. She no longer wondered that the Indian gentleman had
+been taken queer.
+
+"A burglar shot a man dead who'd disturbed him, and by mistake he
+went and left that jacket behind him. Our people noticed that one
+of the buttons was broken in two. Well, that don't seem much of a
+clue, does it, Miss Daisy? Will you believe me when I tells you
+that that other bit of button was discovered, and that it hanged
+the fellow? And 'twas the more wonderful because all three buttons
+was different!"
+
+Daisy stared wonderingly, down at the little broken button which
+had hung a man. "And whatever's that!" she asked, pointing to a
+piece of dirty-looking stuff.
+
+"Well," said Chandler reluctantly, "that's rather a horrible thing
+--that is. That's a bit o' shirt that was buried with a woman--
+buried in the ground, I mean--after her husband had cut her up and
+tried, to burn her. Twas that bit o' shirt that brought him to the
+gallows."
+
+"I considers your museum's a very horrid place!" said Daisy
+pettishly, turning away.
+
+She longed to be out in the passage again, away from this brightly
+lighted, cheerful-looking, sinister room.
+
+But her father was now absorbed in the case containing various types
+of infernal machines. "Beautiful little works of art some of them
+are," said his guide eagerly, and Bunting could not but agree.
+
+"Come along--do, father!" said Daisy quickly. "I've seen about
+enough now. If I was to stay in here much longer it 'ud give me
+the horrors. I don't want to have no nightmares to-night. It's
+dreadful to think there are so many wicked people in the world.
+Why, we might knock up against some murderer any minute without
+knowing it, mightn't we?"
+
+"Not you, Miss Daisy," said Chandler smilingly. "I don't suppose
+you'll ever come across even a common swindler, let alone anyone
+who's committed a murder--not one in a million does that. Why,
+even I have never had anything to do with a proper murder case!"
+
+But Bunting was in no hurry. He was thoroughly enjoying every
+moment of the time. Just now he was studying intently the various
+photographs which hung on the walls of the Black Museum; especially
+was he pleased to see those connected with a famous and still
+mysterious case which had taken place not long before in Scotland,
+and in which the servant of the man who died had played a
+considerable part--not in elucidating, but in obscuring, the mystery.
+
+"I suppose a good many murderers get off?" he said musingly.
+
+And Joe Chandler's friend nodded. "I should think they did!" he
+exclaimed. "There's no such thing as justice here in England.
+'Tis odds on the murderer every time. 'Tisn't one in ten that
+come to the end he should do--to the gallows, that is."
+
+"And what d'you think about what's going on now--I mean about
+those Avenger murders?"
+
+Bunting lowered his voice, but Daisy and Chandler were already
+moving towards the door.
+
+"I don't believe he'll ever be caught," said the other
+confidentially. "In some ways 'tis a lot more of a job to catch a
+madman than 'tis to run down just an ordinary criminal. And, of
+course--leastways to my thinking--The Avenger is a madman--one
+of the cunning, quiet sort. Have you heard about the letter?" his
+voice dropped lower.
+
+ "No," said Bunting, staring eagerly at him. "What letter d'you
+mean?"
+
+"Well, there's a letter--it'll be in this museum some day--which
+came just before that last double event. 'Twas signed 'The Avenger,'
+in just the same printed characters as on that bit of paper he always
+leaves behind him. Mind you, it don't follow that it actually was The
+Avenger what sent that letter here, but it looks uncommonly like it,
+and I know that the Boss attaches quite a lot of importance to it."
+
+"And where was it posted?" asked Bunting. "That might be a bit of a
+clue, you know."
+
+"Oh, no," said the other. "They always goes a very long way to
+post anything--criminals do. It stands to reason they would. But
+this particular one was put in the Edgware Road Post Office."
+
+"What? Close to us?" said Bunting. "Goodness! dreadful!"
+
+"Any of us might knock up against him any minute. I don't suppose
+The Avenger's in any way peculiar-looking--in fact we know he ain't."
+
+"Then you think that woman as says she saw him did see him?" asked
+Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+"Our description was made up from what she said," answered the other
+cautiously. "But, there, you can't tell! In a case like that it's
+groping--groping in the dark all the time--and it's just a lucky
+accident if it comes out right in the end. Of course, it's upsetting
+us all very much here. You can't wonder at that!"
+
+"No, indeed," said Bunting quickly. "I give you my word, I've hardly
+thought of anything else for the last month."
+
+Daisy had disappeared, and when her father joined her in the passage
+she was listening, with downcast eyes, to what Joe Chandler was
+saying.
+
+He was telling her about his real home, of the place where his mother
+lived, at Richmond--that it was a nice little house, close to the
+park. He was asking her whether she could manage to come out there
+one afternoon, explaining that his mother would give them tea, and
+how nice it would be.
+
+"I don't see why Ellen shouldn't let me," the girl said rebelliously.
+"But she's that old-fashioned and pernickety is Ellen--a regular
+old maid! And, you see, Mr. Chandler, when I'm staying with them,
+father don't like for me to do anything that Ellen don't approve of.
+But she's got quite fond of you, so perhaps if you ask her--?"
+She looked at him, and he nodded sagely.
+
+"Don't you be afraid," he said confidently. "I'll get round Mrs.
+Bunting. But, Miss Daisy"--he grew very red--"I'd just like to
+ask you a question--no offence meant--"
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy a little breathlessly. "There's father close to
+us, Mr. Chandler. Tell me quick; what is it?"
+
+"Well, I take it, by what you said just now, that you've never
+walked out with any young fellow?"
+
+Daisy hesitated a moment; then a very pretty dimple came into her
+cheek. "No," she said sadly. "No, Mr. Chandler, that I have not."
+In a burst of candour she added, "You see, I never had the chance!"
+
+And Joe Chandler smiled, well pleased.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+By what she regarded as a fortunate chance, Mrs. Bunting found
+herself for close on an hour quite alone in the house during her
+husband's and Daisy's jaunt with young Chandler.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not often go out in the daytime, but on this
+particular afternoon, after he had finished his tea, when dusk was
+falling, he suddenly observed that he wanted a new suit of clothes,
+and his landlady eagerly acquiesced in his going out to purchase it.
+
+As soon as he had left the house, she went quickly up to the
+drawing-room floor. Now had come her opportunity of giving the two
+rooms a good dusting; but Mrs. Bunting knew well, deep in her heart,
+that it was not so much the dusting of Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room she
+wanted to do--as to engage in a vague search for--she hardly knew
+for what.
+
+During the years she had been in service Mrs. Bunting had always
+had a deep, wordless contempt for those of her fellow-servants who
+read their employers' private letters, and who furtively peeped
+into desks and cupboards in the hope, more vague than positive, of
+discovering family skeletons.
+
+But now, with regard to Mr. Sleuth, she was ready, aye, eager, to
+do herself what she had once so scorned others for doing.
+
+Beginning with the bedroom, she started on a methodical search. He
+was a very tidy gentleman was the lodger, and his few things,
+under-garments, and so on, were in apple-pie order. She had early
+undertaken, much to his satisfaction, to do the very little bit of
+washing he required done, with her own and Bunting's. Luckily he
+wore soft shirts.
+
+At one time Mrs. Bunting had always had a woman in to help her with
+this tiresome weekly job, but lately she had grown quite clever at
+it herself. The only things she had to send out were Bunting's
+shirts. Everything else she managed to do herself.
+
+From the chest of drawers she now turned her attention to the
+dressing-table.
+
+Mr. Sleuth did not take his money with him when he went out, he
+generally left it in one of the drawers below the old-fashioned
+looking-glass. And now, in a perfunctory way, his landlady pulled
+out the little drawer, but she did not touch what was lying there;
+she only glanced at the heap of sovereigns and a few bits of silver.
+The lodger had taken just enough money with him to buy the clothes
+he required. He had consulted her as to how much they would cost,
+making no secret of why he was going out, and the fact had vaguely
+comforted Mrs. Bunting.
+
+Now she lifted the toilet-cover, and even rolled up the carpet a
+little way, but no, there was nothing there, not so much as a scrap
+of paper. And at last, when more or less giving up the search, as
+she came and went between the two rooms, leaving the connecting door
+wide open, her mind became full of uneasy speculation and wonder as
+to the lodger's past life.
+
+Odd Mr. Sleuth must surely always have been, but odd in a sensible
+sort of way, having on the whole the same moral ideals of conduct
+as have other people of his class. He was queer about the drink--one
+might say almost crazy on the subject--but there, as to that, he
+wasn't the only one! She. Ellen Bunting, had once lived with a
+lady who was just like that, who was quite crazed, that is, on the
+question of drink and drunkards--She looked round the neat
+drawing-room with vague dissatisfaction. There was only one place
+where anything could be kept concealed--that place was the
+substantial if small mahogany chiffonnier. And then an idea
+suddenly came to Mrs. Bunting, one she had never thought of before.
+
+After listening intently for a moment, lest something should suddenly
+bring Mr. Sleuth home earlier than she expected, she went to the
+corner where the chiffonnier stood, and, exerting the whole of her
+not very great physical strength, she tipped forward the heavy piece
+of furniture.
+
+As she did so, she heard a queer rumbling sound,--something rolling
+about on the second shelf, something which had not been there before
+Mr. Sleuth's arrival. Slowly, laboriously, she tipped the chiffonnier
+backwards and forwards--once, twice, thrice--satisfied, yet strangely
+troubled in her mind, for she now felt sure that the bag of which the
+disappearance had so surprised her was there, safely locked away by
+its owner.
+
+Suddenly a very uncomfortable thought came to Mrs. Buntlng's mind.
+She hoped Mr. Sleuth would not notice that his bag had shifted inside
+the cupboard. A moment later, with sharp dismay, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady realised that the fact that she had moved the chiffonnier
+must become known to her lodger, for a thin trickle of some
+dark-coloured liquid was oozing out though the bottom of the little
+cupboard door.
+
+She stooped down and touched the stuff. It showed red, bright red,
+on her finger.
+
+Mrs. Bunting grew chalky white, then recovered herself quickly. In
+fact the colour rushed into her face, and she grew hot all over.
+
+It was only a bottle of red ink she had upset--that was all! How
+could she have thought it was anything else?
+
+It was the more silly of her--so she told herself in scornful
+condemnation--because she knew that the lodger used red ink.
+Certain pages of Cruden's Concordance were covered with notes written
+in Mr. Sleuth's peculiar upright handwriting. In fact in some places
+you couldn't see the margin, so closely covered was it with remarks
+and notes of interrogation.
+
+Mr Sleuth had foolishly placed his bottle of red ink in the
+chiffonnier--that was what her poor, foolish gentleman had done;
+and it was owing to her inquisitiveness, her restless wish to know
+things she would be none the better, none the happier, for knowing,
+that this accident had taken place.
+
+She mopped up with her duster the few drops of ink which had fallen
+on the green carpet and then, still feeling, as she angrily told
+herself, foolishly upset she went once more into the back room.
+
+It was curious that Mr. Sleuth possessed no notepaper. She would
+have expected him to have made that one of his first purchases--the
+more so that paper is so very cheap, especially that rather
+dirty-looking grey Silurian paper. Mrs. Buntlng had once lived with
+a lady who always used two kinds of notepaper, white for her friends
+and equals, grey for those whom she called "common people." She,
+Ellen Green, as she then was, had always resented the fact. Strange
+she should remember it now, stranger in a way because that employer
+of her's had not been a real lady, and Mr. Sleuth, whatever his
+peculiarities, was, in every sense of the word, a real gentleman.
+Somehow Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he had bought any notepaper
+it would have been white--white and probably cream-laid--not
+grey and cheap.
+
+Again she opened the drawer of the old-fashioned wardrobe and lifted
+up the few pieces of underclothing Mr. Sleuth now possessed.
+
+But there was nothing there--nothing, that is, hidden away. When
+one came to think of it there seemed something strange in the notion
+of leaving all one's money where anyone could take it, and in locking
+up such a valueless thing as a cheap sham leather bag, to say nothing
+of a bottle of ink.
+
+Mrs. Bunting once more opened out each of the tiny drawers below the
+looking-glass, each delicately fashioned of fine old mahogany. Mr.
+Sleuth kept his money in the centre drawer.
+
+The glass had only cost seven-and-sixpence, and, after the auction
+a dealer had come and offered her first fifteen shillings, and then
+a guinea for it. Not long ago, in Baker Street, she had seen a
+looking-glass which was the very spit of this one, labeled
+"Chippendale, Antique. �21 5s 0d."
+
+There lay Mr. Sleuth's money--the sovereigns, as the landlady well
+knew, would each and all gradually pass into her's and Bunting's
+possession, honestly earned by them no doubt but unattainable--in
+act unearnable--excepting in connection with the present owner of
+those dully shining gold sovereigns.
+
+At last she went downstairs to await Mr. Sleuth's return.
+
+When she heard the key turn in the door, she came out into the
+passage.
+
+"I'm sorry to say I've had an accident, sir," she said a little
+breathlessly. "Taking advantage of your being out I went up to
+dust the drawing-room, and while I was trying to get behind the
+chiffonnier it tilted. I'm afraid, sir, that a bottle of ink that
+was inside may have got broken, for just a few drops oozed out,
+sir. But I hope there's no harm done. I wiped it up as well as
+I could, seeing that the doors of the chiffonnier are locked."
+
+Mr. Sleuth stared at her with a wild, almost a terrified glance.
+But Mrs. Bunting stood her ground. She felt far less afraid now
+than she had felt before he came in. Then she had been so
+frightened that she had nearly gone out of the house, on to the
+pavement, for company.
+
+"Of course I had no idea, sir, that you kept any ink in there."
+
+She spoke as if she were on the defensive, and the lodger's brow
+cleared.
+
+"I was aware you used ink, sir," Mrs. Bunting went on, "for I have
+seen you marking that book of yours--I mean the book you read
+together with the Bible. Would you like me to go out and get you
+another bottle, sir?"
+
+"No," said Mr. Sleuth. "No, I thank you. I will at once proceed
+upstairs and see what damage has been done. When I require you I
+shall ring."
+
+He shuffled past her, and five minutes later the drawing-room bell
+did ring.
+
+At once, from the door, Mrs. Bunting saw that the chiffonnier was
+wide open, and that the shelves were empty save for the bottle of
+red ink which had turned over and now lay in a red pool of its own
+making on the lower shelf.
+
+"I'm afraid it will have stained the wood, Mrs. Bunting. Perhaps I
+was ill-advised to keep my ink in there."
+
+"Oh, no, sir! That doesn't matter at all. Only a drop or two fell
+out on to the carpet, and they don't show, as you see, sir, for it's
+a dark corner. Shall I take the bottle away? I may as well."
+
+Mr. Sleuth hesitated. "No," he said, after a long pause, "I think
+not, Mrs. Bunting. For the very little I require it the ink
+remaining in the bottle will do quite well, especially if I add a
+little water, or better still, a little tea, to what already
+remains in the bottle. I only require it to mark up passages which
+happen to be of peculiar interest in my Concordance--a work, Mrs.
+Bunting, which I should have taken great pleasure in compiling
+myself had not this--ah--this gentleman called Cruden, been before."
+
+******
+
+Not only Bunting, but Daisy also, thought Ellen far pleasanter in
+her manner than usual that evening. She listened to all they had
+to say about their interesting visit to the Black Museum, and did
+not snub either of them--no, not even when Bunting told of the
+dreadful, haunting, silly-looking death-masks taken from the hanged.
+
+But a few minutes after that, when her husband suddenly asked her
+a question, Mrs. Bunting answered at random. It was clear she had
+not heard the last few words he had been saying.
+
+"A penny for your thoughts!" he said jocularly. But she shook her
+head.
+
+Daisy slipped out of the room, and, five minutes later, came back
+dressed up in a blue-and-white check silk gown.
+
+"My!" said her father. "You do look fine, Daisy. I've never seen
+you wearing that before."
+
+"And a rare figure of fun she looks in it!" observed Mrs. Bunting
+sarcastically. And then, "I suppose this dressing up means that
+you're expecting someone. I should have thought both of you must
+have seen enough of young Chandler for one day. I wonder when that
+young chap does his work--that I do! He never seems too busy to
+come and waste an hour or two here."
+
+But that was the only nasty thing Ellen said all that evening. And
+even Daisy noticed that her stepmother seemed dazed and unlike
+herself. She went about her cooking and the various little things
+she had to do even more silently than was her wont.
+
+Yet under that still, almost sullen, manner, how fierce was the
+storm of dread, of sombre, anguish, and, yes, of sick suspense,
+which shook her soul, and which so far affected her poor, ailing
+body that often she felt as if she could not force herself to
+accomplish her simple round of daily work.
+
+After they had finished supper Bunting went out and bought a penny
+evening paper, but as he came in he announced, with a rather' rueful
+smile, that he had read so much of that nasty little print this
+last week or two that his eyes hurt him.
+
+"Let me read aloud a bit to you, father," said Daisy eagerly, and he
+handed her the paper.
+
+Scarcely had Daisy opened her lips when a loud ring and a knock
+echoed through the house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+It was only Joe. Somehow, even Bunting called him "Joe" now, and no
+longer "Chandler," as he had mostly used to do.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had opened the front door only a very little way.
+She wasn't going to have any strangers pushing in past her.
+
+To her sharpened, suffering senses her house had become a citadel
+which must be defended; aye, even if the besiegers were a mighty
+horde with right on their side. And she was always expecting that
+first single spy who would herald the battalion against whom her
+only weapon would be her woman's wit and cunning.
+
+But when she saw who stood there smiling at her, the muscles of her
+face relaxed, and it lost the tense, anxious, almost agonised look
+it assumed the moment she turned her back on her husband and
+stepdaughter.
+
+"Why, Joe," she whispered, for she had left the door open behind
+her, and Daisy had already begun to read aloud, as her father had
+bidden her. "Come in, do! It's fairly cold to-night."
+
+A glance at his face had shown her that there was no fresh news.
+
+Joe Chandler walked in, past her, into the little hall. Cold?
+Well, he didn't feel cold, for he had walked quickly to be the
+sooner where he was now.
+
+Nine days had gone by since that last terrible occurrence, the
+double murder which had been committed early in the morning of
+the day Daisy had arrived in London. And though the thousands of
+men belonging to the Metropolitan Police--to say nothing of the
+smaller, more alert body of detectives attached to the Force--
+were keenly on the alert, not one but had begun to feel that
+there was nothing to be alert about. Familiarity, even with
+horror, breeds contempt.
+
+But with the public it was far otherwise. Each day something
+happened to revive and keep alive the mingled horror and interest
+this strange, enigmatic series of crimes had evoked. Even the
+more sober organs of the Press went on attacking, with gathering
+severity and indignation, the Commissioner of Police; and at the
+huge demonstration held in Victoria Park two days before violent
+speeches had also been made against the Home Secretary.
+
+But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that. The little
+house in the Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isle
+of dreams, to which his thoughts were ever turning when he had a
+moment to spare from what had grown to be a wearisome, because an
+unsatisfactory, job. He secretly agreed with one of his pals who
+had exclaimed, and that within twenty-four hours of the last double
+crime, "Why, 'twould be easier to find a needle in a rick o' hay
+than this--bloke!"
+
+And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now--after
+nine long, empty days had gone by?
+
+Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat.
+Then he put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs.
+Bunting to wait a moment. From where he stood in the hall the
+father and daughter made a pleasant little picture of contented
+domesticity. Joe Chandler's honest heart swelled at the sight.
+
+Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which her
+stepmother and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the left
+side of the fire, while Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortable
+arm-chair, was listening, his hand to his ear, in an attitude--as
+it was the first time she had caught him doing it, the fact brought
+a pang to Mrs. Bunting--which showed that age was beginning to
+creep over the listener.
+
+One of Daisy's duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of
+reading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her
+accomplishment.
+
+Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy bad been asking,
+"Shall I read this, father?" And Bunting had answered quickly,
+"Aye, do, my dear."
+
+He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the
+door, he had only just nodded his head. The young man was becoming
+so frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.
+
+Daisy read out:'
+
+"The Avenger: A--"
+
+And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly.
+Bravely, however, she went on. "A the-o-ry."
+
+"Go in--do!" whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. "Why should
+we stay out here in the cold? It's ridiculous."
+
+"I don't want to interrupt Miss Daisy," whispered Chandler back,
+rather hoarsely.
+
+"Well, you'll hear it all the better in the room. Don't think
+she'll stop because of you, bless you! There's nothing shy about
+our Daisy!"
+
+The young man resented the tart, short tone. "Poor little girl!"
+he said to himself tenderly. "That's what it is having a stepmother,
+instead of a proper mother." But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and then
+he was pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a bright
+blush came over her pretty face.
+
+"Joe begs you won't stop yet awhile. Go on with your reading,"
+commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly. "Now, Joe, you can go and sit over
+there, close to Daisy, and then you won't miss a word."
+
+There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticed
+that, but he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he went
+and sat on a chair just behind Daisy. From there he could note with
+reverent delight the charming way her fair hair grew upwards from
+the nape of her slender neck.
+
+"The AVENGER: A THE-O-RY"
+
+began Daisy again, clearing her throat.
+
+"DEAR Sir--I have a suggestion to put forward for which I think
+there is a great deal to be said. It seems to me very probable
+that The Avenger--to give him the name by which he apparently
+wishes to be known--comprises in his own person the peculiarities
+of Jekyll and Hyde, Mr. Louis Stevenson's now famous hero.
+
+"The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet,
+pleasant-looking gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End of
+London. He has, however, a tragedy in his past life. He is the
+husband of a dipsomaniac wife. She is, of course, under care, and
+is never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe with his
+widowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister. They notice that he
+has become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life,
+occupying himself each day with some harmless hobby. On foggy
+nights, once the quiet household is plunged in sleep, he creeps out
+of the house, maybe between one and two o'clock, and swiftly makes
+his way straight to what has become The Avenger's murder area.
+Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her with Judas-like
+gentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly home
+again. After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, once
+more the quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother,
+esteemed and even beloved by a large circle of friends and
+acquaintances. Meantime, the police are searching about the scene
+of the tragedy for what they regard as the usual type of criminal
+lunatic.
+
+"I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess that
+I am amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries to
+the part of London where these murders have been actually committed.
+I am quite sure from all that has come out--and we must remember
+that full information is never given to the newspapers--The Avenger
+should be sought for in the West and not in the East End of London
+--Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very truly--"
+
+Again Daisy hesitated, and then with an effort she brought out the
+word "Gab-o-ri-you," said she.
+
+"What a funny name!" said Bunting wonderingly.
+
+And then Joe broke in: "That's the name of a French chap what wrote
+detective stories," he said. "Pretty good, some of them are, too!"
+
+"Then this Gaboriyou has come over to study these Avenger murders,
+I take it?" said Bunting.
+
+"Oh, no," Joe spoke with confidence. "Whoever's written that silly
+letter just signed that name for fun."
+
+"It is a silly letter," Mrs. Bunting had broken in resentfully. "I
+wonder a respectable paper prints such rubbish."
+
+"Fancy if The Avenger did turn out to be a gentleman!" cried Daisy, in
+an awe-struck voice. "There'd be a how-to-do!"
+
+"There may be something in the notion," said her father thoughtfully.
+"After all, the monster must be somewhere. This very minute he must
+be somewhere a-hiding of himself."
+
+"Of course he's somewhere," said Mrs. Bunting scornfully.
+
+She had just heard Mr. Sleuth moving overhead. 'Twould soon be time
+for the lodger's supper.
+
+She hurried on: "But what I do say is that--that--he has nothing
+to do with the West End. Why, they say it's a sailor from the Docks
+--that's a good bit more likely, I take it. But there, I'm fair
+sick of the whole subject! We talk of nothing else in this house.
+The Avenger this--The Avenger that--"
+
+"I expect Joe has something to tell us new to-night," said Bunting
+cheerfully. "Well, Joe, is there anything new?"
+
+"I say, father, just listen to this!" Daisy broke in excitedly.
+She read out:
+
+
+"BLOODHOUNDS TO BE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERED"
+
+
+"Bloodhounds?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, and there was terror in her
+tone. "Why bloodhounds? That do seem to me a most horrible idea!"
+
+Bunting looked across at her, mildly astonished. "Why, 'twould be
+a very good idea, if 'twas possible to have bloodhounds in a town.
+But, there, how can that be done in London, full of butchers' shops,
+to say nothing of slaughter-yards and other places o' that sort?"
+
+But Daisy went on, and to her stepmother's shrinking ear there
+seemed a horrible thrill of delight; of gloating pleasure, in her
+fresh young voice.
+
+"Hark to this," she said:
+
+"A man who had committed a murder in a lonely wood near Blackburn
+was traced by the help of a bloodhound, and thanks to the sagacious
+instincts of the animal, the miscreant was finally convicted and
+hanged."
+
+"La, now! Who'd ever have thought of such a thing?" Bunting
+exclaimed, in admiration. "The newspapers do have some useful
+hints in sometimes, Joe."
+
+But young Chandler shook his head. "Bloodhounds ain't no use," he
+said; "no use at all! If the Yard was to listen to all the
+suggestions that the last few days have brought in--well, all I
+can say is our work would be cut out for us--not but what it's
+cut out for us now, if it comes to that!" He sighed ruefully. He
+was beginning to feel very tired; if only he could stay in this
+pleasant, cosy room listening to Daisy Bunting reading on and on
+for ever, instead of having to go out, as he would presently have
+to do, into the cold and foggy night!
+
+Joe Chandler was fast becoming very sick of his new job. There
+was a lot of unpleasantness attached to the business, too. Why,
+even in the house where he lived, and in the little cook-shop where
+he habitually took his meals, the people round him had taken to
+taunt him with the remissness of the police. More than that one of
+his pals, a man he'd always looked up to, because the young fellow
+had the gift of the gab, had actually been among those who had
+spoken at the big demonstration in Victoria Park, making a violent
+speech, not only against the Commissioner of the Metropolitan
+Police, but also against the Home Secretary.
+
+But Daisy, like most people who believe themselves blessed with the
+possession of an accomplishment, had no mind to leave off reading
+just yet.
+
+"Here's another notion!" she exclaimed. "Another letter, father!"
+
+
+"PARDON TO ACCOMPLICES.
+
+
+"DEAR Sir--During the last day or two several of the more
+Intelligent of my acquaintances have suggested that The Avenger,
+whoever he may be, must be known to a certain number of persons.
+It is impossible that the perpetrator of such deeds, however
+nomad he may be in his habits--"
+
+"Now I wonder what 'nomad' can be?" Daisy interrupted herself, and
+looked round at her little audience.
+
+"I've always declared the fellow had all his senses about him,"
+observed Bunting confidently.
+
+Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
+
+"--however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat
+where his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person
+who knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding information
+in expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory
+after the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences. My
+suggestion, Sir, is that the Home Secretary promise a free pardon.
+The more so that only thus can this miscreant be brought to justice.
+Unless he was caught red-handed in the act, it will be exceedingly
+difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for
+English law looks very askance at circumstantial evidence."
+
+"There's something worth listening to in that letter," said Joe,
+leaning forward.
+
+Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as
+she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he
+was saying.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
+
+"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in
+a railway carriage? He took refuge with someone--a woman his
+mother had known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time.
+But at last she gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!"
+
+"I don't think I'd like to give anybody up for a reward," said
+Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
+
+"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You'd
+only be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone--everyone, that
+is, who's a good citizen. And you'd be getting something for doing
+it, which is more than most people gets as does their duty."
+
+"A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common
+informer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man 'ud care to be
+called that! It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It's
+your job to catch those who've done anything wrong. And a man'd be
+a fool who'd take refuge--like with you. He'd be walking into the
+lion's mouth--" Bunting laughed.
+
+And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything I
+wouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
+
+And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn't
+be afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"
+
+And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting,
+sitting with towed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience
+and anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.
+
+"Why, Ellen, don't you feel well?" asked Bunting quickly.
+
+"Just a spasm, a sharp stitch in my side, like," answered the poor
+woman heavily. "It's over now. Don't mind me."
+
+"But I don't believe--no, that I don't--that there's anybody in
+the world who knows who The Avenger is," went on Chandler quickly.
+"It stands to reason that anybody'd give him up--in their own
+interest, if not in anyone else's. Who'd shelter such a creature?
+Why, 'twould be dangerous to have him in the house along with one!"
+
+"Then it's your idea that he's not responsible for the wicked things
+he does?" Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandler
+with eager, anxious eyes.
+
+"I'd be sorry to think he wasn't responsible enough to hang!" said
+Chandler deliberately. "After all the trouble he's been giving us, too!"
+
+"Hanging'd be too good for that chap," said Bunting.
+
+"Not if he's not responsible," said his wife sharply. "I never
+heard of anything so cruel--that I never did! If the man's a
+madman, he ought to be in an asylum--that's where he ought to be."
+
+"Hark to her now!" Bunting looked at his Ellen with amusement.
+"Contrary isn't the word for her! But there, I've noticed the last
+few days that she seemed to be taking that monster's part. That's
+what comes of being a born total abstainer."
+
+Mrs. Bunting had got up from her chair. "What nonsense you do talk!"
+she said angrily. "Not but what it's a good thing if these murders
+have emptied the public-houses of women for a bit. England's drink
+is England's shame--I'll never depart from that! Now, Daisy, child,
+get up, do! Put down that paper. We've heard quite enough. You can
+be laying the cloth while I goes down the kitchen."
+
+"Yes, you mustn't be forgetting the lodger's supper," called out
+Bunting. "Mr. Sleuth don't always ring--" he turned to Chandler.
+"For one thing, he's often out about this time."
+
+"Not often--just now and again, when he wants to buy' something,"
+snapped out Mrs. Bunting. "But I hadn't forgot his supper. He
+never do want it before eight o'clock."
+
+"Let me take up the lodger's supper, Ellen," Daisy's eager voice
+broke in. She had got up in obedience to her stepmother, and was
+now laying the cloth.
+
+"Certainly not! I told you he only wanted me to wait on him. You
+have your work cut out looking after things down here--that's where
+I wants you to help me."
+
+Chandler also got up. Somehow he didn't like to be doing nothing
+while Daisy was so busy. "Yes," he said, looking across at Mrs.
+Bunting, "I'd forgotten about your lodger. Going on all right, eh?"
+
+"Never knew so quiet and well-behaved a gentleman," said Bunting.
+"He turned our luck, did Mr. Sleuth."
+
+His wife left the room, and after she had gone Daisy laughed.
+"You'll hardly believe it, Mr. Chandler, but I've never seen this
+wonderful lodger. Ellen keeps him to herself, that she does! If I
+was father I'd be jealous!"
+
+Both men laughed. Ellen? No, the idea was too funny.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+"All I can say is, I think Daisy ought to go. One can't always do
+just what one wants to do--not in this world, at any rate!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting did not seem to be addressing anyone in particular,
+though both her husband and her stepdaughter were in the room. She
+was standing by the table, staring straight before her, and as she
+spoke she avoided looking at either Bunting or Daisy. There was in
+her voice a tone of cross decision, of thin finality, with which
+they were both acquainted, and to which each listener knew the other
+would have to bow.
+
+There was silence for a moment, then Daisy broke out passionately,
+"I don't see why I should go if I don't want to!" she cried.
+"You'll allow I've been useful to you, Ellen? 'Tisn't even as if
+you was quite well."
+
+"I am quite well--perfectly well!" snapped out Mrs. Bunting, and
+she turned her pale, drawn face, and looked angrily at her
+stepdaughter.
+
+"'Tain't often I has a chance of being with you and father." There
+were tears in Daisy's voice, and Bunting glanced deprecatingly at
+his wife.
+
+An invitation had come to Daisy--an invitation from her own dead
+mother's sister, who was housekeeper in a big house in Belgrave
+Square. "The family" had gone away for the Christmas holidays, and
+Aunt Margaret--Daisy was her godchild--had begged that her niece
+might come and spend two or three days with her.
+
+But the girl had already had more than one taste of what life was
+like in the great gloomy basement of 100 Belgrave Square. Aunt
+Margaret was one of those old-fashioned servants for whom the modern
+employer is always sighing. While "the family" were away it was
+her joy--she regarded it as a privilege--to wash sixty-seven pieces
+of very valuable china contained in two cabinets in the drawing-room;
+she also slept in every bed by turns, to keep them all well aired.
+These were the two duties with which she intended her young niece
+to assist her, and Daisy's soul sickened at the prospect.
+
+But the matter had to be settled at once. The letter had come an
+hour ago, containing a stamped telegraph form, and Aunt Margaret
+was not one to be trifled with.
+
+Since breakfast the three had talked of nothing else, and from the
+very first Mrs. Bunting had said that Daisy ought to go--that there
+was no doubt about it, that it did not admit of discussion. But
+discuss it they all did, and for once Bunting stood up to his wife.
+But that, as was natural, only made his Ellen harder and more set
+on her own view.
+
+"What the child says is true," he observed. "It isn't as if you
+was quite well. You've been took bad twice in the last few days
+--you can't deny of it, Ellen. Why shouldn't I just take a bus
+and go over and see Margaret? I'd tell her just how it is. She'd
+understand, bless you!"
+
+"I won't have you doing nothing of the sort!" cried Mrs. Bunting,
+speaking almost as passionately as her stepdaughter had done.
+"Haven't I a right to be ill, haven't I a right to be took bad,
+aye, and to feel all right again--same as other people?"
+
+Daisy turned round and clasped her hands. "Oh, Ellen!" she cried;
+"do say that you can't spare me! I don't want to go across to that
+horrid old dungeon of a place."
+
+"Do as you like," said Mrs. Bunting sullenly. "I'm fair tired of
+you both! There'll come a day, Daisy, when you'll know, like me,
+that money is the main thing that matters in this world; and when
+your Aunt Margaret's left her savings to somebody else just because
+you wouldn't spend a few days with her this Christmas, then you'll
+know what it's like to go without--you'll know what a fool you
+were, and that nothing can't alter it any more!"
+
+And then, with victory actually in her grasp, poor Daisy saw it
+snatched from her.
+
+"Ellen is right," Bunting said heavily. "Money does matter--a
+terrible deal-though I never thought to hear Ellen say 'twas the
+only thing that mattered. But 'twould be foolish--very, very
+foolish, my girl, to offend your Aunt Margaret. It'll only be
+two days after all--two days isn't a very long time."
+
+But Daisy did not hear her father's last words. She had already
+rushed from the room, and gone down to the kitchen to hide her
+childish tears of disappointment--the childish tears which came
+because she was beginning to be a woman, with a woman's natural
+instinct for building her own human nest.
+
+Aunt Margaret was not one to tolerate the comings of any strange
+young man, and she had a peculiar dislike to the police.
+
+"Who'd ever have thought she'd have minded as much as that!"
+Bunting looked across at Ellen deprecatingly; already his heart
+was misgiving him.
+
+"It's plain enough why she's become so fond of us all of a sudden,"
+said Mrs. Bunting sarcastically. And as her husband stared at her
+uncomprehendingly, she added, in a tantalising tone, "as plain as
+the nose on your face, my man."
+
+"What d'you mean?" he said. "I daresay I'm a bit slow, Ellen, but
+I really don't know what you'd be at?"
+
+"Don't you remember telling me before Daisy came here that Joe
+Chandler had become sweet on her last summer? I thought it only
+foolishness then, but I've come round to your view--that's all."
+
+Bunting nodded his head slowly. Yes, Joe had got into the way of
+coming very often, and there had been the expedition to that gruesome
+Scotland Yard museum, but somehow he, Bunting, had been so interested
+in the Avenger murders that he hadn't thought of Joe in any other
+connection--not this time, at any rate.
+
+"And do you think Daisy likes him?" There was an unwonted tone of
+excitement, of tenderness, in Bunting's voice.
+
+His wife looked over at him; and a thin smile, not an unkindly
+smile by any means, lit up her pale face. "I've never been one
+to prophesy," she answered deliberately. "But this I don't mind
+telling you, Bunting--Daisy'll have plenty o' time to get tired
+of Joe Chandler before they two are dead. Mark my words!"
+
+"Well, she might do worse," said Bunting ruminatingly. "He's as
+steady as God makes them, and he's already earning thirty-two
+shillings a week. But I wonder how Old Aunt'd like the notion?
+I don't see her parting with Daisy before she must."
+
+"I wouldn't let no old aunt interfere with me about such a thing
+as that!" cried Mrs. Bunting. "No, not for millions of gold!"
+And Bunting looked at her in silent wonder. Ellen was singing a
+very different tune now to what she'd sung a few minutes ago, when
+she was so keen about the girl going to Belgrave Square.
+
+"If she still seems upset while she's having her dinner," said his
+wife suddenly, "well, you just wait till I've gone out for something,
+and then you just say to her, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'
+--just that, and nothing more! She'll take it from you. And I
+shouldn't be surprised if it comforted her quite a lot."
+
+"For the matter of that, there's no reason why Joe Chandler shouldn't
+go over and see her there," said Bunting hesitatingly.
+
+"Oh, yes, there is," said Mrs. Bunting, smiling shrewdly. "Plenty of
+reason. Daisy'll be a very foolish girl if she allows her aunt to
+know any of her secrets. I've only seen that woman once, but I know
+exactly the sort Margaret is. She's just waiting for Old Aunt to
+drop off and then she'll want to have Daisy herself--to wait on
+her, like. She'd turn quite nasty if she thought there was a young
+fellow what stood in her way."
+
+She glanced at the dock, the pretty little eight-day clock which
+had been a wedding present from a kind friend of her last mistress.
+It had mysteriously disappeared during their time of trouble, and
+had as mysteriously reappeared three or four days after Mr. Sleuth's
+arrival.
+
+"I've time to go out with that telegram," she said briskly--somehow
+she felt better, different to what she had done the last few days--
+"and then it'll be done. It's no good having more words about it,
+and I expect we should have plenty more words if I wait till the
+child comes upstairs again."
+
+She did not speak unkindly, and Bunting looked at her rather
+wonderingly. Ellen very seldom spoke of Daisy as "the child"
+--in fact, he could only remember her having done so once before,
+and that was a long time ago. They had been talking over their
+future life together, and she had said, very solemnly, "Bunting,
+I promise I will do my duty--as much as lies in my power, that
+is--by the child."
+
+But Ellen had not had much opportunity of doing her duty by Daisy.
+As not infrequently happens with the duties that we are willing to
+do, that particular duty had been taken over by someone else who
+had no mind to let it go.
+
+"What shall I do if Mr. Sleuth rings?" asked Bunting, rather
+nervously. It was the first time since the lodger had come to them
+that Ellen had offered to go out in the morning.
+
+She hesitated. In her anxiety to have the matter of Daisy settled,
+she had forgotten Mr. Sleuth. Strange that she should have done so
+--strange, and, to herself, very comfortable and pleasant.
+
+"Oh, well, you can just go up and knock at the door and say I'll be
+back in a few minutes--that I had to go out with a message. He's
+quite a reasonable gentleman." She went into the back room to put
+on her bonnet and thick jacket for it was very cold--getting colder
+every minute.
+
+As she stood, buttoning her gloves--she wouldn't have gone out
+untidy for the world--Bunting suddenly came across to her. "Give
+us a kiss, old girl," he said. And his wife turned up her face.
+
+"One 'ud think it was catching!" she said, but there was a lilt in
+her voice.
+
+"So it is," Bunting briefly answered. "Didn't that old cook get
+married just after us? She'd never 'a thought of it if it hadn't
+been for you!"
+
+But once she was out, walking along the damp, uneven pavement, Mr.
+Sleuth revenged himself for his landlady's temporary forgetfulness.
+
+During the last two days the lodger had been queer, odder than usual,
+unlike himself, or, rather, very much as he had been some ten days
+ago, just before that double murder had taken place.
+
+The night before, while Daisy was telling all about the dreadful
+place to which Joe Chandler had taken her and her father, Mrs.
+Bunting had heard Mr. Sleuth moving about overhead, restlessly
+walking up and down his sitting-room. And later, when she took up
+his supper, she had listened a moment outside the door, while he
+read aloud some of the texts his soul delighted in--terrible texts
+telling of the grim joys attendant on revenge.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was so absorbed in her thoughts, so possessed with the
+curious personality of her lodger, that she did not look where she
+was going, and suddenly a young woman bumped up against her.
+
+She started violently and looked round, dazed, as the young person
+muttered a word of apology;--then she again fell into deep thought.
+
+It was a good thing Daisy was going away for a few days; it made the
+problem of Mr. Sleuth and his queer ways less disturbing. She,
+Ellen, was sorry she had spoken so sharp-like to the girl, but after
+all it wasn't wonderful that she had been snappy. This last night
+she had hardly slept at all. Instead, she had lain awake listening
+--and there is nothing so tiring as to lie awake listening for a
+sound that never comes.
+
+The house had remained so still you could have heard a pin drop. Mr.
+Sleuth, lying snug in his nice warm bed upstairs, had not stirred.
+Had he stirred his landlady was bound to have heard him, for his bed
+was, as we know, just above hers. No, during those long hours of
+darkness Daisy's light, regular breathing was all that had fallen on
+Mrs. Bunting's ears.
+
+And then her mind switched off Mr. Sleuth. She made a determined
+effort to expel him, to toss him, as it were, out of her thoughts.
+
+It seemed strange that The Avenger had stayed his hand, for, as Joe
+had said only last evening, it was full time that he should again
+turn that awful, mysterious searchlight of his on himself. Mrs.
+Bunting always visioned The Avenger as a black shadow in the centre
+a bright blinding light--but the shadow had no form or definite
+substance. Sometimes he looked like one thing, sometimes like
+another . . .
+
+Mrs. Bunting had now come to the corner which led up the street
+where there was a Post Office. But instead of turning sharp to the
+left she stopped short for a minute.
+
+There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke
+and even self-loathing. It was dreadful that she, of all women,
+should have longed to hear that another murder had been committed
+last night!
+
+Yet such was the shameful fact. She had listened all through
+breakfast hoping to hear the dread news being shouted outside; yes,
+and more or less during the long discussion which had followed on
+the receipt of Margaret's letter she had been hoping--hoping
+against hope--that those dreadful triumphant shouts of the
+newspaper-sellers still might come echoing down the Marylebone Road.
+And yet hypocrite that she was, she had reproved Bunting when he
+had expressed, not disappointment exactly--but, well, surprise,
+that nothing had happened last night.
+
+Now her mind switched off to Joe Chandler. Strange to think how
+afraid she had been of that young man! She was no longer afraid of
+him, or hardly at all. He was dotty--that's what was the matter
+with him, dotty with love for rosy-checked, blue-eyed little Daisy.
+Anything might now go on, right under Joe Chandler's very nose--but,
+bless you, he'd never see it! Last summer, when this affair, this
+nonsense of young Chandler and Daisy had begun, she had had very
+little patience with it all. In fact, the memory of the way Joe
+had gone on then, the tiresome way he would be always dropping in,
+had been one reason (though not the most important reason of all)
+why she had felt so terribly put about at the idea of the girl
+coming again. But now? Well, now she had become quite tolerant,
+quite kindly--at any rate as far as Joe Chandler was concerned.
+
+She wondered why.
+
+Still, 'twouldn't do Joe a bit of harm not to see the girl for a
+couple of days. In fact 'twould be a very good thing, for then he'd
+think of Daisy--think of her to the exclusion of all else. Absence
+does make the heart grow fonder--at first, at any rate. Mrs.
+Bunting was well aware of that. During the long course of hers
+and Bunting's mild courting, they'd been separated for about three
+months, and it was that three months which had made up her mind for
+her. She had got so used to Bunting that she couldn't do without
+him, and she had felt--oddest fact of all--acutely, miserably
+jealous. But she hadn't let him know that--no fear!
+
+Of course, Joe mustn't neglect his job--that would never do, But
+what a good thing it was, after all, that he wasn't like some of
+those detective chaps that are written about in stories--the sort
+of chaps that know everything, see everything, guess everything
+--even where there isn't anything to see, or know, or guess!
+
+Why, to take only one little fact--Joe Chandler had never shown
+the slightest curiosity about their lodger. . ..
+
+Mrs. Bunting pulled herself together with a start, and hurried
+quickly on. Bunting would begin to wonder what had happened to her.
+
+She went into the Post Office and handed the form to the young woman
+without a word. Margaret, a sensible woman, who was accustomed to
+manage other people's affairs, had even written out the words: "Will
+be with you to tea.--DAISY."
+
+It was a comfort to have the thing settled once for all. If anything
+horrible was going to happen in the next two or three days--it was
+just as well Daisy shouldn't be at home. Not that there was any real
+danger that anything would happen,--Mrs. Bunting felt sure of that.
+
+By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally
+counting up the number of murders The Avenger had committed. Nine,
+or was it ten? Surely by now The Avenger must be avenged? Surely by
+now, if--as that writer in the newspaper had suggested--he was a
+quiet, blameless gentleman living in the West End, whatever vengeance
+he had to wreak, must be satisfied?
+
+She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn't do for the lodger to ring
+before she had got back. Bunting would never know how to manage Mr.
+Sleuth, especially if Mr. Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
+
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting put the key into the front door lock and passed into
+the house. Then her heart stood still with fear and terror. There
+came the sound of voices--of voices she thought she did not know--
+in the sitting-room.
+
+She opened the door, and' then drew a long breath. It was only Joe
+Chandler--Joe, Daisy, and Bunting, talking together. They stopped
+rather guiltily as she came in, but not before she had heard
+Chandler utter the words: "That don't mean nothing! I'll just run
+out and send another saying you won't come, Miss Daisy."
+
+And then the strangest smile came over Mrs. Bunting's face. There
+had fallen on her ear the still distant, but unmistakable, shouts
+which betokened that something had happened last night--something
+which made it worth while for the newspaper-sellers to come crying
+down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"Well?" she said a little breathlessly. "Well, Joe? I suppose
+you've brought us news? I suppose there's been another?"
+
+He looked at her, surprised. "No, that there hasn't, Mrs. Bunting
+--not as far as I know, that is. Oh, you're thinking of those
+newspaper chaps? They've got to cry out something," he grinned.
+"You wouldn't 'a thought folk was so bloodthirsty. They're just
+shouting out that there's been an arrest; but we don't take no
+stock of that. It's a Scotchman what gave himself up last night
+at Dorking. He'd been drinking, and was a-pitying of himself.
+Why, since this business began, there's been about twenty arrests,
+but they've all come to nothing."
+
+"Why, Ellen, you looks quite sad, quite disappointed," said Bunting
+jokingly. "Come to think of it, it's high time The Avenger was at
+work again." He laughed as he made his grim joke. Then turned to
+young Chandler: "Well, you'll be glad when its all over, my lad."
+
+"Glad in a way," said Chandler unwillingly. "But one 'ud have liked
+to have caught him. One doesn't like to know such a creature's at
+large, now, does one?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting had taken off her bonnet and jacket. "I must just go
+and see about Mr. Sleuth's breakfast," she said in a weary,
+dispirited voice, and left them there.
+
+She felt disappointed, and very, very depressed. As to the plot
+which had been hatching when she came in, that had no chance of
+success; Bunting would never dare let Daisy send out another
+telegram contradicting the first. Besides, Daisy's stepmother
+shrewdly suspected that by now the girl herself wouldn't care to
+do such a thing. Daisy had plenty of sense tucked away somewhere
+in her pretty little head. If it ever became her fate to live as
+a married woman in London, it would be best to stay on the right
+side of Aunt Margaret.
+
+And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother's heart became
+very soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready. In fact,
+there was nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth's two eggs. Feeling
+suddenly more cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took
+the tray upstairs.
+
+"As it was rather late, I didn't wait for you to ring, sir," she
+said.
+
+And the lodger looked up from the table where, as usual, he was
+studying with painful, almost agonising intentness, the Book.
+"Quite right, Mrs. Bunting--quite right! I have been pondering
+over the command, 'Work while it is yet light.'"
+
+"Yes, sir?" she said, and a queer, cold feeling stole over her
+heart. "Yes, sir?"
+
+"'The spirit is willing, but the flesh--the flesh is weak,'" said
+Mr. Sleuth, with a heavy, sigh.
+
+"You studies too hard, and too long--that's what's ailing you, sir,"
+said Mr. Sleuth's landlady suddenly.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down again she found that a great deal had
+been settled in her absence; among other things, that Joe Chandler
+was going to escort Miss Daisy across to Belgrave Square. He
+could carry Daisy's modest bag, and if they wanted to ride instead
+of walk, why, they could take the bus from Baker Street Station
+to Victoria--that would land them very near Belgrave Square.
+
+But Daisy seemed quite willing to walk; she hadn't had a walk, she
+declared, for a long, long time--and then she blushed rosy red,
+and even her stepmother had to admit to herself that Daisy was very
+nice looking, not at all the sort of girl who ought to be allowed to
+go about the London streets by herself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+Daisy's father and stepmother stood side by side at the front door,
+watching the girl and young Chandler walk off into the darkness.
+
+A yellow pall of fog had suddenly descended on London, and Joe had
+come a full half-hour before they expected him, explaining, rather
+lamely, that it was the fog which had brought him so soon.
+
+"If we was to have waited much longer, perhaps, 'twouldn't have been
+possible to walk a yard," he explained, and they had accepted,
+silently, his explanation.
+
+"I hope it's quite safe sending her off like that?" Bunting looked
+deprecatingly at his wife. She had already told him more than once
+that he was too fussy about Daisy, that about his daughter he was
+like an old hen with her last chicken.
+
+"She's safer than she would be, with you or me. She couldn't have
+a smarter young fellow to look after her."
+
+"It'll be awful thick at Hyde Park Corner," said Bunting. "It's
+always worse there than anywhere else. If I was Joe I'd 'a taken
+her by the Underground Railway to Victoria--that 'ud been the best
+way, considering the weather 'tis."
+
+"They don't think anything of the weather, bless you!" said his
+wife. "They'll walk and walk as long as there's a glimmer left for
+'em to steer by. Daisy's just been pining to have a walk with that
+young chap. I wonder you didn't notice how disappointed they both
+were when you was so set on going along with them to that horrid
+place."
+
+"D'you really mean that, Ellen?" Bunting looked upset. "I understood
+Joe to say he liked my company."
+
+"Oh, did you?" said Mrs. Bunting dryly. "I expect he liked it just
+about as much as we liked the company of that old cook who would go
+out with us when we was courting. It always was a wonder to me how
+the woman could force herself upon two people who didn't want her."
+
+"But I'm Daisy's father; and an old friend of Chandler," said Bunting
+remonstratingly. "I'm quite different from that cook. She was
+nothing to us, and we was nothing to her."
+
+"She'd have liked to be something to you, I make no doubt," observed
+his Ellen, shaking her head, and her husband smiled, a little
+foolishly.
+
+By this time they were back in their nice, cosy sitting-room, and
+a feeling of not altogether unpleasant lassitude stole over Mrs.
+Bunting. It was a comfort to have Daisy out of her way for a bit.
+The girl, in some ways, was very wide awake and inquisitive, and
+she had early betrayed what her stepmother thought to be a very
+unseemly and silly curiosity concerning the lodger. "You might
+just let me have one peep at him, Ellen?" she had pleaded, only
+that morning. But Ellen had shaken her head. "No, that I won't!
+He's a very quiet gentleman; but he knows exactly what he likes,
+and he don't like anyone but me waiting on him. Why, even your
+father's hardly seen him."
+
+But that, naturally, had only increased Daisy's desire to view Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+There was another reason why Mrs. Bunting was glad that her
+stepdaughter had gone away for two days. During her absence young
+Chandler was far less likely to haunt them in the way he had taken
+to doing lately, the more so that, in spite of what she had said to
+her husband, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that Daisy would ask Joe
+Chandler to call at Belgrave Square. 'Twouldn't be human nature
+--at any rate, not girlish human nature--not to do so, even if
+Joe's coming did anger Aunt Margaret.
+
+Yes, it was pretty safe that with Daisy away they, the Buntings,
+would be rid of that young chap for a bit, and that would be a
+good thing.
+
+When Daisy wasn't there to occupy the whole of his attention, Mrs.
+Bunting felt queerly afraid of Chandler. After all, he was a
+detective--it was his job to be always nosing about, trying to
+find out things. And, though she couldn't fairly say to herself
+that he had done much of that sort of thing in her house, he might
+start doing it any minute. And then--then--where would she, and
+--and Mr. Sleuth, be?
+
+She thought of the bottle of red ink--of the leather bag which
+must be hidden somewhere--and her heart almost stopped beating.
+Those were the sort of things which, in the stories Bunting was
+so fond of reading, always led to the detection of famous
+criminals. . . .
+
+Mr. Sleuth's bell for tea rang that afternoon far earlier than
+usual. The fog had probably misled him, and made him think it
+later than it was.
+
+When she went up, "I would like a cup of tea now, and just one
+piece of bread-and-butter," the lodger said wearily. "I don't
+feel like having anything else this afternoon."
+
+"It's a horrible day," Mrs. Bunting observed, in a cheerier voice
+than usual. "No wonder you don't feel hungry, sir. And then it
+isn't so very long since you had your dinner, is it?"
+
+"No," he said absently. "No, it isn't, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+She went down, made the tea, and brought it up again. And then,
+as she came into the room, she uttered an exclamation of sharp
+dismay.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was dressed for going out. He was wearing his long
+Inverness cloak, and his queer old high hat lay on the table,
+ready for him to put on.
+
+"You're never going out this afternoon, sir?" she asked falteringly.
+"Why, the fog's awful; you can't see a yard ahead of you!"
+
+Unknown to herself, Mrs. Bunting's voice had risen almost to a
+scream. She moved back, still holding the tray, and stood between
+the door and her lodger, as if she meant to bar his way--to erect
+between Mr. Sleuth and the dark, foggy world outside a living
+barrier.
+
+"The weather never affects me at all," he said sullenly; and he
+looked at her with so wild and pleading a look in his eyes that,
+slowly, reluctantly, she moved aside. As she did so she noticed
+for the first time that Mr. Sleuth held something in his right
+hand. It was the key of the chiffonnier cupboard. He had been
+on his way there when her coming in had disturbed him.
+
+"It's very kind of you to be so concerned about me," he stammered,
+"but--but, Mrs. Bunting, you must excuse me if I say that I do
+not welcome such solicitude. I prefer to be left alone. I--I
+cannot stay in your house if I feel that my comings and goings are
+watched--spied upon."
+
+She pulled herself together. "No one spies upon you, sir," she
+said, with considerable dignity. "I've done my best to satisfy
+you--"
+
+"You have--you have!" he spoke in a distressed, apologetic tone.
+"But you spoke just now as if you were trying to prevent my doing
+what I wish to do--indeed, what I have to do. For years I have
+been misunderstood--persecuted"--he waited a moment, then in
+a hollow voice added the one word, "tortured! Do not tell me that
+you are going to add yourself to the number of my tormentors, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him helplessly. "Don't you be afraid I'll ever be
+that, sir. I only spoke as I did because--well, sir, because I
+thought it really wasn't safe for a gentleman to go out this
+afternoon. Why, there's hardly anyone about, though we're so near
+Christmas."
+
+He walked across to the window and looked out. "The fog is clearing
+somewhat; Mrs. Bunting," but there was no relief in his voice, rather
+was there disappointment and dread.
+
+Plucking up courage, she followed him. Yes, Mr. Sleuth was right.
+The fog was lifting--rolling off in that sudden, mysterious way in
+which local fogs sometimes do lift in London.
+
+He turned sharply from the window. "Our conversation has made me
+forget an important thing, Mrs. Bunting. I should be glad if you
+would just leave out a glass of milk and some bread-and-butter for
+me this evening. I shall not require supper when I come in, for
+after my walk I shall probably go straight upstairs to carry through
+a very difficult experiment."
+
+"Very good, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting left the lodger.
+
+But when she found herself downstairs in the fog-laden hall, for it
+had drifted in as she and her husband had stood at the door seeing
+Daisy off, instead of going in to Bunting she did a very odd thing
+--a thing she had never thought of doing in her life before. She
+pressed her hot forehead against the cool bit of looking-glass let
+into the hat-and-umbrella stand. "I don't know what to do!" she
+moaned to herself, and then, "I can't bear it! I can't bear it!"
+
+But though she felt that her secret suspense and trouble was becoming
+intolerable, the one way in which she could have ended her misery
+never occurred to Mrs. Bunting.
+
+In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that
+a woman has betrayed one who has taken refuge with her. The
+timorous and cautious woman has not infrequently hunted a human
+being fleeing from his pursuer from her door, but she has not
+revealed the fact that he was ever there. In fact, it may almost
+be said that such betrayal has never taken place unless the betrayer
+has been actuated by love of gain, or by a longing for revenge. So
+far, perhaps because she is subject rather than citizen, her duty
+as a component part of civilised society weighs but lightly on
+woman's shoulders.
+
+And then--and then, in a sort of way, Mrs. Bunting had become
+attached to Mr. Sleuth. A wan smile would sometimes light up his
+sad face when he saw her come in with one of his meals, and when
+this happened Mrs. Bunting felt pleased--pleased and vaguely
+touched. In between those--those dreadful events outside, which
+filled her with such suspicion, such anguish and such suspense,
+she never felt any fear, only pity, for Mr. Sleuth.
+
+Often and often, when lying wide awake at night, she turned over
+the strange problem in her mind. After all, the lodger must have
+lived somewhere during his forty-odd years of life. She did not
+even know if Mr. Sleuth had any brothers or sisters; friends she
+knew he had none. But, however odd and eccentric he was, he had
+evidently, or so she supposed, led a quiet, undistinguished kind
+of life, till--till now.
+
+What had made him alter all of a sudden--if, that is, he had
+altered? That was what Mrs. Bunting was always debating fitfully
+with herself; and, what was more, and very terribly, to the point,
+having altered, why should he not in time go back to what he
+evidently had been--that is, a blameless, quiet gentleman?
+
+If only he would! If only he would!
+
+As she stood in the hall, cooling her hot forehead, all these
+thoughts, these hopes and fears, jostled at lightning speed through
+her brain.
+
+She remembered what young Chandler had said the other day--that
+there had never been, in the history of the world, so strange a
+murderer as The Avenger had proved himself to be.
+
+She and Bunting, aye, and little Daisy too, had hung, fascinated,
+on Joe's words, as he had told them of other famous series of
+murders which had taken place in the past, not only in England but
+abroad--especially abroad.
+
+One woman, whom all the people round her believed to be a kind,
+respectable soul, had poisoned no fewer than fifteen people in order
+to get their insurance money. Then there had been the terrible tale
+of an apparently respectable, contented innkeeper and his wife, who,
+living at the entrance to a wood, killed all those humble travellers
+who took shelter under their roof, simply for their clothes, and any
+valuables they possessed. But in all those stories the murderer or
+murderers always had a very strong motive, the motive being, in
+almost every case, a wicked lust for gold.
+
+At last, after having passed her handkerchief over her forehead, she
+went into the room where Bunting was sitting smoking his pipe.
+
+"The fog's lifting a bit," she said in an ill-assured voice. "I hope
+that by this time Daisy and that Joe Chandler are right out of it."
+
+But the other shook his head silently. "No such luck!" he said
+briefly. "You don't know what it's like in Hyde Park, Ellen. I
+expect 'twill soon be just as heavy here as 'twas half an hour ago!"
+
+She wandered over to the window, and pulled the curtain back.
+"Quite a lot of people have come out, anyway," she observed.
+
+"There's a fine Christmas show in the Edgware Road. I was thinking
+of asking if you wouldn't like to go along there with me."
+
+"No," she said dully. "I'm quite content to stay at home."
+
+She was listening--listening for the sounds which would betoken
+that the lodger was coming downstairs.
+
+At last she heard the cautious, stuffless tread of his rubber-soled
+shoes shuffling along the hall. But Bunting only woke to the fact
+when the front door shut to.
+
+"That's never Mr. Sleuth going out?" He turned on his wife,
+startled. "Why, the poor gentleman'll come to harm--that he will!
+One has to be wide awake on an evening like this. I hope he hasn't
+taken any of his money out with him."
+
+"'Tisn't the first time Mr. Sleuth's been out in a fog," said Mrs.
+Bunting sombrely.
+
+Somehow she couldn't help uttering these over-true words. And then
+she turned, eager and half frightened, to see how Bunting had taken
+what she said.
+
+But he looked quite placid, as if he had hardly heard her. "We
+don't get the good old fogs we used to get--not what people used
+to call 'London particulars.' I expect the lodger feels like Mrs.
+Crowley--I've often told you about her, Ellen?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting nodded.
+
+Mrs. Crowley had been one of Bunting's ladies, one of those he had
+liked best--a cheerful, jolly lady, who used often to give her
+servants what she called a treat. It was seldom the kind of treat
+they would have chosen for themselves, but still they appreciated
+her kind thought.
+
+"Mrs. Crowley used to say," went on Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic
+way, "that she never minded how bad the weather was in London, so
+long as it was London and not the country. Mr. Crowley, he liked
+the country best, but Mrs. Crowley always felt dull-like there.
+Fog never kept her from going out--no, that it didn't. She wasn't
+a bit afraid. But--" he turned round and looked at his wife--
+"I am a bit surprised at Mr. Sleuth. I should have thought him a
+timid kind of gentleman--"
+
+He waited a moment, and she felt forced to answer him.
+
+"I wouldn't exactly call him timid," she said, in a low voice, "but
+he is very quiet, certainly. That's why he dislikes going out when
+there are a lot of people bustling about the streets. I don't
+suppose he'll be out long."
+
+She hoped with all her soul that Mr. Sleuth would be in very soon
+--that he would be daunted by the now increasing gloom.
+
+Somehow she did not feel she could sit still for very long. She
+got up, and went over to the farthest window.
+
+The fog had lifted, certainly. She could see the lamp-lights on
+the other side of the Marylebone Road, glimmering redly; and
+shadowy figures were hurrying past, mostly making their way towards
+the Edgware Road, to see the Christmas shops.
+
+At last to his wife's relief, Bunting got up too. He went over to
+the cupboard where he kept his little store of books, and took one
+out.
+
+"I think I'll read a bit," he said. "Seems a long time since I've
+looked at a book. The papers was so jolly interesting for a bit,
+but now there's nothing in 'em."
+
+His wife remained silent. She knew what he meant. A good many days
+had gone by since the last two Avenger murders, and the papers had
+very little to say about them that they hadn't said in different
+language a dozen times before.
+
+She went into her bedroom and came back with a bit of plain sewing.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was fond of sewing, and Bunting liked to see her so
+engaged. Since Mr. Sleuth had come to be their lodger she had not
+had much time for that sort of work.
+
+It was funny how quiet the house was without either Daisy, or--or
+the lodger, in it.
+
+At last she let her needle remain idle, and the bit of cambric
+slipped down on her knee, while she listened, longingly, for Mr.
+Sleuth's return home.
+
+And as the minutes sped by she fell to wondering with a painful
+wonder if she would ever see her lodger again, for, from what she
+knew of Mr. Sleuth, Mrs. Bunting felt sure that if he got into any
+kind of--well, trouble outside, he would never betray where he
+had lived during the last few weeks.
+
+No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way
+as he had come. And Bunting would never suspect, would never know,
+until, perhaps--God, what a horrible thought--a picture published
+in some newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting's
+knowledge.
+
+But if that happened--if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass,
+she made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything. She also
+would pretend to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the
+astounding revelation.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+"There he is at last, and I'm glad of it, Ellen. 'Tain't a night
+you would wish a dog to be out in."
+
+Bunting's voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and
+look at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the
+evening paper he held in his hand.
+
+He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his
+nice arm-chair. He looked very well--well and ruddy. Mrs. Bunting
+stared across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of
+resentment. And this was very curious, for she was, in her own dry
+way, very fond of Bunting.
+
+"You needn't feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for
+himself all right."
+
+Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. "I
+can't think why he wanted to go out in such weather," he said
+impatiently.
+
+"Well, it's none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?"
+
+"No, that's true enough. Still, 'twould be a very bad thing for us
+if anything happened to him. This lodger's the first bit of luck
+we've had for a terrible long time, Ellen."
+
+Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair. She
+remained silent for a moment. What Bunting had said was too obvious
+to be worth answering. Also she was listening, following in
+imagination her lodger's quick, singularity quiet progress--
+"stealthy" she called it to herself--through the fog-filled,
+lamp-lit hall. Yes, now he was going up the staircase. What
+was that Bunting was saying?
+
+"It isn't safe for decent folk to be out in such weather--no, that
+it ain't, not unless they have something to do that won't wait till
+to-morrow." The speaker was looking straight into his wife's narrow,
+colourless face. Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to prove
+himself right. "I've a good mind to speak to him about it, that
+I have! He ought to be told that it isn't safe--not for the sort
+of man he is--to be wandering about the streets at night. I read
+you out the accidents in Lloyd's--shocking, they were, and all
+brought about by the fog! And then, that horrid monster 'ull soon
+be at his work again--"
+
+"Monster?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.
+
+She was trying to hear the lodger's footsteps overhead. She was
+very curious to know whether he had gone into his nice sitting-room,
+or straight upstairs, to that cold experiment-room, as he now always
+called it.
+
+But her husband went on as if he had not heard her, and she gave up
+trying to listen to what was going on above.
+
+"It wouldn't be very pleasant to run up against such a party as that
+in the fog, eh, Ellen?" He spoke as if the notion had a certain
+pleasant thrill in it after all.
+
+"What stuff you do talk!" said Mrs. Bunting sharply. And then she
+got up. Her husband's remarks had disturbed her. Why couldn't they
+talk of something pleasant when they did have a quiet bit of time
+together?
+
+Bunting looked down again at his paper, and she moved quietly about
+the room. Very soon it would be time for supper, and to-night she
+was going to cook her husband a nice piece of toasted cheese. That
+fortunate man, as she was fond of telling him, with mingled contempt
+and envy, had the digestion of an ostrich, and yet he was rather
+fanciful, as gentlemen's servants who have lived in good places
+often are.
+
+Yes, Bunting was very lucky in the matter of his digestion. Mrs.
+Bunting prided herself on having a nice mind, and she would never
+have allowed an unrefined word--such a word as "stomach," for
+instance, to say nothing of an even plainer term--to pass her
+lips, except, of course, to a doctor in a sick-room.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go down at once into her cold kitchen;
+instead, with a sudden furtive movement, she opened the door leading
+into her bedroom, and then, closing the door quietly, stepped back
+into the darkness, and stood motionless, listening.
+
+At first she heard nothing, but gradually there stole on her
+listening ears the sound of someone moving softly about in the
+room just overhead, that is, in Mr. Sleuth's bedroom. But, try as
+she might, it was impossible for her to guess what the lodger was
+doing.
+
+At last she heard him open the door leading out on the little
+landing. She could hear the stairs creaking. That meant, no doubt,
+that Mr. Sleuth would pass the rest of the evening in the cheerless
+room above. He hadn't spent any time up there for quite a long
+while-in fact, not for nearly ten days. 'Twas odd he chose to-night,
+when it was so foggy, to carry out an experiment.
+
+She groped her way to a chair and sat down. She felt very tired--
+strangely tired, as if she had gone through some great physical
+exertion.
+
+Yes, it was true that Mr. Sleuth had brought her and Bunting luck,
+and it was wrong, very wrong, of her ever to forget that.
+
+As she sat there she also reminded herself, and not for the first
+time, what the lodger's departure would mean. It would almost
+certainly mean ruin; just as his staying meant all sorts of good
+things, of which physical comfort was the least. If Mr. Sleuth
+stayed on with them, as he showed every intention of doing, it
+meant respectability, and, above all, security.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought of Mr. Sleuth's money. He never received a
+letter, and yet he must have some kind of income--so much was
+clear. She supposed he went and drew his money, in sovereigns, out
+of a bank as he required it.
+
+Her mind swung round, consciously, deliberately, away from Mr.
+Sleuth.
+
+The Avenger? What a strange name! Again she assured herself that
+there would come a time when The Avenger, whoever he was, must feel
+satiated; when he would feel himself to be, so to speak, avenged.
+
+To go back to Mr. Sleuth; it was lucky that the lodger seemed so
+pleased, not only with the rooms, but with his landlord and landlady
+--indeed, there was no real reason why Mr. Sleuth should ever wish
+to leave such nice lodgings.
+
+******
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly stood up. She made a strong effort, and shook
+off her awful sense of apprehension and unease. Feeling for the
+handle of the door giving into the passage she turned it, and then,
+with light, firm steps, she went down into the kitchen.
+
+When they had first taken the house, the basement had been made by
+her care, if not into a pleasant, then, at any rate, into a very
+clean place. She had had it whitewashed, and against the still
+white walls the gas stove loomed up, a great square of black iron
+and bright steel. It was a large gas-stove, the kind for which one
+pays four shillings a quarter rent to the gas company, and here, in
+the kitchen, there was no foolish shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.
+Mrs. Bunting was too shrewd a woman to have anything to do with that
+kind of business. There was a proper gas-meter, and she paid for
+what she consumed after she had consumed it.
+
+Putting her candle down on the well-scrubbed wooden table, she
+turned up the gas-jet, and blew out the candle.
+
+Then, lighting one of the gas-rings, she put a frying-pan on the
+stove, and once more her mind reverted, as if in spite of herself,
+to Mr. Sleuth. Never had there been a more confiding or trusting
+gentleman than the lodger, and yet in some ways he was so secret,
+so--so peculiar.
+
+She thought of the bag--that bag which had rumbled about so
+queerly in the chiffonnier. Something seemed to tell her that
+tonight the lodger had taken that bag out with him.
+
+And then she thrust away the thought of the bag almost violently
+from her mind, and went back to the more agreeable thought of Mr.
+Sleuth's income, and of how little trouble he gave. Of course,
+the lodger was eccentric, otherwise he wouldn't be their lodger
+at all--he would be living in quite a different sort of way with
+some of his relations, or with a friend in his own class.
+
+While these thoughts galloped disconnectedly through her mind,
+Mrs. Bunting went on with her cooking, preparing the cheese, cutting
+it up into little shreds, carefully measuring out the butter, doing
+everything, as was always her way, with a certain delicate and
+cleanly precision.
+
+And then, while in the middle of toasting the bread on which was to
+be poured the melted cheese, she suddenly heard sounds which startled
+her, made her feel uncomfortable.
+
+Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.
+
+She looked up and listened.
+
+Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy
+night--going out, as he had done the other evening, for a second
+time? But no; the sounds she heard, the sounds of now familiar
+footsteps, did not continue down the passage leading to the front
+door.
+
+Instead--Why, what was this she heard now? She began to listen
+so intently that the bread she was holding at the end of the
+toasting-fork grew quite black. With a start she became aware
+that this was so, and she frowned, vexed with herself. That came
+of not attending to one's work.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done.
+He was coming down into the kitchen.
+
+Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on the
+kitchen stairs, and Mrs. Bunting's heart began to beat as if in
+response. She put out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of the
+fact that the cheese would stiffen and spoil in the cold air.
+
+Then she turned and faced the door.
+
+There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the door
+opened, and revealed, as she had at once known and feared it would
+do, the lodger.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked even odder than usual. He was clad in a plaid
+dressing-gown, which she had never seen him wear before, though
+she knew that he had purchased it not long after his arrival. In
+his hand was a lighted candle.
+
+When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing in
+it, the lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.
+
+"Yes, sir? What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn't ring, sir?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting held her ground in front of the stove. Mr. Sleuth had
+no business to come like this into her kitchen, and she intended to
+let him know that such was her view.
+
+"No, I--I didn't ring," he stammered awkwardly. "The truth is, I
+didn't know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. Please excuse my costume.
+My gas-stove has gone wrong, or, rather, that shilling-in-the-slot
+arrangement has done so. So I came down to see if you had a
+gas-stove. I am going to ask you to allow me to use it to-night for
+an important experiment I wish to make."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's heart was beating quickly--quickly. She felt
+horribly troubled, unnaturally so. Why couldn't Mr. Sleuth's
+experiment wait till the morning? She stared at him dubiously, but
+there was that in his face that made her at once afraid and pitiful.
+It was a wild, eager, imploring look.
+
+"Oh, certainly, sir; but you will find it very cold down here."
+
+"It seems most pleasantly warm," he observed, his voice full of
+relief, "warm and cosy, after my cold room upstairs."
+
+Warm and cosy? Mrs. Bunting stared at him in amazement. Nay, even
+that cheerless room at the top of the house must be far warmer and
+more cosy than this cold underground kitchen could possibly be.
+
+"I'll make you a fire, sir. We never use the grate, but it's in
+perfect order, for the first thing I did after I came into the house
+was to have the chimney swept. It was terribly dirty. It might
+have set the house on fire." Mrs. Bunting's housewifely instincts
+were roused. "For the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in
+your bedroom this cold night."
+
+"By no means--I would prefer not. I certainly do not want a fire
+there. I dislike an open fire, Mrs. Bunting. I thought I had told
+you as much."
+
+Mr. Sleuth frowned. He stood there, a strange-looking figure, his
+candle still alight, just inside the kitchen door.
+
+"I shan't be very long, sir. Just about a quarter of an hour. You
+could come down then. I'll have everything quite tidy for you. Is
+there anything I can do to help you?"
+
+"I do not require the use of your kitchen yet--thank you all the
+same, Mrs. Bunting. I shall come down later--altogether later--
+after you and your husband have gone to bed. But I should be much
+obliged if you would see that the gas people come to-morrow and
+put my stove in order. It might be done while I am out. That the
+shilling-in-the-slot machine should go wrong is very unpleasant.
+It has upset me greatly."
+
+"Perhaps Bunting could put it right for you, sir. For the matter
+of that, I could ask him to go up now."
+
+"No, no, I don't want anything of that sort done to-night. Besides,
+he couldn't put it right. I am something of an expert, Mrs. Bunting,
+and I have done all I could. The cause of the trouble is quite
+simple. The machine is choked up with shillings; a very foolish
+plan, so I always felt it to be."
+
+Mr. Sleuth spoke pettishly, with far more heat than he was wont to
+speak, but Mrs. Bunting sympathised with him in this matter. She
+had always suspected that those slot machines were as dishonest as
+if they were human. It was dreadful, the way they swallowed up
+the shillings! She had had one once, so she knew.
+
+And as if he were divining her thoughts, Mr. Sleuth walked forward
+and stared at the stove. "Then you haven't got a slot machine?" he
+said wonderingly. "I'm very glad of that, for I expect my experiment
+will take some time. But, of course, I shall pay you something for
+the use of the stove, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Oh, no, sir, I wouldn't think of charging you anything for that.
+We don't use our stove very much, you know, sir. I'm never in the
+kitchen a minute longer than I can help this cold weather."
+
+Mrs. Bunting was beginning to feel better. When she was actually
+in Mr. Sleuth's presence her morbid fears would be lulled, perhaps
+because his manner almost invariably was gentle and very quiet.
+But still there came over her an eerie feeling, as, with him
+preceding her, they made a slow progress to the ground floor.
+
+Once there, the lodger courteously bade his landlady good-night,
+and proceeded upstairs to his own apartments.
+
+Mrs. Bunting returned to the kitchen. Again she lighted the stove;
+but she felt unnerved, afraid of she knew not what. As she was
+cooking the cheese, she tried to concentrate her mind on what she
+was doing, and on the whole she succeeded. But another part of her
+mind seemed to be working independently, asking her insistent
+questions.
+
+The place seemed to her alive with alien presences, and once she
+caught herself listening--which was absurd, for, of course, she
+could not hope to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two, if not three,
+flights upstairs. She wondered in what the lodger's experiments
+consisted. It was odd that she had never been able to discover what
+it was he really did with that big gas-stove. All she knew was
+that he used a very high degree of heat.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+The Buntings went to bed early that night. But Mrs. Bunting made
+up her mind to keep awake. She was set upon knowing at what hour
+of the night the lodger would come down into her kitchen to carry
+through his experiment, and, above all, she was anxious to know
+how long he would stay there.
+
+But she had had a long and a very anxious day, and presently she
+fell asleep.
+
+The church clock hard by struck two, and, suddenly Mrs. Bunting
+awoke. She felt put out sharply annoyed with herself. How could
+she have dropped off like that? Mr. Sleuth must have been down
+and up again hours ago!
+
+Then, gradually, she became aware that there was a faint acrid
+odour in the room. Elusive, intangible, it yet seemed to encompass
+her and the snoring man by her side, almost as a vapour might have
+done.
+
+Mrs. Bunting sat up in bed and sniffed; and then, in spite of the
+cold, she quietly crept out of her nice, warm bedclothes, and
+crawled along to the bottom of the bed. When there, Mr. Sleuth's
+landlady did a very curious thing; she leaned over the brass rail
+and put her face close to the hinge of the door giving into the
+hall. Yes, it was from here that this strange, horrible odor was
+coming; the smell must be very strong in the passage.
+
+As, shivering, she crept back under the bedclothes, she longed to
+give her sleeping husband a good shake, and in fancy she heard
+herself saying, "Bunting, get up! There's something strange and
+dreadful going on downstairs which we ought to know about."
+
+But as she lay there, by her husband's side, listening with painful
+intentness for the slightest sound, she knew very well that she
+would do nothing of the sort.
+
+What if the lodger did make a certain amount of mess--a certain
+amount of smell--in her nice clean kitchen? Was he not--was he
+not an almost perfect lodger? If they did anything to upset him,
+where could they ever hope to get another like him?
+
+Three o'clock struck before Mrs. Bunting heard slow, heavy steps
+creaking up the kitchen stairs. But Mr. Sleuth did not go straight
+up to his own quarters, as she had expected him to do. Instead, he
+went to the front door, and, opening it, put on the chain. Then he
+came past her door, and she thought--but could not be sure--that
+he sat down on the stairs.
+
+At the end of ten minutes or so she heard him go down the passage
+again. Very softly he closed the front door. By then she had
+divined why the lodger had behaved in this funny fashion. He wanted
+to get the strong, acrid smell of burning--was it of burning wool?
+--out of the house.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting, lying there in the darkness, listening to the
+lodger creeping upstairs, felt as if she herself would never get
+rid of the horrible odour.
+
+Mrs. Bunting felt herself to be all smell.
+
+At last the unhappy woman fell into a deep, troubled sleep; and
+then she dreamed a most terrible and unnatural dream. Hoarse
+voices seemed to be shouting in her ear: "The Avenger close here!
+The Avenger close here!" "'Orrible murder off the Edgware Road!"
+"The Avenger at his work again"'
+
+And even in her dream Mrs. Bunting felt angered--angered and
+impatient. She knew so well why she was being disturbed by this
+horrid nightmare! It was because of Bunting--Bunting, who could
+think and talk of nothing else than those frightful murders, in
+which only morbid and vulgar-minded people took any interest.
+
+Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking
+to her about it:
+
+"Ellen "--so she heard Bunting murmur in her ear--"Ellen, my dear,
+I'm just going to get up to get a paper. It's after seven o'clock."
+
+The shouting--nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet
+smote on her shrinking ears. Pushing back her hair off her forehead
+with both hands, she sat up and listened.
+
+It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse--
+reality.
+
+Why couldn't Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and
+let his poor wife go on dreaming? The most awful dream would have
+been easier to bear than this awakening.
+
+She heard her husband go to the front door, and, as he bought the
+paper, exchange a few excited words with the newspaper-seller. Then
+he came back. There was a pause, and she heard him lighting the
+gas-ring in the sitting-room.
+
+Bunting always made his wife a cup of tea in the morning. He had
+promised to do this when they first married, and he had never yet
+broken his word. It was a very little thing and a very usual thing,
+no doubt, for a kind husband to do, but this morning the knowledge
+that he was doing it brought tears to Mrs. Bunting's pale blue eyes.
+This morning he seemed to be rather longer than usual over the job.
+
+When, at last, he came in with the little tray, Bunting found his
+wife lying with her face to the wall.
+
+"Here's your tea, Ellen," he said, and there was a thrill of eager,
+nay happy, excitement in his voice.
+
+She turned herself round and sat up. "Well?" she asked. "Well?
+Why don't you tell me about it?"
+
+"I thought you was asleep," he stammered out. "I thought, Ellen,
+you never heard nothing."
+
+"How could I have slept through all that din? Of course I heard.
+Why don't you tell me?"
+
+"I've hardly had time to glance at the paper myself," he said slowly.
+
+"You was reading it just now," she said severely, "for I heard the
+rustling. You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring. Don't
+tell me! What was that they was shouting about the Edgware Road?"
+
+"Well," said Bunting, "as you do know, I may as well tell you. The
+Avenger's moving West--that's what he's doing. Last time 'twas
+King's Cross--now 'tis the Edgware Road. I said he'd come our way,
+and he has come our way!"
+
+"You just go and get me that paper," she commanded. "I wants to
+see for myself."
+
+Bunting went into the next room; then he came back and handed her
+silently the odd-looking, thin little sheet.
+
+"Why, whatever's this?" she asked. "This ain't our paper!"
+
+"'Course not," he answered, a trifle crossly. "It's a special early
+edition of the Sun, just because of The Avenger. Here's the bit
+about it"--he showed her the exact spot. But she would have found
+it, even by the comparatively bad light of the gas-jet now flaring
+over the dressing-table, for the news was printed in large, clear
+characters:--
+
+"Once more the murder fiend who chooses to call himself The Avenger
+has escaped detection. While the whole attention of the police,
+and of the great army of amateur detectives who are taking an
+interest in this strange series of atrocious crimes, were
+concentrating their attention round the East End and King's Cross,
+he moved swiftly and silently Westward. And, choosing a time when
+the Edgware Road is at its busiest and most thronged, did another
+human being to death with lightning-like quickness and savagery.
+
+"Within fifty yards of the deserted warehouse yard where he had
+lured his victim to destruction were passing up and down scores of
+happy, busy people, intent on their Christmas shopping. Into that
+cheerful throng he must have plunged within a moment of committing
+his atrocious crime. And it was only owing to the merest accident
+that the body was discovered as soon as it was--that is, just
+after midnight.
+
+"Dr. Dowtray, who was called to the spot at once, is of opinion that
+the woman had been dead at least three hours, if not four. It was at
+first thought--we were going to say, hoped--that this murder had
+nothing to do with the series which is now puzzling and horrifying
+the whole of the civilised world. But no--pinned on the edge of the
+dead woman's dress was the usual now familiar triangular piece of
+grey paper--the grimmest visiting card ever designed by the wit of
+man! And this time The Avenger has surpassed himself as regards his
+audacity and daring--so cold in its maniacal fanaticism and abhorrent
+wickedness."
+
+All the time that Mrs. Bunting was reading with slow, painful
+intentness, her husband was looking at her, longing, yet afraid, to
+burst out with a new idea which he was burning to confide even to his
+Ellen's unsympathetic ears.
+
+At last, when she had quite finished, she looked up defiantly.
+
+"Haven't you anything better to do than to stare at me like that?"
+she said irritably. "Murder or no murder, I've got to get up! Go
+away--do!"
+
+And Bunting went off into the next room.
+
+After he had gone, his wife lay back and closed her eyes. She tried
+to think of nothing. Nay, more--so strong, so determined was her
+will that for a few moments she actually did think of nothing. She
+felt terribly tired and weak, brain and body both quiescent, as does
+a person who is recovering from a long, wearing illness.
+
+Presently detached, puerile thoughts drifted across the surface of
+her mind like little clouds across a summer sky. She wondered if
+those horrid newspaper men were allowed to shout in Belgrave Square;
+she wondered if, in that case, Margaret, who was so unlike her
+brother-in-law, would get up and buy a paper. But no. Margaret
+was not one to leave her nice warm bed for such a silly reason as
+that.
+
+Was it to-morrow Daisy was coming back? Yes--to-morrow, not
+to-day. Well, that was a comfort, at any rate. What amusing things
+Daisy would be able to tell about her visit to Margaret! The girl
+had an excellent gift of mimicry. And Margaret, with her precise,
+funny ways, her perpetual talk about "the family," lent herself to
+the cruel gift.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting's mind--her poor, weak, tired mind--wandered
+off to young Chandler. A funny thing love was, when you came to
+think of it--which she, Ellen Bunting, didn't often do. There was
+Joe, a likely young fellow, seeing a lot of young women, and pretty
+young women, too,--quite as pretty as Daisy, and ten times more
+artful--and yet there! He passed them all by, had done so ever
+since last summer, though you might be sure that they, artful minxes,
+by no manner of means passed him by,--without giving them a thought!
+As Daisy wasn't here, he would probably keep away to-day. There
+was comfort in that thought, too.
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat up, and memory returned in a dreadful
+turgid flood. If Joe did come in, she must nerve herself to hear
+all that--that talk there'd be about The Avenger between him and
+Bunting.
+
+Slowly she dragged herself out of bed, feeling exactly as if she
+had just recovered from an illness which had left her very weak,
+very, very tired in body and soul.
+
+She stood for a moment listening--listening, and shivering, for
+it was very cold. Considering how early it still was, there
+seemed a lot of coming and going in the Marylebone Road. She could
+hear the unaccustomed sounds through her closed door and the tightly
+fastened windows of the sitting-room. There must be a regular
+crowd of men and women, on foot and in cabs, hurrying to the scene
+of The Avenger's last extraordinary crime.
+
+She heard the sudden thud made by their usual morning paper falling
+from the letter-box on to the floor of the hall, and a moment later
+came the sound of Bunting quickly, quietly going out and getting it.
+She visualised him coming back, and sitting down with a sigh of
+satisfaction by the newly-lit fire.
+
+Languidly she began dressing herself to the accompaniment of distant
+tramping and of noise of passing traffic, which increased in volume
+and in sound as the moments slipped by.
+
+******
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went down into her kitchen everything looked just
+as she had left it, and there was no trace of the acrid smell she
+had expected to find there. Instead, the cavernous, whitewashed
+room was full of fog, but she noticed that, though the shutters were
+bolted and barred as she had left them, the windows behind them had
+been widely opened to the air. She had left them shut.
+
+Making a "spill" out of a twist of newspaper--she had been taught
+the art as a girl by one of her old mistresses--she stooped and
+flung open the oven-door of her gas-stove. Yes, it was as she had
+expected a fierce heat had been generated there since she had last
+used the oven, and through to the stone floor below had fallen a
+mass of black, gluey soot.
+
+Mrs. Bunting took the ham and eggs that she had bought the previous
+day for her own and Bunting's breakfast upstairs, and broiled them
+over the gas-ring in their sitting-room. Her husband watched her in
+surprised silence. She had never done such a thing before.
+
+"I couldn't stay down there," she said; "it was so cold and foggy.
+I thought I'd make breakfast up here, just for to-day."
+
+"Yes," he said kindly; "that's quite right, Ellen. I think you've
+done quite right, my dear."
+
+But, when it came to the point, his wife could not eat any of the
+nice breakfast she had got ready; she only had another cup of tea.
+
+"I'm afraid you're ill, Ellen?" Bunting asked solicitously.
+
+"No," she said shortly; "I'm not ill at all. Don't be silly! The
+thought of that horrible thing happening so close by has upset me,
+and put me off my food. Just hark to them now!"
+
+Through their closed windows penetrated the sound of scurrying feet
+and loud, ribald laughter. What a crowd; nay, what a mob, must be
+hastening busily to and from the spot where there was now nothing
+to be seen!
+
+Mrs. Bunting made her husband lock the front gate. "I don't want
+any of those ghouls in here!" she exclaimed angrily. And then,
+"What a lot of idle people there are in the world!" she said.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Bunting began moving about the room restlessly. He would go to the
+window; stand there awhile staring out at the people hurrying past;
+then, coming back to the fireplace, sit down.
+
+But he could not stay long quiet. After a glance at his paper, up
+he would rise from his chair, and go to the window again.
+
+"I wish you'd stay still," his wife said at last. And then, a few
+minutes later, "Hadn't you better put your hat and coat on and go
+out?" she exclaimed.
+
+And Bunting, with a rather shamed expression, did put on his hat
+and coat and go out.
+
+As he did so he told himself that, after all, he was but human; it
+was natural that he should be thrilled and excited by the dreadful,
+extraordinary thing which had just happened close by. Ellen wasn't
+reasonable about such things. How queer and disagreeable she had
+been that very morning--angry with him because he had gone out
+to hear what all the row was about, and even more angry when he had
+come back and said nothing, because he thought it would annoy her
+to hear about it!
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Bunting forced herself to go down again into the
+kitchen, and as she went through into the low, whitewashed place,
+a tremor of fear, of quick terror, came over her. She turned and
+did what she had never in her life done before, and what she had
+never heard of anyone else doing in a kitchen. She bolted the door.
+
+But, having done this, finding herself at last alone, shut off from
+everybody, she was still beset by a strange, uncanny dread. She
+felt as if she were locked in with an invisible presence, which
+mocked and jeered, reproached and threatened her, by turns.
+
+Why had she allowed, nay encouraged, Daisy to go away for two days?
+Daisy, at any rate, was company--kind, young, unsuspecting company.
+With Daisy she could be her old sharp self. It was such a comfort
+to be with someone to whom she not only need, but ought to, say
+nothing. When with Bunting she was pursued by a sick feeling of
+guilt, of shame. She was the man's wedded wife--in his stolid way
+he was very kind to her, and yet she was keeping from him something
+he certainly had a right to know.
+
+Not for worlds, however, would she have told Bunting of her dreadful
+suspicion--nay, of her almost certainty.
+
+At last she went across to the door and unlocked it. Then she went
+upstairs and turned out her bedroom. That made her feel a little
+better.
+
+She longed for Bunting to return, and yet in a way she was relieved
+by his absence. She would have liked to feel him near by, and yet
+she welcomed anything that took her husband out of the house.
+
+And as Mrs. Bunting swept and dusted, trying to put her whole mind
+into what she was doing, she was asking herself all the time what
+was going on upstairs.
+
+What a good rest the lodger was having! But there, that was only
+natural. Mr. Sleuth, as she well knew, had been up a long time last
+night, or rather this morning.
+
+******
+
+Suddenly, the drawing-room bell rang. But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did
+not go up, as she generally did, before getting ready the simple meal
+which was the lodger's luncheon and breakfast combined. Instead, she
+went downstairs again and hurriedly prepared the lodger's food.
+
+Then, very slowly, with her heart beating queerly, she walked up, and
+just outside the sitting-room--for she felt sure that Mr. Sleuth had
+got up, that he was there already, waiting for her--she rested the
+tray on the top of the banisters and listened. For a few moments she
+heard nothing; then through the door came the high, quavering voice
+with which she had become so familiar:
+
+"'She saith to him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in
+secret is pleasant. But he knoweth not that the dead are there,
+and that her guests are in the depths of hell.'"
+
+There was a long pause. Mrs. Bunting could hear the leaves of
+her Bible being turned over, eagerly, busily; and then again Mr.
+Sleuth broke out, this time in a softer voice:
+
+"'She hath cast down many wounded from her; yea, many strong men
+have been slain by her.'" And in a softer, lower, plaintive tone
+came the words: "'I applied my heart to know, and to search, and
+to seek out wisdom and the reason of things; and to know the
+wickedness of folly, even of foolishness and madness.'"
+
+And as she stood there listening, a feeling of keen distress, of
+spiritual oppression, came over Mrs. Bunting. For the first time
+in her life she visioned the infinite mystery, the sadness and
+strangeness, of human life.
+
+Poor Mr. Sleuth--poor unhappy, distraught Mr. Sleuth! An
+overwhelming pity blotted out for a moment the fear, aye, and the
+loathing, she had been feeling for her lodger.
+
+She knocked at the door, and then she took up her tray.
+
+"Come in, Mrs. Bunting." Mr. Sleuth's voice sounded feebler, more
+toneless than usual.
+
+She turned the handle of the door and walked in. The lodger was
+not sitting in his usual place; he had taken the little round table
+on which his candle generally rested when he read in bed, out of
+his bedroom, and placed it over by the drawing-room window. On it
+were placed, open, the Bible and the Concordance. But as his
+landlady came in, Mr. Sleuth hastily closed the Bible, and began
+staring dreamily out of the window, down at the sordid, hurrying
+crowd of men and women which now swept along the Marylebone Road.
+
+"There seem a great many people out today," he observed, without
+looking round.
+
+"Yes, sir, there do."
+
+Mrs. Bunting began busying herself with laying the cloth and
+putting out the breakfast-lunch, and as she did so she was seized
+with a mortal, instinctive terror of the man sitting there.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth got up and turned round. She forced herself to
+look at him. How tired, how worn, he looked, and--how strange!
+
+Walking towards the table on which lay his meal, he rubbed his hands
+together with a nervous gesture--it was a gesture he only made when
+something had pleased, nay, satisfied him. Mrs. Bunting, looking at
+him, remembered that he had rubbed his hands together thus when he
+had first seen the room upstairs, and realised that it contained a
+large gas-stove and a convenient sink.
+
+What Mr. Sleuth was doing now also reminded her in an odd way of a
+play she had once seen--a play to which a young man bad taken her
+when she was a girl, unnumbered years ago, and which had thrilled
+and fascinated her. "Out, out, damned spot!" that was what the tall,
+fierce, beautiful lady who had played the part of a queen had said,
+twisting her hands together just as the lodger was doing now.
+
+"It's a fine day," said Mr. Sleuth, sitting down and unfolding his
+napkin. "The fog has cleared. I do not know if you will agree with
+me, Mrs. Bunting, but I always feel brighter when the sun is shining,
+as it is now, at any rate, trying to shine." He looked at her
+inquiringly, but Mrs. Bunting could not speak. She only nodded.
+However, that did not affect Mr. Sleuth adversely.
+
+He had acquired a great liking and respect for this well-balanced,
+taciturn woman. She was the first woman for whom he had experienced
+any such feeling for many years past.
+
+He looked down at the still covered dish, and shook his head. "I
+don't feel as if I could eat very much to-day," he said plaintively.
+And then he suddenly took a half-sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket.
+
+Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat
+Mr. Sleuth had been wearing the day before.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?"
+
+And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly
+allowed me to make of your kitchen last night?" he said quietly.
+"I tried to make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but--
+well, the truth is I was carrying out a very elaborate experiment."
+
+Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took
+the coin. The fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against
+her palm were icy cold--cold and clammy. Mr. Sleuth was evidently
+not well.
+
+As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball
+hanging in the smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth's landlady, and
+threw blood-red gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of
+gold she was holding in her hand.
+
+******
+
+The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household,
+but, of course, there was far greater animation outside the little
+house than was usually the case.
+
+Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some
+days, the whole of London seemed to be making holiday in that part
+of the town.
+
+When Bunting at last came back, his wife listened silently while he
+told her of the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere. And
+then, after he had been talking a long while, she suddenly shot a
+strange look at him.
+
+"I suppose you went to see the place?" she said.
+
+And guiltily he acknowledged that he had done so.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, there wasn't anything much to see--not now. But, oh, Ellen,
+the daring of him! Why, Ellen, if the poor soul had had time to cry
+out--which they don't believe she had--it's impossible someone
+wouldn't 'a heard her. They say that if he goes on doing it like
+that--in the afternoon, like--he never will be caught. He must
+have just got mixed up with all the other people within ten seconds
+of what he'd done!"
+
+During the afternoon Bunting bought papers recklessly--in fact, he
+must have spent the best part of six-pence. But in spite of all the
+supposed and suggested clues, there was nothing--nothing at all new
+to read, less, in fact than ever before.
+
+The police, it was clear, were quite at a loss, and Mrs. Bunting
+began to feel curiously better, less tired, less ill, less--less
+terrified than she had felt through the morning.
+
+And then something happened which broke with dramatic suddenness the
+quietude of the day.
+
+They had had their tea, and Bunting was reading the last of the
+papers he had run out to buy, when suddenly there came a loud,
+thundering, double knock at the door.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. "Why, whoever can that be?" she
+said.
+
+But as Bunting got up she added quickly, "You just sit down again.
+I'll go myself. Sounds like someone after lodgings. I'll soon send
+them to the right-about!"
+
+And then she left the room, but not before there had come another
+loud double knock.
+
+Mrs. Bunting opened the front door. In a moment she saw that the
+person who stood there was a stranger to her. He was a big, dark
+man, with fierce, black moustaches. And somehow--she could not
+have told you why--he suggested a policeman to Mrs. Bunting's mind.
+
+This notion of hers was confirmed by the very first words he uttered.
+For, "I'm here to execute a warrant!" he exclaimed in a theatrical,
+hollow tone.
+
+With a weak cry of protest Mrs. Bunting suddenly threw out her arms
+as if to bar the way; she turned deadly white--but then, in an
+instant the supposed stranger's laugh rang out, with loud, jovial,
+familiar sound!
+
+"There now, Mrs. Bunting! I never thought I'd take you in as well
+as all that!"
+
+It was Joe Chandler--Joe Chandler dressed up, as she knew he
+sometimes, not very often, did dress up in the course of his work.
+
+Mrs. Bunting began laughing--laughing helplessly, hysterically,
+just as she had done on the morning of Daisy's arrival, when the
+newspaper-sellers had come shouting down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"What's all this about?" Bunting came out
+
+Young Chandler ruefully shut the front door. "I didn't mean to
+upset her like this," he said, looking foolish; "'twas just my silly
+nonsense, Mr. Bunting." And together they helped her into the
+sitting-room.
+
+But, once there, poor Mrs. Bunting went on worse than ever; she
+threw her black apron over her face, and began to sob hysterically.
+
+"'I made sure she'd know who I was when I spoke," went on the young
+fellow apologetically. "But, there now, I have upset her. I am
+sorry!"
+
+"It don't matter!" she exclaimed, throwing the apron off her face,
+but the tears were still streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and
+laughed by turns. "Don't matter one little bit, Joe! 'Twas stupid
+of me to be so taken aback. But, there, that murder that's happened
+close by, it's just upset me--upset me altogether to-day."
+
+"Enough to upset anyone--that was," acknowledged the young man
+ruefully. "I've only come in for a minute, like. I haven't no
+right to come when I'm on duty like this--"
+
+Joe Chandler was looking longingly at what remains of the meal were
+still on the table.
+
+"You can take a minute just to have a bite and a sup," said Bunting
+hospitably; "and then you can tell us any news there is, Joe. We're
+right in the middle of everything now, ain't we?" He spoke with
+evident enjoyment, almost pride, in the gruesome fact.
+
+Joe nodded. Already his mouth was full of bread-and-butter. He
+waited a moment, and then: "Well I have got one piece of news--not
+that I suppose it'll interest you very much."
+
+They both looked at him--Mrs. Bunting suddenly calm, though her
+breast still heaved from time to time.
+
+"Our Boss has resigned!" said Joe Chandler slowly, impressively.
+
+"No! Not the Commissioner o' Police?" exclaimed Bunting.
+
+"Yes, he has. He just can't bear what's said about us any longer
+--and I don't wonder! He done his best, and so's we all. The
+public have just gone daft--in the West End, that is, to-day. As
+for the papers, well, they're something cruel--that's what they
+are. And the ridiculous ideas they print! You'd never believe the
+things they asks us to do--and quite serious-like."
+
+"What d'you mean?" questioned Mrs. Bunting. She really wanted to
+know.
+
+"Well, the Courier declares that there ought to be a house-to-house
+investigation--all over London. Just think of it! Everybody to
+let the police go all over their house, from garret to kitchen,
+just to see if The Avenger isn't concealed there. Dotty, I calls
+it! Why, 'twould take us months and months just to do that one
+job in a town like London."
+
+"I'd like to see them dare come into my house!" said Mrs. Bunting
+angrily.
+
+"It's all along of them blarsted papers that The Avenger went to
+work a different way this time," said Chandler slowly.
+
+Bunting had pushed a tin of sardines towards his guest, and was
+eagerly listening. "How d'you mean?" he asked. "I don't take
+your meaning, Joe."
+
+"Well, you see, it's this way. The newspapers was always saying
+how extraordinary it was that The Avenger chose such a peculiar
+time to do his deeds--I mean, the time when no one's about the
+streets. Now, doesn't it stand to reason that the fellow, reading
+all that, and seeing the sense of it, said to himself, 'I'll go on
+another tack this time'? Just listen to this!" He pulled a strip
+of paper, part of a column cut from a newspaper, out of his pocket:
+
+
+"'AN EX-LORD MAYOR OF LONDON ON THE AVENGER
+
+
+"'Will the murderer be caught? Yes,' replied Sir John, 'he will
+certainly be caught--probably when he commits his next crime. A
+whole army of bloodhounds, metaphorical and literal, will be on his
+track the moment he draws blood again. With the whole community
+against him, he cannot escape, especially when it be remembered that
+he chooses the quietest hour in the twenty-four to commit his crimes.
+
+"'Londoners are now in such a state of nerves--if I may use the
+expression, in such a state of funk--that every passer-by, however
+innocent, is looked at with suspicion by his neighbour if his
+avocation happens to take him abroad between the hours of one and
+three in the morning.'
+
+"I'd like to gag that ex-Lord Mayor!" concluded Joe Chandler
+wrathfully.
+
+Just then the lodger's bell rang.
+
+"Let me go up, my dear," said Bunting.
+
+His wife still looked pale and shaken by the fright she had had.
+
+"No, no," she said hastily. "You stop down here, and talk to Joe.
+I'll look after Mr. Sleuth. He may be wanting his supper just a
+bit earlier than usual to-day."
+
+Slowly, painfully, again feeling as if her legs were made of cotton
+wool, she dragged herself up to the first floor, knocked at the door,
+and then went in.
+
+"You did ring, sir?" she said, in her quiet, respectful way.
+
+And Mr. Sleuth looked up.
+
+She thought--but, as she reminded herself afterwards, it might have
+been just her idea, and nothing else--that for the first time the
+lodger looked frightened--frightened and cowed.
+
+"I heard a noise downstairs," he said fretfully, "and I wanted to
+know what it was all about. As I told you, Mrs. Bunting, when I
+first took these rooms, quiet is essential to me.".
+
+"It was just a friend of ours, sir. I'm sorry you were disturbed.
+Would you like the knocker taken off to-morrow? Bunting'll be
+pleased to do it if you don't like to hear the sound of the knocks."
+
+"Oh, no, I wouldn't put you to such trouble as that." Mr. Sleuth
+looked quite relieved. "Just a friend of yours, was it, Mrs.
+Bunting? He made a great deal of noise."
+
+"Just a young fellow," she said apologetically. "The son of one of
+Bunting's old friends. He often comes here, sir; but he never did
+give such a great big double knock as that before. I'll speak to
+him about it"
+
+"Oh, no, Mrs. Bunting. I would really prefer you did nothing of
+the kind. It was just a passing annoyance--nothing more!"
+
+She waited a moment. How strange that Mr. Sleuth said nothing of
+the hoarse cries which had made of the road outside a perfect Bedlam
+every hour or two throughout that day, But no, Mr. Sleuth made no
+allusion to what might well have disturbed any quiet gentleman at
+his reading.
+
+"I thought maybe you'd like to have supper a little earlier to-night,
+sir?"
+
+"Just when you like, Mrs. Bunting--just when it's convenient. I
+do not wish to put you out in any way."
+
+She felt herself dismissed, and going out quietly, closed the door.
+
+As she did so, she heard the front door banging to. She sighed
+--Joe Chandler was really a very noisy young fellow.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Mrs. Bunting slept well the night following that during which the
+lodger had been engaged in making his mysterious experiments in her
+kitchen. She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, that sleep came
+to her the moment she laid her head upon her pillow.
+
+Perhaps that was why she rose so early the next morning. Hardly
+giving herself time to swallow the tea Bunting had made and brought
+her, she got up and dressed.
+
+She had suddenly come to the conclusion that the hall and staircase
+required a thorough "doing down," and she did not even wait till
+they had eaten their breakfast before beginning her labours. It
+made Bunting feel quite uncomfortable. As he sat by the fire reading
+his morning paper--the paper which was again of such absorbing
+interest--he called out, "There's no need for so much hurry, Ellen.
+Daisy'll be back to-day. Why don't you wait till she's come home to
+help you?"
+
+But from the hall where she was busy dusting, sweeping, polishing,
+his wife's voice came back: "Girls ain't no good at this sort of
+work. Don't you worry about me. I feel as if I'd enjoy doing an
+extra bit of cleaning to-day. I don't like to feel as anyone could
+come in and see my place dirty."
+
+"No fear of that!" Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck
+him. "Ain't you afraid of waking the lodger?" he called out.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night," she
+answered quickly. "As it is, I study him over-much; it's a long,
+long time since I've done this staircase down."
+
+All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left
+the sitting-room door wide open.
+
+That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn't like to get
+up and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn't
+read with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had
+never known Ellen make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he
+looked up and frowned rather crossly.
+
+There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that. Ellen
+was standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
+
+"Come in," he said, "do! Ain't you finished yet?"
+
+"I was only resting a minute," she said. "You don't tell me nothing.
+I'd like to know if there's anything--I mean anything new--in the
+paper this morning."
+
+She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her
+unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting
+suddenly uneasy. "Come in--do!" he repeated sharply. "You've
+done quite enough--and before breakfast, too. 'Tain't necessary.
+Come in and shut that door."
+
+He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
+
+She came in, and did what she had never done before--brought the
+broom with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
+
+Then she sat down.
+
+"I think I'll make breakfast up here," she said. "I--I feel cold,
+Bunting." And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of
+perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
+
+He got up. "All right. I'll go down and bring the eggs up. Don't
+you worry. For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if
+you like."
+
+"No," she said obstinately. "I'd rather do my own work. You just
+bring them up here--that'll be all right. To-morrow morning we'll
+have Daisy to help see to things."
+
+"Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair," he suggested
+kindly. "You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen. I never see'd
+such a woman!"
+
+And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room
+with languid steps.
+
+He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
+
+She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took
+two steps towards her.
+
+"I'll show you the most interesting bit" he said eagerly. "It's
+the piece headed, 'Our Special Investigator.' You see, they've
+started a special investigator of their own, and he's got hold of
+a lot of little facts the police seem to have overlooked. The man
+who writes all that--I mean the Special Investigator--was a
+famous 'tec in his time, and he's just come back out of his
+retirement o' purpose to do this bit of work for the paper. You
+read what he says--I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he ends by
+getting that reward! One can see he just loves the work of
+tracking people down."
+
+"There's nothing to be proud of in such a job," said his wife
+listlessly.
+
+"He'll have something to be proud of if he catches The Avenger!"
+cried Bunting. He was too keen about this affair to be put off
+by Ellen's contradictory remarks. "You just notice that bit about
+the rubber soles. Now, no one's thought o' that. I'll just tell
+Chandler--he don't seem to me to be half awake, that young man
+don't."
+
+"He's quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him!
+How about those eggs, Bunting? I feel quite ready for my breakfast
+even if you don't--"
+
+Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly
+described to himself as "Ellen's snarling voice."
+
+He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled. There
+was something queer about her, and he couldn't make it out. He
+didn't mind it when she spoke sharply and nastily to him. He was
+used to that. But now she was so up and down; so different from
+what she used to be! In old days she had always been the same, but
+now a man never knew where to have her.
+
+And as he went downstairs he pondered uneasily over his wife's
+changed ways and manner.
+
+Take the question of his easy chair. A very small matter, no doubt,
+but he had never known Ellen sit in that chair--no, not even once,
+for a minute, since it had been purchased by her as a present for him.
+
+They had been so happy, so happy, and so--so restful, during that
+first week after Mr. Sleuth had come to them. Perhaps it was the
+sudden, dramatic change from agonising anxiety to peace and security
+which had been too much for Ellen--yes, that was what was the matter
+with her, that and the universal excitement about these Avenger
+murders, which were shaking the nerves of all London. Even Bunting,
+unobservant as he was, had come to realise that his wife took a
+morbid interest in these terrible happenings. And it was the more
+queer of her to do so that at first she refused to discuss them, and
+said openly that she was utterly uninterested in murder or crime of
+any sort.
+
+He, Bunting, had always had a mild pleasure in such things. In his
+time he had been a great reader of detective tales, and even now he
+thought there was no pleasanter reading. It was that which had first
+drawn him to Joe Chandler, and made him welcome the young chap as
+cordially as he had done when they first came to London.
+
+But though Ellen had tolerated, she had never encouraged, that sort
+of talk between the two men. More than once she had exclaimed
+reproachfully: "To hear you two, one would think there was no nice,
+respectable, quiet people left in the world!"
+
+But now all that was changed. She was as keen as anyone could be
+to hear the latest details of an Avenger crime. True, she took her
+own view of any theory suggested. But there! Ellen always had had
+her own notions about everything under the sun. Ellen was a woman
+who thought for herself--a clever woman, not an everyday woman by
+any manner of means.
+
+While these thoughts were going disconnectedly through his mind,
+Bunting was breaking four eggs into a basin. He was going to give
+Ellen a nice little surprise--to cook an omelette as a French chef
+had once taught him to do, years and years ago. He didn't know how
+she would take his doing such a thing after what she had said; but
+never mind, she would enjoy the omelette when done. Ellen hadn't
+been eating her food properly of late.
+
+And when he went up again, his wife, to his relief, and, it must be
+admitted, to his surprise, took it very well. She had not even
+noticed how long he had been downstairs, for she had been reading
+with intense, painful care the column that the great daily paper
+they took in had allotted to the one-time famous detective.
+
+According to this Special Investigator's own account he had
+discovered all sorts of things that had escaped the eye of the
+police and of the official detectives. For instance, owing, he
+admitted, to a fortunate chance, he had been at the place where
+the two last murders had been committed very soon after the double
+crime had been discovered--in fact within half an hour, and he
+had found, or so he felt sure, on the slippery, wet pavement
+imprints of the murderer's right foot.
+
+The paper reproduced the impression of a half-worn rubber sole.
+At the same time, he also admitted--for the Special Investigator
+was very honest, and he had a good bit of space to fill in the
+enterprising paper which had engaged him to probe the awful
+mystery--that there were thousands of rubber soles being worn in
+London. . . .
+
+And when she came to that statement Mrs. Bunting looked up, and
+there came a wan smile over her thin, closely-shut lips. It was
+quite true--that about rubber soles; there were thousands of
+rubber soles being worn just now. She felt grateful to the Special
+Investigator for having stated the fact so clearly.
+
+The column ended up with the words:
+
+"And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten
+days ago. To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public
+inquiry could be held at once. Say, on the very day the discovery
+of a fresh murder is made. In that way alone would it be possible
+to weigh and sift the evidence offered by members of the general
+public. For when a week or more has elapsed, and these same people
+have been examined and cross-examined in private by the police,
+their impressions have had time to become blurred and hopelessly
+confused. On that last occasion but one there seems no doubt
+that several people, at any rate two women and one man, actually
+saw the murderer hurrying from the scene of his atrocious double
+crime--this being so, to-day's investigation may be of the highest
+value and importance. To-morrow I hope to give an account of
+the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements
+made during its course."
+
+Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had
+gone on reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment. At last he
+said rather crossly, "Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute! The
+omelette I've cooked for you will be just like leather if you don't
+eat it."
+
+But once his wile had eaten her breakfast--and, to Bunting's
+mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette untouched
+--she took the paper up again. She turned over the big sheets,
+until she found, at the foot of one of the ten columns devoted to
+The Avenger and his crimes, the information she wanted, and then
+uttered an exclamation under her breath.
+
+What Mrs. Bunting had been looking for--what at last she had found
+--was the time and place of the inquest which was to be held that
+day. The hour named was a rather odd time--two o'clock in the
+afternoon, but, from Mrs. Bunting's point of view, it was most
+convenient.
+
+By two o'clock, nay, by half-past one, the lodger would have had
+his lunch; by hurrying matters a little she and Bunting would have
+had their dinner, and--and Daisy wasn't coming home till tea-time.
+
+She got up out of her husband's chair. "I think you're right," she
+said, in a quick, hoarse tone. "I mean about me seeing a doctor,
+Bunting.' I think I will go and see a doctor this very afternoon."
+
+"Wouldn't you like me to go with you?" he asked.
+
+"No, that I wouldn't. In fact I wouldn't go at all you was to go
+with me."
+
+"All right," he said vexedly. "Please yourself, my dear; you know
+best."
+
+"I should think I did know best where my own health is concerned."
+
+Even Bunting was incensed by this lack of gratitude. "'Twas I said,
+long ago, you ought to go and see the doctor; 'twas you said you
+wouldn't!" he exclaimed pugnaciously.
+
+"Well, I've never said you was never right, have I? At any rate,
+I'm going."
+
+"Have you a pain anywhere?" He stared at her with a look of real
+solicitude on his fat, phlegmatic face.
+
+Somehow Ellen didn't look right, standing there opposite him. Her
+shoulders seemed to have shrunk; even her cheeks had fallen in a
+little. She had never looked so bad--not even when they had been
+half starving, and dreadfully, dreadfully worked.
+
+"Yes," she said briefly, "I've a pain in my head, at the back of
+my neck. It doesn't often leave me; it gets worse when anything
+upsets me, like I was upset last night by Joe Chandler."
+
+"He was a silly ass to come and do a thing like that!" said Bunting
+crossly. "I'd a good mind to tell him so, too. But I must say,
+Ellen, I wonder he took you in--he didn't me!"
+
+"Well, you had no chance he should--you knew who it was," she said
+slowly.
+
+And Bunting remained silent, for Ellen was right. Joe Chandler had
+already spoken when he, Bunting, came out into the hall, and saw
+their cleverly disguised visitor.
+
+"Those big black moustaches," he went on complainingly, "and that
+black wig--why, 'twas too ridic'lous--that's what I call it!"
+
+"Not to anyone who didn't know Joe," she said sharply.
+
+"Well, I don't know. He didn't look like a real man--nohow. If
+he's a wise lad, he won't let our Daisy ever see him looking like
+that!" and Bunting laughed, a comfortable laugh.
+
+He had thought a good deal about Daisy and young Chandler the last
+two days, and, on the whole, he was well pleased.  It was a dull,
+unnatural life the girl was leading with Old Aunt. And Joe was
+earning good money. They wouldn't have long to wait, these two
+young people, as a beau and his girl often have to wait, as he,
+Bunting, and Daisy's mother had had to do, for ever so long before
+they could be married. No, there was no reason why they shouldn't
+be spliced quite soon--if so the fancy took them. And Bunting
+had very little doubt that so the fancy would take Joe, at any rate.
+
+But there was plenty of time. Daisy wouldn't be eighteen till the
+week after next. They might wait till she was twenty. By that
+time Old Aunt might be dead, and Daisy might have come into quite
+a tidy little bit of money.
+
+"What are you smiling at?" said his wife sharply.
+
+And he shook himself. "I--smiling? At nothing that I knows of."
+Then he waited a moment. "Well, if you will know, Ellen, I was
+just thinking of Daisy and that young chap Joe Chandler. He is
+gone on her, ain't he?"
+
+"Gone?" And then Mrs. Bunting laughed, a queer, odd, not unkindly
+laugh. "Gone, Bunting?" she repeated. "Why, he's out o' sight
+--right, out of sight!"
+
+Then hesitatingly, and looking narrowly at her husband, she went on,
+twisting a bit of her black apron with her fingers as she spoke:--
+"I suppose he'll be going over this afternoon to fetch her? Or--or
+d'you think he'll have to be at that inquest, Bunting?"
+
+"Inquest? What inquest?" He looked at her puzzled.
+
+"Why, the inquest on them bodies found in the passage near by King's
+Cross."
+
+"Oh, no; he'd have no call to be at the inquest. For the matter o'
+that, I know he's going over to fetch Daisy. He said so last night
+--just when 'you went up to the lodger."
+
+"That's just as well." Mrs. Bunting spoke with considerable
+satisfaction. "Otherwise I suppose you'd ha' had to go. I wouldn't
+like the house left--not with us out of it. Mr. Sleuth would be
+upset if there came a ring at the door."
+
+"Oh, I won't leave the house, don't you be afraid, Ellen--not while
+you're out"
+
+"Not even if I'm out a good while, Bunting."
+
+"No fear. Of course, you'll be a long time if it's your idea to see
+that doctor at Ealing?"
+
+He looked at her questioningly, and Mrs. Bunting nodded. Somehow
+nodding didn't seem as bad as speaking a lie.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Any ordeal is far less terrifying, far easier to meet with courage,
+when it is repeated, than is even a milder experience which is
+entirely novel.
+
+Mrs. Bunting had already attended an inquest, in the character of a
+witness, and it was one of the few happenings of her life which was
+sharply etched against the somewhat blurred screen of her memory.
+
+In a country house where the then Ellen Green had been staying for
+a fortnight with her elderly mistress, there had occurred one of
+those sudden, pitiful tragedies which occasionally destroy the
+serenity, the apparent decorum, of a large, respectable household.
+
+The under-housemaid, a pretty, happy-natured girl, had drowned
+herself for love of the footman, who had given his sweetheart cause
+for bitter jealousy. The girl had chosen to speak of her troubles
+to the strange lady's maid rather than to her own fellow-servants,
+and it was during the conversation the two women had had together
+that the girl had threatened to take her own life.
+
+As Mrs. Bunting put on her outdoor clothes, preparatory to going
+out, she recalled very clearly all the details of that dreadful
+affair, and of the part she herself had unwillingly played in it.
+
+She visualised the country inn where the inquest on that poor,
+unfortunate creature had been held.
+
+The butler had escorted her from the Hall, for he also was to give
+evidence, and as they came up there had been a look of cheerful
+animation about the inn yard; people coming and going, many women
+as well as men, village folk, among whom the dead girl's fate had
+aroused a great deal of interest, and the kind of horror which those
+who live on a dull countryside welcome rather than avoid.
+
+Everyone there had been particularly nice and polite to her, to
+Ellen Green; there had been a time of waiting in a room upstairs in
+the old inn, and the witnesses had been accommodated, not only with
+chairs, but with cake and wine.
+
+She remembered how she had dreaded being a witness, how she had
+felt as if she would like to run away from her nice, easy place,
+rather than have to get up and tell the little that she knew of the
+sad business.
+
+But it had not been so very dreadful after all. The coroner had
+been a kindly-spoken gentleman; in fact he had complimented her on
+the clear, sensible way she had given her evidence concerning the
+exact words the unhappy girl had used.
+
+One thing Ellen Green had said, in answer to a question put by
+an inquisitive juryman, had raised a laugh in the crowded,
+low-ceilinged room. "Ought not Miss Ellen Green," so the man had
+asked, "to have told someone of the girl's threat? If she had done
+so, might not the girl have been prevented from throwing herself
+into the lake?" And she, the witness, had answered, with some
+asperity--for by that time the coroner's kind manner had put her
+at her ease--that she had not attached any importance to what the
+girl had threatened to do, never believing that any young woman
+could be so silly as to drown herself for love!
+
+******
+
+Vaguely Mrs. Bunting supposed that the inquest at which she was
+going to be present this afternoon would be like that country
+inquest of long ago.
+
+It had been no mere perfunctory inquiry; she remembered very well
+how little by little that pleasant-spoken gentleman, the coroner,
+had got the whole truth out--the story, that is, of how that
+horrid footman, whom she, Ellen Green, had disliked from the first
+minute she had set eyes on him, had, taken up with another young
+woman. It had been supposed that this fact would not be elicited
+by the coroner; but it had been, quietly, remorselessly; more, the
+dead girl's letters had been read out--piteous, queerly expressed
+letters, full of wild love and bitter, threatening jealousy. And
+the jury had censured the young man most severely; she remembered
+the look on his face when the people, shrinking back, had made a
+passage for him to slink out of the crowded room.
+
+Come to think of it now, it was strange she had never told Bunting
+that long-ago tale. It had occurred years before she knew him, and
+somehow nothing had ever happened to make her tell him about it.
+
+She wondered whether Bunting had ever been to an inquest. She longed
+to ask him. But if she asked him now, this minute, he might guess
+where she was thinking of going.
+
+And then, while still moving about her bedroom, she shook her head
+--no, no, Bunting would never guess such a thing; he would never,
+never suspect her of telling him a lie.
+
+Stop--had she told a lie? She did mean to go to the doctor after
+the inquest was finished--if there was time, that is. She wondered
+uneasily how long such an inquiry was likely to last. In this case,
+as so very little had been discovered, the proceedings would surely
+be very formal--formal and therefore short.
+
+She herself had one quite definite object--that of hearing the
+evidence of those who believed they had seen the murderer leaving
+the spot where his victims lay weltering in their still flowing
+blood. She was filled with a painful, secret, and, yes, eager
+curiosity to hear how those who were so positive about the matter
+would describe the appearance of The Avenger. After all, a lot of
+people must have seen him, for, as Bunting had said only the day
+before to young Chandler, The Avenger was not a ghost; he was a
+living man with some kind of hiding-place where he was known, and
+where he spent his time between his awful crimes.
+
+As she came back to the sitting-room, her extreme pallor struck her
+husband.
+
+"Why, Ellen," he said, "it is time you went to the doctor. You
+looks just as if you was going to a funeral. I'll come along with
+you as far as the station. You're going by train, ain't you? Not
+by bus, eh? It's a very long way to Ealing, you know."
+
+"There you go! Breaking your solemn promise to me the very first
+minute!" But somehow she did not speak unkindly, only fretfully
+and sadly.
+
+And Bunting hung his head. "Why, to be sure I'd gone and clean
+forgot the lodger! But will you be all right, Ellen? Why not wait
+till to-morrow, and take Daisy with you?"
+
+"I like doing my own business in my own way, and not in someone
+else's way!" she snapped out; and then more gently, for Bunting
+really looked concerned, and she did feel very far from well, "I'll
+be all right, old man. Don't you worry about me!"
+
+As she turned to go across to the door, she drew the black shawl
+she had put over her long jacket more closely round her.
+
+She felt ashamed, deeply ashamed, of deceiving so kind a husband.
+And yet, what could she do? How could she share her dreadful burden
+with poor Bunting? Why, 'twould be enough to make a man go daft.
+Even she often felt as if she could stand it no longer--as if she
+would give the world to tell someone--anyone--what it was that she
+suspected, what deep in her heart she so feared to be the truth.
+
+But, unknown to herself, the fresh outside air, fog-laden though it
+was, soon began to do her good. She had gone out far too little the
+last few days, for she had had a nervous terror of leaving the house
+unprotected, as also a great unwillingness to allow Bunting to come
+into contact with the lodger.
+
+When she reached the Underground station she stopped short. There
+were two ways of getting to St. Pancras--she could go by bus, or
+she could go by train. She decided on the latter. But before
+turning into the station her eyes strayed over the bills of the
+early afternoon papers lying on the ground.
+
+Two words,
+
+  THE AVENGER,
+
+stared up at her in varying type.
+
+Drawing her black shawl yet a little closer about her shoulders,
+Mrs. Bunting looked down at the placards. She did not feel inclined
+to buy a paper, as many of the people round her were doing. Her eyes
+were smarting, even now, from their unaccustomed following of the
+close print in the paper Bunting took in.
+
+Slowly she turned, at last, into the Underground station.
+
+And now a piece of extraordinary good fortune befell Mrs. Bunting.
+
+The third-class carriage in which she took her place happened to be
+empty, save for the presence of a police inspector. And once they
+were well away she summoned up courage, and asked him the question
+she knew she would have to ask of someone within the next few minutes.
+
+"Can you tell me," she said, in a low voice, "where death inquests
+are held "--she moistened her lips, waited a moment, and then
+concluded--"in the neighbourhood of King's Cross?"
+
+The man turned and, looked at her attentively. She did not look at
+all the sort of Londoner who goes to an inquest--there are many
+such--just for the fun of the thing. Approvingly, for he was a
+widower, he noted her neat black coat and skirt; and the plain
+Princess bonnet which framed her pale, refined face.
+
+"I'm going to the Coroner's Court myself." he said good-naturedly.
+"So you can come along of me. You see there's that big Avenger
+inquest going on to-day, so I think they'll have had to make other
+arrangements for--hum, hum--ordinary cases." And as she looked
+at him dumbly, he went on, "There'll be a mighty crowd of people at
+The Avenger inquest--a lot of ticket folk to be accommodated, to
+say nothing of the public."
+
+"That's the inquest I'm going to," faltered Mrs. Bunting. She could
+scarcely get the words out. She realised with acute discomfort,
+yes, and shame, how strange, how untoward, was that which she was
+going to do. Fancy a respectable woman wanting to attend a murder
+inquest!
+
+During the last few days all her perceptions had become sharpened
+by suspense and fear. She realised now, as she looked into the
+stolid face of her unknown friend, how she herself would have
+regarded any woman who wanted to attend such an inquiry from a
+simple, morbid feeling of curiosity. And yet--and yet that was
+just what she was about to do herself.
+
+"I've got a reason for wanting to go there," she murmured. It was
+a comfort to unburden herself this little way even to a stranger.
+
+"Ah!" he said reflectively. "A--a relative connected with one of
+the two victims' husbands, I presume?"
+
+And Mrs. Bunting bent her head.
+
+"Going to give evidence?" he asked casually, and then he turned and
+looked at Mrs. Bunting with far more attention than he had yet done.
+
+"Oh, no!" There was a world of horror, of fear in the speaker's voice.
+
+And the inspector felt concerned and sorry. "Hadn't seen her for
+quite a long time, I suppose?"
+
+"Never had, seen her. I'm from the country." Something impelled
+Mrs. Bunting to say these words. But she hastily corrected herself,
+"At least, I was."
+
+"Will he be there?"
+
+She looked at him dumbly; not in the least knowing to whom he was
+alluding.
+
+"I mean the husband," went on the inspector hastily. "I felt sorry
+for the last poor chap--I mean the husband of the last one--he
+seemed so awfully miserable. You see, she'd been a good wife and a
+good mother till she took to the drink."
+
+"It always is so," breathed out Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Aye." he waited a moment. "D'you know anyone about the court?" he
+asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Well, don't you worry. I'll take you in along o' me. You'd never
+get in by yourself."
+
+They got out; and oh, the comfort of being in some one's charge, of
+having a determined man in uniform to look after one! And yet even
+now there was to Mrs. Bunting something dream-like, unsubstantial
+about the whole business.
+
+"If he knew--if he only knew what I know!" she kept saying over
+and over again to herself as she walked lightly by the big, burly
+form of the police inspector.
+
+"'Tisn't far--not three minutes," he said suddenly. "Am I walking
+too quick for you, ma'am?"'
+
+"No, not at all. I'm a quick walker."
+
+And then suddenly they turned a corner and came on a mass of people,
+a densely packed crowd of men and women, staring at a mean-looking
+little door sunk into a high wall.
+
+"Better take my arm," the inspector suggested. "Make way there!
+Make way!" he cried authoritatively; and he swept her through the
+serried ranks which parted at the sound of his voice, at the sight
+of his uniform.
+
+"Lucky you met me," he said, smiling. "You'd never have got
+through alone. And 'tain't a nice crowd, not by any manner of
+means."
+
+The small door opened just a little way, and they found themselves
+on a narrow stone-flagged path, leading into a square yard. A few
+men were out there, smoking.
+
+Before preceding her into the building which rose at the back of
+the yard, Mrs. Bunting's kind new friend took out his watch.
+"There's another twenty minutes before they'll begin," he said.
+"There's the mortuary"--he pointed with his thumb to a low room
+built out to the right of the court. "Would you like to go in and
+see them?" he whispered.
+
+"Oh, no!" she cried, in a tone of extreme horror. And he looked
+down at her with sympathy, and with increased respect. She was a
+nice, respectable woman, she was. She had not come here imbued
+with any morbid, horrible curiosity, but because she thought it
+her duty to do so. He suspected her of being sister-in-law to
+one of The Avenger's victims.
+
+They walked through into a big room or hall, now full of men
+talking in subdued yet eager, animated tones.
+
+"I think you'd better sit down' here," he said considerately, and,
+leading her to one of the benches that stood out from the whitewashed
+walls--"unless you'd rather be with the witnesses, that is."
+
+But again she said, "Oh, no!" And then, with an effort, "Oughtn't
+I to go into the court now, if it's likely to be so full?"
+
+"Don't you worry," he said kindly. "I'll see you get a proper place.
+I must leave you now for a minute, but I'll come back in good time
+and look after you."
+
+She raised the thick veil she had pulled down over her face while
+they were going through that sinister, wolfish-looking crowd outside,
+and looked about her.
+
+Many of the gentlemen--they mostly wore tall hats and good overcoats
+--standing round and about her looked vaguely familiar. She picked
+out one at once. He was a famous journalist, whose shrewd, animated
+face was familiar to her owing to the fact that it was widely
+advertised in connection with a preparation for the hair--the
+preparation which in happier, more prosperous days Bunting had had
+great faith in, and used, or so he always said, with great benefit to
+himself. This gentleman was the centre of an eager circle; half a
+dozen men were talking to him, listening deferentially when he spoke,
+and each of these men, so Mrs. Bunting realised, was a Somebody.
+
+How strange, how amazing, to reflect that from all parts of London,
+from their doubtless important avocations, one unseen, mysterious
+beckoner had brought all these men here together, to this sordid
+place, on this bitterly cold, dreary day. Here they were, all
+thinking of, talking of, evoking one unknown, mysterious personality
+--that of the shadowy and yet terribly real human being who chose
+to call himself The Avenger. And somewhere, not so very far away
+from them all The Avenger was keeping these clever, astute, highly
+trained minds--aye, and bodies, too--at bay.
+
+Even Mrs. Bunting, sitting here unnoticed, realised the irony of her
+presence among them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that she had been sitting there a long
+time--it was really about a quarter of an hour--when her official
+friend came back.
+
+"Better come along now," he whispered; "it'll begin soon."
+
+She followed him out into a passage, up a row of steep stone steps,
+and so into the Coroner's Court.
+
+The court was big, well-lighted room, in some ways not unlike a
+chapel, the more so that a kind of gallery ran half-way round, a
+gallery evidently set aside for the general public, for it was now
+crammed to its utmost capacity.
+
+Mrs. Bunting glanced timidly towards the serried row of faces. Had
+it not been for her good fortune in meeting the man she was now
+following, it was there that she would have had to try and make her
+way. And she would have failed. Those people had rushed in the
+moment the doors were opened, pushing, fighting their way in a way
+she could never have pushed or fought.
+
+There were just a few women among them, set, determined-looking
+women, belonging to every class, but made one by their love of
+sensation and their power of forcing their way in where they wanted
+to be. But the women were few; the great majority of those standing
+there were men--men who were also representative of every class of
+Londoner.
+
+The centre of the court was like an arena; it was sunk two or three
+steps below the surrounding gallery. Just now it was comparatively
+clear of people, save for the benches on which sat the men who were
+to compose the jury. Some way from these men, huddled together in
+a kind of big pew, stood seven people--three women and four men.
+
+"D'you see the witnesses?" whispered the inspector, pointing these
+out to her. He supposed her to know one of them with familiar
+knowledge, but, if that were so, she made no sign.
+
+Between the windows, facing the whole room, was a kind of little
+platform, on which stood a desk and an arm-chair. Mrs. Bunting
+guessed rightly that it was there the coroner would sit. And to
+the left of the platform was the witness-stand, also raised
+considerably above the jury.
+
+Amazingly different, and far, far more grim and awe-inspiring than
+the scene of the inquest which had taken place so long ago, on that
+bright April day, in the village inn. There the coroner had sat on
+the same level as the jury, and the witnesses had simply stepped
+forward one by one, and taken their place before him.
+
+Looking round her fearfully, Mrs. Bunting thought she would surely
+die if ever she were exposed to the ordeal of standing in that
+curious box-like stand, and she stared across at the bench where sat
+the seven witnesses with a feeling of sincere pity in her heart.
+
+But even she soon realised that her pity was wasted. Each woman
+witness looked eager, excited, and animated; well pleased to be the
+centre of attention and attraction to the general public. It was
+plain each was enjoying her part of important, if humble, actress
+in the thrilling drama which was now absorbing the attention of all
+London--it might almost be said of the whole world.
+
+Looking at these women, Mrs. Bunting wondered vaguely which was
+which. Was it that rather draggle-tailed-looking young person who
+had certainly, or almost certainly, seen The Avenger within ten
+seconds of the double crime being committed? The woman who, aroused
+by one of his victims' cry of terror, had rushed to her window and
+seen the murderer's shadowy form pass swiftly by in the fog?
+
+Yet another woman, so Mrs. Bunting now remembered, had given a most
+circumstantial account of what The Avenger looked like, for he, it
+was supposed, had actually brushed by her as he passed.
+
+Those two women now before her had been interrogated and
+cross-examined again and again, not only by the police, but by
+representatives of every newspaper in London. It was from what they
+had both said--unluckily their accounts materially differed--that
+that official description of The Avenger had been worked up--that
+which described him as being a good-looking, respectable young fellow
+of twenty-eight, carrying a newspaper parcel.
+
+As for the third woman, she was doubtless an acquaintance, a boon
+companion of the dead.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked away from the witnesses, and focused her gaze
+on another unfamiliar sight. Specially prominent, running indeed
+through the whole length of the shut-in space, that is, from the
+coroner's high dais right across to the opening in the wooden barrier,
+was an ink-splashed table at which, when she had first taken her
+place, there had been sitting three men busily sketching; but now
+every seat at the table was occupied by tired, intelligent-looking
+men, each with a notebook, or with some loose sheets of paper,
+before him.
+
+"Them's the reporters," whispered her friend. "They don't like
+coming till the last minute, for they has to be the last to go.
+At an ordinary inquest there are only two--maybe three--attending,
+but now every paper in the kingdom has pretty well applied for a
+pass to that reporters' table."
+
+He looked consideringly down into the well of the court. "Now let
+me see what I can do for you--"
+
+Then he beckoned to the coroner's officer: "Perhaps you could put
+this lady just over there, in a corner by herself? Related to a
+relation of the deceased, but doesn't want to be--" He whispered
+a word or two, and the other nodded sympathetically, and looked at
+Mrs. Bunting with interest. "I'll put her just here," he muttered.
+"There's no one coming there to-day. You see, there are only seven
+witnesses--sometimes we have a lot more than that."
+
+And he kindly put her on a now empty bench opposite to where the
+seven witnesses stood and sat with their eager, set faces, ready
+--aye, more than ready--to play their part.
+
+For a moment every eye in the court was focused on Mrs. Bunting, but
+soon those who had stared so hungrily, so intently, at her, realised
+that she had nothing to do with the case. She was evidently there
+as a spectator, and, more fortunate than most, she had a "friend at
+court," and so was able to sit comfortably, instead of having to
+stand in the crowd.
+
+But she was not long left in isolation. Very soon some of the
+important-looking gentlemen she had seen downstairs came into the
+court, and were ushered over to her seat while two or three among
+them, including the famous writer whose face was so familiar that
+it almost seemed to Mrs. Bunting like that of a kindly acquaintance,
+were accommodated at the reporters' table.
+
+"Gentlemen, the Coroner."
+
+The jury stood up, shuffling their feet, and then sat down again;
+over the spectators there fell a sudden silence.
+
+And then what immediately followed recalled to Mrs. Bunting, for the
+first time, that informal little country inquest of long ago.
+
+First came the "Oyez! Oyez!" the old Norman-French summons to all
+whose business it is to attend a solemn inquiry into the death
+--sudden, unexplained, terrible--of a fellow-being.
+
+The jury--there were fourteen of them--all stood up again. They
+raised their hands and solemnly chanted together the curious words
+of their oath.
+
+Then came a quick, informal exchange of sentences 'twixt the coroner
+and his officer.
+
+Yes, everything was in order. The jury had viewed the bodies--he
+quickly corrected himself--the body, for, technically speaking, the
+inquest just about to be held only concerned one body.
+
+And then, amid a silence so absolute that the slightest rustle could
+be heard through the court, the coroner--a clever-looking gentleman,
+though not so old as Mrs. Bunting thought he ought to have been to
+occupy so important a position on so important a day--gave a little
+history, as it were, of the terrible and mysterious Avenger crimes.
+
+He spoke very dearly, warming to his work as he went on.
+
+He told them that he had been present at the inquest held on one of
+The Avenger's former victims. "I only went through professional
+curiosity," he threw in by way of parenthesis, "little thinking,
+gentlemen, that the inquest on one of these unhappy creatures would
+ever be held in my court."
+
+On and on, he went, though he had, in truth, but little to say, and
+though that little was known to every one of his listeners.
+
+Mrs. Bunting heard one of the older gentlemen sitting near her
+whisper to another: "Drawing it out all he can; that's what he's
+doing. Having the time of his life, evidently!" And then the other
+whispered back, so low that she could only just catch the words,
+"Aye, aye. But he's a good chap--I knew his father; we were at
+school together. Takes his job very seriously, you know--he does
+to-day, at any rate."
+
+******
+
+She was listening intently, waiting for a word, a sentence, which
+would relieve her hidden terrors, or, on the other hand, confirm
+them. But the word, the sentence, was never uttered.
+
+And yet, at the very end of his long peroration, the coroner did
+throw out a hint which might mean anything--or nothing.
+
+"I am glad to say that we hope to obtain such evidence to-day as
+will in time lead to the apprehension of the miscreant who has
+committed, and is still committing, these terrible crimes."
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared uneasily up into the coroner's firm,
+determined-looking face. What did he mean by that? Was there any
+new evidence--evidence of which Joe Chandler, for instance, was
+ignorant? And, as if in answer to the unspoken question, her heart
+gave a sudden leap, for a big, burly man had taken his place in the
+witness-box--a policeman who had not been sitting with the other
+witnesses.
+
+But soon her uneasy terror became stilled. This witness was simply
+the constable who had found the first body. In quick, business-like
+tones he described exactly what had happened to him on that cold,
+foggy morning ten days ago. He was shown a plan, and he marked it
+slowly, carefully, with a thick finger. That was the exact place
+--no, he was making a mistake--that was the place where the other
+body had lain. He explained apologetically that he had got rather
+mixed up between the two bodies--that of Johanna Cobbett and Sophy
+Hurtle.
+
+And then the coroner intervened authoritatively: "For the purpose
+of this inquiry," he said, "we must, I think, for a moment consider
+the two murders together."
+
+After that, the witness went on far more comfortably; and as he
+proceeded, in a quick monotone, the full and deadly horror of
+The Avenger's acts came over Mrs. Bunting in a great seething flood
+of sick fear and--and, yes, remorse.
+
+Up to now she had given very little thought--if, indeed, any thought
+--to the drink-sodden victims of The Avenger. It was he who had
+filled her thoughts,--he and those who were trying to track him down.
+But now? Now she felt sick and sorry she had come here to-day. She
+wondered if she would ever be able to get the vision the policeman's
+words had conjured up out of her mind--out of her memory.
+
+And then there, came an eager stir of excitement and of attention
+throughout the whole court, for the policeman had stepped down out of
+the witness-box, and one of the women witnesses was being conducted to
+his place.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked with interest and sympathy at the woman,
+remembering how she herself had trembled with fear, trembled as that
+poor, bedraggled, common-looking person was trembling now. The woman
+had looked so cheerful, so--so well pleased with herself till a
+minute ago, but now she had become very pale, and she looked round
+her as a hunted animal might have done.
+
+But the coroner was very kind, very soothing and gentle in his
+manner, just as that other coroner had been when dealing with Ellen
+Green at the inquest on that poor drowned girl.
+
+After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn words
+of the oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story.
+At once Mrs. Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimed
+to have seen The Avenger from her bedroom window. Gaining confidence,
+as she went on, the witness described how she had heard a long-drawn,
+stifled screech, and, aroused from deep sleep, had instinctively
+jumped out of bed and rushed to her window.
+
+The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk. "Let me
+see! Here is the plan. Yes--I think I understand that the house
+in which you are lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimes
+were committed?"
+
+And there arose a quick, futile discussion. The house did not face
+the alley, but the window of the witness's bedroom faced the alley.
+
+"A distinction without a difference," said the coroner testily.
+"And now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw when
+you looked out."
+
+There fell a dead silence on the crowded court. And then the woman
+broke out, speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done.
+"I saw 'im!" she cried. "I shall never forget it--no, not till my
+dying day!" And she looked round defiantly.
+
+Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men had
+had with a person who slept under this woman's room. That person
+had unkindly said she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up that
+night--that she had made up the whole story. She, the speaker, slept
+lightly, and that night had been tending a sick child. Accordingly,
+she would have heard if there had been either the scream described
+by Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping out of bed.
+
+"We quite understand that you think you saw the"--the coroner
+hesitated--"the individual who had just perpetrated these terrible
+crimes. But what we want to have from you is a description of him.
+In spite of the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, you
+say you saw him distinctly, walking along for some yards below your
+window. Now, please, try and tell us what he was like."
+
+The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a coloured
+handkerchief she held in her hand.
+
+"Let us begin at the beginning," said the coroner patiently. "What
+sort of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying from
+the passage?"
+
+"It was just a black 'at" said the witness at last, in a husky,
+rather anxious tone.
+
+"Yes--just a black hat. And a coat--were you able to see what
+sort of a coat he was wearing?"
+
+"'E 'adn't got no coat" she said decidedly. "No coat at all! I
+remembers that very perticulerly. I thought it queer, as it was
+so cold--everybody as can wears some sort o' coat this weather!"
+
+A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, and
+apparently not attending at all to what the witness was saying, here
+jumped up and put out his hand.
+
+"Yes?" the coroner turned to him.
+
+"I just want to say that this 'ere witness--if her name is Lizzie
+Cole, began by saying The Avenger was wearing a coat--a big, heavy
+coat. I've got it here, in this bit of paper."
+
+"I never said so!" cried the woman passionately. "I was made to
+say all those things by the young man what came to me from the
+Evening Sun. Just put in what 'e liked in 'is paper, 'e did--not
+what I said at all!"
+
+At this there was some laughter, quickly suppressed.
+
+"In future," said the coroner severely, addressing the juryman, who
+had now sat down again, "you must ask any question you wish to ask
+through your foreman, and please wait till I have concluded my
+examination of the witness."
+
+But this interruption, this--this accusation, had utterly upset
+the witness. She began contradicting herself hopelessly. The man
+she had seen hurrying by in the semi-darkness below was tall--no,
+he was short. He was thin--no, he was a stoutish young man. And
+as to whether he was carrying anything, there was quite an
+acrimonious discussion.
+
+Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared that she had
+seen a newspaper parcel under his arm; it had bulged out at the back
+--so she declared. But it was proved, very gently and firmly, that
+she had said nothing of the kind to the gentleman from Scotland Yard
+who had taken down her first account--in fact, to him she had
+declared confidently that the man had carried nothing--nothing at
+all; that she had seen his arms swinging up and down.
+
+One fact--if fact it could be called--the coroner did elicit.
+Lizzie Cole suddenly volunteered the statement that as he had passed
+her window he had looked up at her. This was quite a new statement.
+
+"He looked up at you?" repeated the coroner. "You said nothing of
+that in your examination."
+
+"I said nothink because I was scared--nigh scared to death!"
+
+"If you could really see his countenance, for we know the night was
+dark and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like?"
+
+But the coroner was speaking casually, his hand straying over his
+desk; not a creature in that court now believed the woman's story.
+
+"Dark!" she answered dramatically. "Dark, almost black! If you can
+take my meaning, with a sort of nigger look."
+
+And then there was a titter. Even the jury smiled. And sharply the
+coroner bade Lizzie Cole stand down.
+
+Far more credence was given to the evidence of the next witness.
+
+This was an older, quieter-looking woman, decently dressed in black.
+Being the wife of a night watchman whose work lay in a big warehouse
+situated about a hundred yards from the alley or passage where the
+crimes had taken place, she had gone out to take her husband some
+food he always had at one in the morning. And a man had passed her,
+breathing hard and walking very quickly. Her attention had been
+drawn to him because she very seldom met anyone at that hour, and
+because he had such an odd, peculiar look and manner.
+
+Mrs. Bunting, listening attentively, realised that it was very much
+from what this witness had said that the official description of The
+Avenger had been composed--that description which had brought such
+comfort to her, Ellen Bunting's, soul.
+
+This witness spoke quietly, confidently, and her account of the
+newspaper parcel the man was carrying was perfectly clear and
+positive.
+
+"It was a neat parcel," she said, "done up with string."
+
+She had thought it an odd thing for a respectably dressed young man
+to carry such a parcel--that was what had made her notice it. But
+when pressed, she had to admit that it had been a very foggy night
+--so foggy that she herself had been afraid of losing her way,
+though every step was familiar.
+
+When the third woman went into the box, and with sighs and tears
+told of her acquaintance with one of the deceased, with Johanna
+Cobbett, there was a stir of sympathetic attention. But she had
+nothing to say throwing any light on the investigation, save that
+she admitted reluctantly that "Anny" would have been such a nice,
+respectable young woman if it hadn't been for the drink.
+
+Her examination was shortened as much as possible; and so was that
+of the next witness, the husband of Johanna Cobbett. He was a very
+respectable-looking man, a foreman in a big business house at Croydon.
+He seemed to feel his position most acutely. He hadn't seen his
+wife for two years; he hadn't had news of her for six months. Before
+she took to drink she had been an admirable wife, and--and yes,
+mother.
+
+Yet another painful few minutes, to anyone who had a heart, or
+imagination to understand, was spent when the father of the murdered
+woman was in the box. He had had later news of his unfortunate
+daughter than her husband had had, but of course he could throw no
+light at all on her murder or murderer.
+
+A barman, who had served both the women with drink just before the
+public-house closed for the night, was handled rather roughly. He
+had stepped with a jaunty air into the box, and came out of it
+looking cast down, uneasy.
+
+And then there took place a very dramatic, because an utterly
+unexpected, incident. It was one of which the evening papers made
+the utmost much to Mrs. Bunting's indignation. But neither coroner
+nor jury--and they, after all, were the people who mattered--
+thought a great deal of it.
+
+There had come a pause in the proceedings. All seven witnesses had
+been heard, and a gentleman near Mrs. Bunting whispered, "They are
+now going to call Dr. Gaunt. He's been in every big murder case for
+the last thirty years. He's sure to have something interesting to
+say. It was really to hear him I came."
+
+But before Dr. Gaunt had time even to get up from the seat with
+which he had been accommodated close to the coroner, there came a
+stir among the general public, or, rather, among those spectators
+who stood near the low wooden door which separated the official
+part of the court from the gallery.
+
+The coroner's officer, with an apologetic air, approached the
+coroner, and banded him up an envelope. And again in an instant,
+there fell absolute silence on the court.
+
+Looking rather annoyed, the coroner opened the envelope. He glanced
+down the sheet of notepaper it contained. Then he looked up.
+
+"Mr.--" then he glanced down again. "Mr.--ah--Mr.--is it Cannot?"
+he said doubtfully, "may come forward."
+
+There ran a titter though the spectators, and the coroner frowned.
+
+A neat, jaunty-looking old gentleman, in a nice fur-lined overcoat,
+with a fresh, red face and white side-whiskers, was conducted from
+the place where he had been standing among the general public, to
+the witness-box.
+
+"This is somewhat out of order, Mr.--er--Cannot," said the
+coroner severely. "You should have sent me this note before the
+proceedings began. This gentleman," he said, addressing the jury,
+"informs me that he has something of the utmost importance to
+reveal in connection with our investigation."
+
+"I have remained silent--I have locked what I knew within my own
+breast"--began Mr. Cannot in a quavering voice, "because I am so
+afraid of the Press! I knew if I said anything, even to the police,
+that my house would be besieged by reporters and newspaper men. . . .
+I have a delicate wife, Mr. Coroner. Such a state of things--the
+state of things I imagine--might cause her death--indeed, I hope
+she will never read a report of these proceedings. Fortunately, she
+has an excellent trained nurse--"
+
+"You will now take the oath," said the coroner sharply. He already
+regretted having allowed this absurd person to have his say.
+
+Mr. Cannot took the oath with a gravity and decorum which had been
+lacking in most of those who had preceded him.
+
+"I will, address myself to the jury," he began.
+
+"You will do nothing of the sort," broke in the coroner. "Now,
+please attend to me. You assert in your letter that you know who
+is the--the--"
+
+"The Avenger," put in Mr. Cannot promptly.
+
+"The perpetrator of these crimes. You further declare that you met
+him on the very night he committed the murder we are now
+investigating?"
+
+"I do so declare," said Mr. Cannot confidently. "Though in the best
+of health myself,"--he beamed round the court, a now amused,
+attentive court--"it is my fate to be surrounded by sick people, to
+have only ailing friends. I have to trouble you with my private
+affairs, Mr. Coroner, in order to explain why I happened to be out
+at so undue an hour as one o'clock in the morning--"
+
+Again a titter ran through the court. Even the jury broke into
+broad smiles.
+
+"Yes," went on the witness solemnly, "I was with a sick friend--in
+fact, I may say a dying friend, for since then he has passed away.
+I will not reveal my exact dwelling-place; you, sir, have it on my
+notepaper. It is not necessary to reveal it, but you will understand
+me when I say that in order to come home I had to pass through a
+portion of the Regent's Park; and it was there--to be exact, about
+the middle of Prince's Terrace--when a very peculiar-looking
+individual stopped and accosted me."
+
+Mrs. Bunting's hand shot up to her breast. A feeling of deadly fear
+took possession of her.
+
+"I mustn't faint," she said to herself hurriedly. "I mustn't faint!
+Whatever's the matter with me?" She took out her bottle of
+smelling-salts, and gave it a good, long sniff.
+
+"He was a grim, gaunt man, was this stranger, Mr. Coroner, with a
+very odd-looking face. I should say an educated man--in common
+parlance, a gentleman. What drew my special attention to him was
+that he was talking aloud to himself--in fact, he seemed to be
+repeating poetry. I give you my word, I had no thought of The
+Avenger, no thought at all. To tell you the truth, I thought this
+gentleman was a poor escaped lunatic, a man who'd got away from his
+keeper. The Regent's Park, sir, as I need hardly tell you, is a
+most quiet and soothing neighbourhood--"
+
+And then a member of the general public gave a loud guffaw.
+
+"I appeal to you; sir," the old gentleman suddenly cried out "to
+protect me from this unseemly levity! I have not come here with
+any other object than that of doing my duty as a citizen!"
+
+"I must ask you to keep to what is strictly relevant" said the
+coroner stiffly. "Time is going on, and I have another important
+witness to call--a medical witness. Kindly tell me, as shortly as
+possible, what made you suppose that this stranger could possibly
+be--" with an effort he brought out for the first time since the
+proceedings began, the words, "The Avenger?"
+
+"I am coming to that!" said Mr. Cannot hastily. "I am coming to
+that! Bear with me a little longer, Mr. Coroner. It was a foggy
+night, but not as foggy as it became later. And just when we were
+passing one an-other, I and this man, who was talking aloud to
+himself--he, instead of going on, stopped and turned towards
+me. That made me feel queer and uncomfortable, the more so that
+there was a very wild, mad look on his face. I said to him, as
+soothingly as possible, 'A very foggy night, sir.' And he said,
+'Yes--yes, it is a foggy night, a night fit for the commission of
+dark and salutary deeds.' A very strange phrase, sir, that--'dark
+and salutary deeds.'" He looked at the coroner expectantly--
+
+"Well? Well, Mr. Cannot? Was that all? Did you see this person
+go off in the direction of--of King's Cross, for instance?"
+
+"No." Mr. Cannot reluctantly shook his head. "No, I must honestly
+say I did not. He walked along a certain way by my side, and then
+he crossed the road and was lost in the fog."
+
+"That will do," said the coroner. He spoke more kindly. "I thank
+you, Mr. Cannot, for coming here and giving us what you evidently
+consider important information."
+
+Mr. Cannot bowed, a funny, little, old-fashioned bow, and again some
+of those present tittered rather foolishly.
+
+As he was stepping down from the witness-box, he turned and looked
+up at the coroner, opening his lips as he did so. There was a
+murmur of talking going on, but Mrs. Bunting, at any rate, heard
+quite distinctly what it was that he said:
+
+"One thing I have forgotten, sir, which may be of importance. The
+man carried a bag--a rather light-coloured leather bag, in his left
+hand. It was such a bag, sir, as might well contain a long-handled
+knife."
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at the reporters' table. She remembered suddenly
+that she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth's bag.
+And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a
+single reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that last
+remark of Mr. Cannot. In fact, not one of them had heard it.
+
+Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. And
+then silence did fall on the court.
+
+"One word more," he said in a quavering voice. "May I ask to be
+accommodated with a seat for the rest of the proceedings? I see
+there is some room left on the witnesses' bench." And, without
+waiting for permission, he nimbly stepped across and sat down.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked up, startled. Her friend, the inspector, was
+bending over her.
+
+"Perhaps you'd like to come along now," he said urgently.--"I
+don't suppose you want to hear the medical evidence. It's always
+painful for a female to hear that. And there'll be an awful rush
+when the inquest's over. I could get you away quietly now."
+
+She rose, and, pulling her veil down over her pale face, followed
+him obediently.
+
+Down the stone staircase they went, and through the big, now empty,
+room downstairs.
+
+"I'll let you out the back way," he said. "I expect you're tired,
+ma'am, and will like to get home to a cup o' tea."
+
+"I don't know how to thank you!" There were tears in her eyes.
+She was trembling with excitement and emotion. "You have been good
+to me."
+
+"Oh, that's nothing," he said a little awkwardly. "I expect you
+went though a pretty bad time, didn't you?"
+
+"Will they be having that old gentleman again?" she spoke in a
+whisper, and looked up at him with a pleading, agonised look.
+
+"Good Lord, no! Crazy old fool! We're troubled with a lot of
+those sort of people, you know, ma'am, and they often do have funny
+names, too. You see, that sort is busy all their lives in the City,
+or what not; then they retires when they gets about sixty, and
+they're fit to hang themselves with dulness. Why, there's hundreds
+of lunies of the sort to be met in London. You can't go about at
+night and not meet 'em. Plenty of 'em!"
+
+"Then you don't think there was anything in what he said?" she
+ventured.
+
+"In what that old gent said? Goodness--no!" he laughed
+good-naturedly. "But I'll tell you what I do think. If it wasn't
+for the time that had gone by, I should believe that the second
+witness had seen that crafty devil--" he lowered his voice. "But,
+there, Dr. Gaunt declares most positively--so did two other medical
+gentlemen--that the poor creatures had been dead hours when they
+was found. Medical gentlemen are always very positive about their
+evidence. They have to be--otherwise who'd believe 'em? If we'd
+time I could tell you of a case in which--well, 'twas all because
+of Dr. Gaunt that the murderer escaped. We all knew perfectly well
+the man we caught did it, but he was able to prove an alibi as to
+the time Dr. Gaunt said the poor soul was killed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+It was not late even now, for the inquest had begun very punctually,
+but Mrs. Bunting felt that no power on earth should force her to go
+to Ealing. She felt quite tired out and as if she could think of
+nothing.
+
+Pacing along very slowly, as if she were an old, old woman, she
+began listlessly turning her steps towards home. Somehow she felt
+that it would do her more good to stay out in the air than take the
+train. Also she would thus put off the moment--the moment to which
+she looked forward with dread and dislike--when she would have to
+invent a circumstantial story as to what she had said to the doctor,
+and what the doctor had said to her.
+
+Like most men and women of his class, Bunting took a great interest
+in other people's ailments, the more interest that he was himself so
+remarkably healthy. He would feel quite injured if Ellen didn't
+tell him everything that had happened; everything, that is, that the
+doctor had told her.
+
+As she walked swiftly along, at every corner, or so it seemed to her,
+and outside every public-house, stood eager boys selling the latest
+edition of the afternoon papers to equally eager buyers. "Avenger
+Inquest?" they shouted exultantly. "All the latest evidence!" At
+one place, where there were a row of contents-bills pinned to the
+pavement by stones, she stopped and looked down. "Opening of the
+Avenger Inquest. What is he really like? Full description." On yet
+another ran the ironic query: "Avenger Inquest. Do you know him?"
+
+And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs.
+Bunting turned sick--so sick and faint that she did what she had
+never done before in her life--she pushed her way into a
+public-house, and, putting two pennies down on the counter, asked
+for, and received, a glass of cold water.
+
+As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind
+dwelling persistently--not on the inquest at which she had been
+present, not even on The Avenger, but on his victims.
+
+Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the
+mortuary. She seemed also to see that third body, which, though
+cold, must yet be warmer than the other two, for at this time
+yesterday The Avenger's last victim had been alive, poor soul--
+alive and, according to a companion of hers whom the papers had
+already interviewed, particularly merry and bright.
+
+Hitherto Mrs. Bunting had been spared in any real sense a vision of
+The Avenger's victims. Now they haunted her, and she wondered
+wearily if this fresh horror was to be added to the terrible fear
+which encompassed her night and day.
+
+As she came within sight of home, her spirit suddenly lightened.
+The narrow, drab-coloured little house, flanked each side by others
+exactly like it in every single particular, save that their front
+yards were not so well kept, looked as if it could, aye, and would,
+keep any secret closely hidden.
+
+For a moment, at any rate, The Avenger's victims receded from her
+mind. She thought of them no more. All her thoughts were
+concentrated on Bunting--Bunting and Mr. Sleuth. She wondered what
+had happened during her absence--whether the lodger had rung his
+bell, and, if so, how he had got on with Bunting, and Bunting with
+him?
+
+She walked up the little flagged path wearily, and yet with a
+pleasant feeling of home-coming. And then she saw that Bunting must
+have been watching for her behind the now closely drawn curtains,
+for before she could either knock or ring he had opened the door.
+
+"I was getting quite anxious about you," he exclaimed. "Come in,
+Ellen, quick! You must be fair perished a day like now--and you
+out so little as you are. Well? I hope you found the doctor all
+right?" He looked at her with affectionate anxiety.
+
+And then there came a sudden, happy thought to Mrs. Bunting. "No,"
+she said slowly, "Doctor Evans wasn't in. I waited, and waited, and
+waited, but he never came in at all. 'Twas my own fault," she added
+quickly. Even at such a moment as this she told herself that though
+she had, in a sort of way, a kind of right to lie to her husband,
+she had no sight to slander the doctor who had been so kind to her
+years ago. "I ought to have sent him a card yesterday night," she
+said. "Of course, I was a fool to go all that way, just on chance
+of finding a doctor in. It stands to reason they've got to go out
+to people at all times of day."
+
+"I hope they gave you a cup of tea?" he said.
+
+And again she hesitated, debating a point with herself: if the
+doctor had a decent sort of servant, of course, she, Ellen Bunting,
+would have been offered a cup of tea, especially if she explained
+she'd known him a long time.
+
+She compromised. "I was offered some," she said, in a weak, tired
+voice. "But there, Bunting, I didn't feel as if I wanted it. I'd
+be very grateful for a cup now--if you'd just make it for me over
+the ring."
+
+"'Course I will," he said eagerly. "You just come in and sit down,
+my dear. Don't trouble to take your things off now--wait till
+you've had tea."
+
+And she obeyed him. "Where's Daisy?" she asked suddenly. "I thought
+the girl would be back by the time I got home."
+
+"She ain't coming home to-day"--there was an odd, sly, smiling look
+on Bunting's face.
+
+"Did she send a telegram?" asked Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"No. Young Chandler's just come in and told me. He's been over
+there and,--would you believe it, Ellen?--he's managed to make
+friends with Margaret. Wonderful what love will do, ain't it? He
+went over there just to help Daisy carry her bag back, you know,
+and then Margaret told him that her lady had sent her some money
+to go to the play, and she actually asked Joe to go with them this
+evening--she and Daisy--to the pantomime. Did you ever hear o'
+such a thing?"
+
+"Very nice for them, I'm sure," said Mrs. Bunting absently. But
+she was pleased--pleased to have her mind taken off herself. "Then
+when is that girl coming home?" she asked patiently.
+
+"Well, it appears that Chandler's got to-morrow morning off too--
+this evening and to-morrow morning. He'll be on duty all night,
+but he proposes to go over and bring Daisy back in time for early
+dinner. Will that suit you, Ellen?"
+
+"Yes. That'll be all right," she said. "I don't grudge the girl
+her bit of pleasure. One's only young once. By the way, did the
+lodger ring while I was out?"
+
+Bunting turned round from the gas-ring, which he was watching to
+see the kettle boil. "No," he said. "Come to think of it, it's
+rather a funny thing, but the truth is, Ellen, I never gave Mr.
+Sleuth a thought. You see, Chandler came in and was telling me all
+about Margaret, laughing-like, and then something else happened
+while you was out, Ellen."
+
+"Something else happened?" she said in a startled voice. Getting
+up from her chair she came towards her husband: "What happened?
+Who came?"
+
+"Just a message for me, asking if I could go to-night to wait at a
+young lady's birthday party. In Hanover Terrace it is. A waiter
+--one of them nasty Swiss fellows as works for nothing--fell out
+just at the last minute and so they had to send for me."
+
+His honest face shone with triumph. The man who had taken over his
+old friend's business in Baker Street had hitherto behaved very
+badly to Bunting, and that though Bunting had been on the books for
+ever so long, and had always given every satisfaction. But this new
+man had never employed him--no, not once.
+
+"I hope you didn't make yourself too cheap?" said his wife jealously.
+
+"No, that I didn't! I hum'd and haw'd a lot; and I could see the
+fellow was quite worried--in fact, at the end he offered me
+half-a-crown more. So I graciously consented!"
+
+Husband and wife laughed more merrily than they had done for a long
+time.
+
+"You won't mind being alone, here? I don't count the lodger--he's
+no good--" Bunting looked at her anxiously. He was only prompted
+to ask the question because lately Ellen had been so queer, so
+unlike herself. Otherwise it never would have occurred to him that
+she could be afraid of being alone in the house. She had often been
+so in the days when he got more jobs.
+
+She stared at him, a little suspiciously. "I be afraid?" she echoed.
+"Certainly not. Why should I be? I've never been afraid before.
+What d'you exactly mean by that, Bunting?"
+
+"Oh, nothing. I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone
+on this ground floor. You was so upset yesterday when that young
+fool Chandler came, dressed up, to the door."
+
+"I shouldn't have been frightened if he'd just been an ordinary
+stranger," she said shortly. "He said something silly to me--just
+in keeping with his character-like, and it upset me. Besides, I
+feel better now."
+
+As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise
+outside, the shouts of newspaper-sellers.
+
+"I'll just run out," said Bunting apologetically, "and see what
+happened at that inquest to-day. Besides, they may have a clue
+about the horrible affair last night. Chandler was full of it--
+when he wasn't talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is. He's
+on to-night, luckily not till twelve o'clock; plenty of time to
+escort the two of 'em back after the play. Besides, he said
+he'll put them into a cab and blow the expense, if the panto'
+goes on too long for him to take 'em home."
+
+"On to-night?". repeated Mrs. Bunting. "Whatever for?"
+
+"Well, you see, The Avenger's always done 'em in couples, so to
+speak. They've got an idea that he'll have a try again to-night.
+However, even so, Joe's only on from midnight till five o'clock.
+Then he'll go and turn in a bit before going off to fetch Daisy,
+Fine thing to be young, ain't it, Ellen?"
+
+"I can't believe that he'd go out on such a night as this!"
+
+"What do you mean?" said Bunting, staring at her. Ellen had spoken
+so oddly, as if to herself, and in so fierce and passionate a tone.
+
+"What do I mean?" she repeated--and a great fear clutched at her
+heart. What had she said? She had been thinking aloud.
+
+"Why, by saying he won't go out. Of course, he has to go out.
+Besides, he'll have been to the play as it is. 'Twould be a pretty
+thing if the police didn't go out, just because it was cold!"
+
+"I--I was thinking of The Avenger," said Mrs. Bunting. She looked
+at her husband fixedly. Somehow she had felt impelled to utter
+those true words.
+
+"He don't take no heed of heat nor cold," said Bunting sombrely.
+"I take it the man's dead to all human feeling--saving, of
+course, revenge."
+
+"So that's your idea about him, is it?" She looked across at her
+husband. Somehow this dangerous, this perilous conversation between
+them attracted her strangely. She felt as if she must go on with it.
+"D'you think he was the man that woman said she saw? That young
+man what passed her with a newspaper parcel?"
+
+"Let me see," he said slowly. "I thought that 'twas from the bedroom
+window a woman saw him?"
+
+"No, no. I mean the other woman, what was taking her husband's
+breakfast to him in the warehouse. She was far the most
+respectable-looking woman of the two," said Mrs. Bunting impatiently.
+
+And then, seeing her husband's look of utter, blank astonishment,
+she felt a thrill of unreasoning terror. She must have gone suddenly
+mad to have said what she did! Hurriedly she got up from her chair.
+"There, now," she said; "here I am gossiping all about nothing when
+I ought to be seeing about the lodger's supper. It was someone in
+the train talked to me about that person as thinks she saw The
+Avenger."
+
+Without waiting for an answer, she went into her bedroom, lit the
+gas, and shut the door. A moment later she heard Bunting go out to
+buy the paper they had both forgotten during their dangerous
+discussion.
+
+As she slowly, languidly took off her nice, warm coat and shawl,
+Mrs. Bunting found herself shivering. It was dreadfully cold, quite
+unnaturally cold even for the time of year.
+
+She looked longingly towards the fireplace. It was now concealed
+by the washhand-stand, but how pleasant it would be to drag that
+stand aside and light a bit of fire, especially as Bunting was going
+to be out to-night. He would have to put on his dress clothes, and
+she didn't like his dressing in the sitting-room. It didn't suit
+her ideas that he should do so. How if she did light the fire here,
+in their bedroom? It would be nice for her to have bit of fire to
+cheer her up after he had gone.
+
+Mrs. Bunting knew only too well that she would have very little
+sleep the coming night. She looked over, with shuddering distaste,
+at her nice, soft bed. There she would lie, on that couch of little
+ease, listening--listening. . . .
+
+She went down to the kitchen. Everything was ready for Mr. Sleuth's
+supper, for she had made all her preparations before going out so
+as not to have to hurry back before it suited her to do so.
+
+Leaning the tray for a moment on the top of the banisters, she
+listened. Even in that nice warm drawing-room, and with a good
+fire, how cold the lodger must feel sitting studying at the table!
+But unwonted sounds were coming through the door. Mr. Sleuth was
+moving restlessly about the room, not sitting reading, as was his
+wont at this time of the evening.
+
+She knocked, and then waited a moment.
+
+There came the sound of a sharp click, that of the key turning in
+the lock of the chiffonnier cupboard--or so Mr. Sleuth's landlady
+could have sworn.
+
+There was a pause--she knocked again.
+
+"Come in," said Mr. Sleuth loudly, and she opened the door and
+carried in the tray.
+
+"You are a little earlier than usual, are you not Mrs. Bunting?"
+he said, with a touch of irritation in his voice.
+
+"I don't think so, sir, but I've been out. Perhaps I lost count of
+the time. I thought you'd like your breakfast early, as you had
+dinner rather sooner than usual."
+
+"Breakfast? Did you say breakfast, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure! I meant supper." He looked at
+her fixedly. It seemed to Mrs. Bunting that there was a terrible
+questioning look in his dark, sunken eyes.
+
+"Aren't you well?" he said slowly. "You don't look well, Mrs.
+Bunting."
+
+"No, sir," she said. "I'm not well. I went over to see a doctor
+this afternoon, to Ealing, sir."
+
+"I hope he did you good, Mrs. Bunting"--the lodger's voice had
+become softer, kinder in quality.
+
+"It always does me good to see the doctor," said Mrs. Bunting
+evasively.
+
+And then a very odd smile lit up Mr. Sleuth's face. "Doctors are a
+maligned body of men," he said. "I'm glad to hear you speak well of
+them. They do their best, Mrs. Bunting. Being human they are liable
+to err, but I assure you they do their best."
+
+"That I'm sure they do, sir "--she spoke heartily, sincerely.
+Doctors had always treated her most kindly, and even generously.
+
+And then, having laid the cloth, and put the lodger's one hot dish
+upon it, she went towards the door. "Wouldn't you like me to bring
+up another scuttleful of coals, sir? it's bitterly cold--getting
+colder every minute. A fearful night to have to go out in--" she
+looked at him deprecatingly.
+
+And then Mr. Sleuth did something which startled her very much.
+Pushing his chair back, he jumped up and drew himself to his full
+height.
+
+"What d'you mean?" he stammered. "Why did you say that, Mrs.
+Bunting?"
+
+She stared at him, fascinated, affrighted. Again there came an
+awful questioning look over his face.
+
+"I was thinking of Bunting, sir. He's got a job to-night. He's
+going to act as waiter at a young lady's birthday party. I was
+thinking it's a pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes,
+too"--she brought out her words jerkily.
+
+Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down. "Ah!"
+he said. "Dear me--I'm sorry to hear that! I hope your husband
+will not catch cold, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
+
+******
+
+Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy
+washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
+
+Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
+
+"Time for you to dress," she cried out cheerfully, "and I've got a
+little bit of fire for you to dress by."
+
+As he exclaimed at her extravagance, "Well, 'twill be pleasant for
+me, too; keep me company-like while you're out; and make the room
+nice and warm when you come in. You'll be fair perished, even
+walking that short way," she said.
+
+And then, while her husband was dressing, Mrs. Bunting went upstairs
+and cleared away Mr. Sleuth's supper.
+
+The lodger said no word while she was so engaged--no word at all.
+
+He was sitting away from the table, rather an unusual thing for him
+to do, and staring into the fire, his hands on his knees.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn. Somehow, a
+great rush of pity, as well as of horror, came over Mrs. Bunting's
+heart. He was such a--a--she searched for a word in her mind, but
+could only find the word "gentle"--he was such a nice, gentle
+gentleman, was Mr. Sleuth. Lately he had again taken to leaving his
+money about, as he had done the first day or two, and with some
+concern his landlady had seen that the store had diminished a good
+deal. A very simple calculation had made her realise that almost the
+whole of that missing money had come her way, or, at any rate, had
+passed through her hands.
+
+Mr. Sleuth never stinted himself as to food, or stinted them, his
+landlord and his landlady, as to what he had said he would pay.
+And Mrs. Bunting's conscience pricked her a little, for he hardly
+ever used that room upstairs--that room for which he had paid extra
+so generously. If Bunting got another job or two through that nasty
+man in Baker Street,--and now that the ice had been broken between
+them it was very probable that he would do so, for he was a very
+well-trained, experienced waiter--then she thought she would tell
+Mr. Sleuth that she no longer wanted him to pay as much as he was
+now doing.
+
+She looked anxiously, deprecatingly, at his long, bent back.
+
+"Good-night, sir," she said at last.
+
+Mr. Sleuth turned round. His face looked sad and worn.
+
+"I hope you'll sleep well, sir."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure I shall sleep well. But perhaps I shall take a
+little turn first. Such is my way, Mrs. Bunting; after I have been
+studying all day I require a little exercise."
+
+"Oh, I wouldn't go out to-night," she said deprecatingly. "'Tisn't
+fit for anyone to be out in the bitter cold."
+
+"And yet--and yet"--he looked at her attentively--"there will
+probably be many people out in the streets to-night."
+
+"A many more than usual, I fear, sir."
+
+"Indeed?" said Mr. Sleuth quickly. "Is it not a strange thing,
+Mrs. Bunting, that people who have all day in which to amuse
+themselves should carry their revels far into the night?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't thinking of revellers, sir; I was thinking"--she
+hesitated, then, with a gasping effort Mrs. Bunting brought out the
+words, "of the police."
+
+"The police?" He put up his right hand and stroked his chin two or
+three times with a nervous gesture. "But what is man--what is man's
+puny power or strength against that of God, or even of those over
+whose feet God has set a guard?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked at his landlady with a kind of triumph lighting up
+his face, and Mrs. Bunting felt a shuddering sense of relief. Then
+she had not offended her lodger? She had not made him angry by that,
+that--was it a hint she had meant to convey to him?
+
+"Very true, sir," she said respectfully. "But Providence means us
+to take care o' ourselves too." And then she closed the door behind
+her and went downstairs.
+
+But Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go on, down to the kitchen. She
+came into her sitting-room, and, careless of what Bunting would think
+the next morning, put the tray with the remains of the lodger's meal on
+her table. Having done that, and having turned out the gas in the
+passage and the sitting-room, she went into her bedroom and closed the
+door.
+
+The fire was burning brightly and clearly. She told herself that
+she did not need any other light to undress by.
+
+What was it made the flames of the fire shoot up, shoot down, in
+that queer way? But watching it for awhile, she did at last doze
+off a bit.
+
+And then--and then Mrs. Bunting woke with a sudden thumping of her
+heart. Woke to see that the fire was almost out--woke to hear a
+quarter to twelve chime out--woke at last to the sound she had been
+listening for before she fell asleep--the sound of Mr. Sleuth,
+wearing his rubber-soled shoes, creeping downstairs, along the
+passage, and so out, very, very quietly by the front door.
+
+But once she was in bed Mrs. Bunting turned restless. She tossed
+this way and that, full of discomfort and unease. Perhaps it was
+the unaccustomed firelight dancing on the walls, making queer shadows
+all round her, which kept her so wide awake.
+
+She lay thinking and listening--listening and thinking. It even
+occurred to her to do the one thing that might have quieted her
+excited brain--to get a book, one of those detective stories of
+which Bunting had a slender store in the next room, and then,
+lighting the gas, to sit up and read.
+
+No, Mrs. Bunting had always been told it was very wrong to read in
+bed, and she was not in a mood just now to begin doing anything that
+she had been told was wrong. . . .
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+It was a very cold night--so cold, so windy, so snow-laden was the
+atmosphere, that everyone who could do so stayed indoors.
+
+Bunting, however, was now on his way home from what had proved a
+really pleasant job. A remarkable piece of luck had come his way
+this evening, all the more welcome because it was quite unexpected!
+The young lady at whose birthday party he had been present in
+capacity of waiter had come into a fortune that day, and she had had
+the gracious, the surprising thought of presenting each of the hired
+waiters with a sovereign!
+
+This gift, which had been accompanied by a few kind words, had gone
+to Bunting's heart. It had confirmed him in his Conservative
+principles; only gentlefolk ever behaved in that way; quiet,
+old-fashioned, respectable, gentlefolk, the sort of people of whom
+those nasty Radicals know nothing and care less!
+
+But the ex-butler was not as happy as he should have been.
+Slackening his footsteps, he began to think with puzzled concern of
+how queer his wife had seemed lately. Ellen had become so nervous,
+so "jumpy," that he didn't know what to make of her sometimes. She
+had never been really good-tempered--your capable, self-respecting
+woman seldom is--but she had never been like what she was now. And
+she didn't get better as the days went on; in fact she got worse.
+Of late she had been quite hysterical, and for no reason at all!
+Take that little practical joke of young Joe Chandler. Ellen knew
+quite well he often had to go about in some kind of disguise, and yet
+how she had gone on, quite foolish-like--not at all as one would
+have expected her to do.
+
+There was another queer thing about her which disturbed him in more
+senses than one. During the last three weeks or so Ellen had taken
+to talking in her sleep. "No, no, no!" she had cried out, only the
+night before. "It isn't true--I won't have it said--it's a lie!"
+And there had been a wail of horrible fear and revolt in her usually
+quiet, mincing voice.
+
+******
+
+Whew! it was cold; and he had stupidly forgotten his gloves.
+
+He put his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and began walking
+more quickly.
+
+As h& tramped steadily along, the ex-butler suddenly caught sight
+of his lodger walking along the opposite side of the solitary street
+--one of those short streets leading off the broad road which
+encircles Regent's Park.
+
+Well! This was a funny time o' night to be taking a stroll for
+pleasure, like!
+
+Glancing across, Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth's tall, thin figure
+was rather bowed, and that his head was bent toward the ground. His
+left arm was thrust into his long Inverness tape, and so was quite
+hidden, but the other side of the cape bulged out, as if the lodger
+were carrying a bag or parcel in the hand which hung down straight.
+
+Mr. Sleuth was walking rather quickly, and as he walked he talked
+aloud, which, as Bunting knew, is not unusual with gentlemen who live
+much alone. It was clear that he had not yet become aware of the
+proximity of his landlord.
+
+Bunting told himself that Ellen was right. Their lodger was
+certainly a most eccentric, peculiar person. Strange, was it not,
+that that odd, luny-like gentleman should have made all the
+difference to his, Bunting's, and Mrs. Bunting's happiness and
+comfort in life?
+
+Again glancing across at Mr. Sleuth, he reminded himself, not for
+the first time, of this perfect lodger's one fault--his odd dislike
+to meat, and to what Bunting vaguely called to himself, sensible food.
+
+But there, you can't have everything! The more so that the lodger
+was not one of those crazy vegetarians who won't eat eggs and cheese.
+No, he was reasonable in this, as in everything else connected with
+his dealings with the Buntings.
+
+As we know, Bunting saw far less of the lodger than did his wife.
+Indeed, he had been upstairs only three or four times since Mr.
+Sleuth had been with them, and when his landlord had had occasion
+to wait on him the lodger had remained silent. Indeed, their
+gentleman had made it very clear that he did not like either the
+husband or wife to come up to his rooms without being definitely
+asked to do so.
+
+Now, surely, would be a good opportunity for a little genial
+conversation? Bunting felt pleased to see his lodger; it increased
+his general comfortable sense of satisfaction.
+
+So it was that the butler, still an active man for his years,
+crossed over the road, and, stepping briskly forward, began trying
+to overtake Mr. Sleuth. But the more he hurried along, the more the
+other hastened, and that without ever turning round to see whose
+steps he could hear echoing behind him on the now freezing pavement.
+
+Mr. Sleuth's own footsteps were quite inaudible--an odd circumstance,
+when you came to think of it--as Bunting did think of it later,
+lying awake by Mrs. Bunting's side in the pitch darkness. What it
+meant of course, was that the lodger had rubber soles on his shoes.
+Now Bunting had never had a pair of rubber-soled shoes sent down to
+him to dean. He had always supposed the lodger had only one pair of
+outdoor boots.
+
+The two men--the pursued and the pursuer--at last turned into the
+Marylebone Road; they were now within a few hundred yards of home.
+Plucking up courage, Bunting called out, his voice echoing freshly
+on the still air:
+
+"Mr Sleuth, sir? Mr. Sleuth!"
+
+The lodger stopped and turned round.
+
+He had been walking so quickly, and he was in so poor a physical
+condition, that the sweat was pouring down his face.
+
+"Ah! So it's you, Mr. Bunting? I heard footsteps behind me, and
+I hurried on. I wish I'd known that it was you; there are so many
+queer characters about at night in London."
+
+"Not on a night like this, sir. Only honest folk who have business
+out of doors would be out such a night as this. It is cold, sir!"
+
+And then into Bunting's slow and honest mind there suddenly crept
+the query as to what on earth Mr. Sleuth's own business out could be
+on this bitter night.
+
+"Cold?" the lodger repeated; he was panting a little, and his words
+came out sharp and quick through his thin lips. "I can't say that
+I find it cold, Mr. Bunting. When the snow falls, the air always
+becomes milder."
+
+"Yes, sir; but to-night there's such a sharp east wind. Why, it
+freezes the very marrow in one's bones! Still, there's nothing like
+walking in cold weather to make one warm, as you seem to have found,
+sir."
+
+Bunting noticed that Mr. Sleuth kept his distance in a rather strange
+way; he walked at the edge of the pavement, leaving the rest of it,
+on the wall side, to his landlord.
+
+"I lost my way," he said abruptly. "I've been over Primrose Hill to
+see a friend of mine, a man with whom I studied when I was a lad,
+and then, coming back, I lost my way."
+
+Now they had come right up to the little gate which opened on the
+shabby, paved court in front of the house--that gate which now was
+never locked.
+
+Mr. Sleuth, pushing suddenly forward, began walking up the flagged
+path, when, with a "By your leave, sir," the ex-butler, stepping
+aside, slipped in front of his lodger, in order to open the front
+door for him.
+
+As he passed by Mr. Sleuth, the back of Bunting's bare left hand
+brushed lightly against the long Inverness cape the lodger was
+wearing, and, to Bunting's surprise, the stretch of cloth against
+which his hand lay for a moment was not only damp, damp maybe from
+stray flakes of snow which had settled upon it, but wet--wet and
+gluey.
+
+Bunting thrust his left hand into his pocket; it was with the other
+that he placed the key in the lock of the door.
+
+The two men passed into the hail together.
+
+The house seemed blackly dark in comparison with the lighted-up
+road outside, and as he groped forward, closely followed by the
+lodger, there came over Bunting a sudden, reeling sensation of
+mortal terror, an instinctive, assailing knowledge of frightful
+immediate danger.
+
+A stuffless voice--the voice of his first wife, the long-dead
+girl to whom his mind so seldom reverted nowadays--uttered into
+his ear the words, "Take care!"
+
+And then the lodger spoke. His voice was harsh and grating,
+though not loud.
+
+"I'm afraid, Mr. Bunting, that you must have felt something dirty,
+foul, on my coat? It's too long a story to tell you now, but I
+brushed up against a dead animal, a creature to whose misery some
+thoughtful soul had put an end, lying across a bench on Primrose
+Hill."
+
+"No, sir, no. I didn't notice nothing. I scarcely touched you,
+sir."
+
+It seemed as if a power outside himself compelled Bunting to utter
+these lying words. "And now, sir, I'll be saying good-night to you,"
+he said.
+
+Stepping back he pressed with all the strength that was in him
+against the wall, and let the other pass him. There was a pause,
+and then--"Good-night," returned Mr. Sleuth, in a hollow voice.
+Bunting waited until the lodger had gone upstairs, and then,
+lighting the gas, he sat down there, in the hall. Mr. Sleuth's
+landlord felt very queer--queer and sick.
+
+He did not draw his left hand out of his pocket till he heard Mr.
+Sleuth shut the bedroom door upstairs. Then he held up his left
+hand and looked at it curiously; it was flecked, streaked with
+pale reddish blood.
+
+Taking off his boots, he crept into the room where his wife lay
+asleep. Stealthily he walked across to the wash-hand-stand, and
+dipped a hand into the water-jug.
+
+"Whatever are you doing? What on earth are you doing?" came a
+voice from the bed, and Bunting started guiltily.
+
+"I'm just washing my hands."
+
+"Indeed, you're doing nothing of the sort! I never heard of such
+a thing--putting your hand into the water in which I was going to
+wash my face to-morrow morning!"
+
+"I'm very sorry, Ellen," he said meekly; "I meant to throw it away.
+You don't suppose I would have let you wash in dirty water, do you?"
+
+She said no more, but, as he began undressing himself, Mrs. Bunting
+lay staring at him in a way that made her husband feel even more
+uncomfortable than he was already.
+
+At last he got into bed. He wanted to break the oppressive silence
+by telling Ellen about the sovereign the young lady had given him,
+but that sovereign now seemed to Bunting of no more account than if
+it had been a farthing he had picked up in the road outside.
+
+Once more his wife spoke, and he gave so great a start that it shook
+the bed.
+
+"I suppose that you don't know that you've left the light burning in
+the hall, wasting our good money?" she observed tartly.
+
+He got up painfully and opened the door into the passage. It was as
+she had said; the gas was flaring away, wasting their good money--or,
+rather, Mr. Sleuth's good money. Since he had come to be their lodger
+they had not had to touch their rent money.
+
+Bunting turned out the light and groped his way back to the room, and
+so to bed. Without speaking again to each other, both husband and
+wife lay awake till dawn.
+
+The next morning Mr. Sleuth's landlord awoke with a start; he felt
+curiously heavy about the limbs, and tired about the eyes.
+
+Drawing his watch from under his pillow, he saw that it was seven
+o'clock. Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the
+blind a little to one side. It was snowing heavily, and, as is the
+way when it snows, even in London, everything was strangely,
+curiously still. After he had dressed he went out into the passage.
+As he had at once dreaded and hoped, their newspaper was already
+lying on the mat. It was probably the sound of its being pushed
+through the letter-box which had waked him from his unrestful
+sleep.
+
+He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then,
+shutting the door behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper
+wide open on the table, and bent over it.
+
+As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression
+of intense relief shone upon his stolid face. The item of news he
+had felt certain would be printed in big type on the middle sheet
+was not there.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+Feeling amazingly light-hearted, almost light-headed, Bunting lit
+the gas-ring to make his wife her morning cup of tea.
+
+While he was doing it, he suddenly heard her call out:
+
+"Bunting!" she cried weakly. "Bunting!" Quickly he hurried in
+response to her call. "Yes," he said. "What is it, my dear? I
+won't be a minute with your tea." And he smiled broadly, rather
+foolishly.
+
+She sat up and looked at him, a dazed expression on her face.
+
+"What are you grinning at?" she asked suspiciously.
+
+"I've had a wonderful piece of luck," he explained. "But you was
+so cross last night that I simply didn't dare tell you about it."
+
+"Well, tell me now," she said in a low voice.
+
+"I had a sovereign given me by the young lady. You see, it was her
+birthday party, Ellen, and she'd come into a nice bit of money, and
+she gave each of us waiters a sovereign."
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no comment. Instead, she lay back and closed her
+eyes.
+
+"What time d'you expect Daisy?" she asked languidly. "You didn't
+say what time Joe was going to fetch her, when we was talking about
+it yesterday."
+
+"Didn't I? Well, I expect they'll be in to dinner."
+
+"I wonder, how long that old aunt of hers expects us to keep her?"
+said Mrs. Bunting thoughtfully. All the cheer died out of Bunting's
+round face. He became sullen and angry. It would be a pretty thing
+if he couldn't have his own daughter for a bit--especially now that
+they were doing so well!
+
+"Daisy'll stay here just as long as she can," he said shortly.
+"It's too bad of you, Ellen, to talk like that! She helps you all
+she can; and she brisks us both up ever so much. Besides, 'twould
+be cruel--cruel to take the girl away just now, just as she and
+that young chap are making friends-like. One would suppose that
+even you would see the justice o' that!"
+
+But Mrs. Bunting made no answer.
+
+Bunting went off, back into the sitting-room. The water was boiling
+now, so he made the tea; and then, as he brought the little tray in,
+his heart softened. Ellen did look really ill--ill and wizened.
+He wondered if she had a pain about which she wasn't saying anything.
+She had never been one to grouse about herself.
+
+"The lodger and me came in together last night," he observed
+genially. "He's certainly a funny kind of gentleman. It wasn't
+the sort of night one would have chosen to go out for a walk, now
+was it? And yet he must'a been out a long time if what he said
+was true."
+
+"I don't wonder a quiet gentleman like Mr. Sleuth hates the
+crowded streets," she said slowly. "They gets worse every day--
+that they do! But go along now; I want to get up."
+
+He went back into their sitting-room, and, having laid the fire
+and put a match to it, he sat down comfortably with his newspaper.
+
+Deep down in his heart Bunting looked back to this last night with
+a feeling of shame and self-rebuke. Whatever had made such horrible
+thoughts and suspicions as had possessed him suddenly come into his
+head? And just because of a trifling thing like that blood. No
+doubt Mr. Sleuth's nose had bled--that was what had happened;
+though, come to think of it, he had mentioned brushing up against
+a dead animal.
+
+Perhaps Ellen was right after all. It didn't do for one to be
+always thinking of dreadful subjects, of murders and such-like. It
+made one go dotty--that's what it did.
+
+And just as he was telling himself that, there came to the door a
+loud knock, the peculiar rat-tat-tat of a telegraph boy. But before
+he had time to get across the room, let alone to the front door,
+Ellen had rushed through the room, clad only in a petticoat and
+shawl.
+
+"I'll go," she cried breathlessly. "I'll go, Bunting; don't you
+trouble."
+
+He stared at her, surprised, and followed her into the hall.
+
+She put out a hand, and hiding herself behind the door, took the
+telegram from the invisible boy. "You needn't wait," she said.
+"If there's an answer we'll send it out ourselves." Then she tore
+the envelope open--"Oh!" she said with a gasp of relief. "It's
+only from Joe Chandler, to say he can't go over to fetch Daisy this
+morning. Then you'll have to go."
+
+She walked back into their sitting-room. "There!" she said.
+"There it is, Bunting. You just read it."
+
+"Am on duty this morning. Cannot fetch Miss Daisy as arranged.--
+Chandler."
+
+"I wonder why he's on duty?" said Bunting slowly, uncomfortably.
+"I thought Joe's hours was as regular as clockwork--that nothing
+could make any difference to them. However, there it is. I suppose
+it'll do all right if I start about eleven o'clock? It may have
+left off snowing by then. I don't feel like going out again just
+now. I'm pretty tired this morning."
+
+"You start about twelve," said his wife quickly.
+
+"That'll give plenty of time."
+
+The morning went on quietly, uneventfully. Bunting received a
+letter from Old Aunt saying Daisy must come back next Monday, a
+little under a week from now. Mr. Sleuth slept soundly, or, at
+any rate, he made no sign of being awake; and though Mrs. Bunting
+often, stopped to listen, while she was doing her room, there
+came no sounds at all from overhead.
+
+Scarcely aware that it was so, both Bunting and his wife felt more
+cheerful than they had done for a long time. They had quite a
+pleasant little chat when Mrs. Bunting came and sat down for a bit,
+before going down to prepare Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+"Daisy will be surprised to see you--not to say disappointed!" she
+observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at
+the thought. And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made
+him stay on a little longer. "There's no such great hurry as that,"
+she said good-temperedly. "It'll do quite well if you're there by
+half-past twelve. I'll get dinner ready myself. Daisy needn't help
+with that. I expect Margaret has worked her pretty hard."
+
+But at last there came the moment when Bunting had to start, and
+his wife went with him to the front door. It was still snowing,
+less heavily, but still snowing. There were very few people coming
+and going, and only just a few cabs and carts dragging cautiously
+along through the slush.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was still in the kitchen when there came a ring and a
+knock at the door--a now very familiar ring and knock. "Joe thinks
+Daisy's home again by now!" she said, smiling to herself.
+
+Before the door was well open, she heard Chandler's voice. "Don't
+be scared this time, Mrs. Bunting!" But though not exactly scared,
+she did give a gasp of surprise. For there stood Joe, made up to
+represent a public-house loafer; and he looked the part to perfection,
+with his hair combed down raggedly over his forehead, his
+seedy-looking, ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and greenish-black pot hat.
+
+"I haven't a minute," he said a little breathlessly. "But I thought
+I'd just run in to know if Miss Daisy was safe home again. You got
+my telegram all right? I couldn't send no other kind of message."
+
+"She's not back yet. Her father hasn't been gone long after her."
+Then, struck by a look in his eyes, "Joe, what's the matter?" she
+asked quickly.
+
+There came a thrill of suspense in her voice, her face grew drawn,
+while what little colour there was in it receded, leaving it very
+pale.
+
+"Well," he said. "Well, Mrs. Bunting, I've no business to say
+anything about it--but I will tell you!"
+
+He walked in and shut the door of the sitting-room carefully behind
+him. "There's been another of 'em!" he whispered. "But this time
+no one is to know anything about it--not for the present, I mean,"
+he corrected himself hastily. "The Yard thinks we've got a clue--
+and a good clue, too, this time."
+
+"But where--and how?" faltered Mrs. Bunting.
+
+"Well, 'twas just a bit of luck being able to keep it dark for the
+present"--he still spoke in that stifled, hoarse whisper. "The
+poor soul' was found dead on a bench on Primrose Hill. And just by
+chance 'twas one of our fellows saw the body first. He was on his
+way home, over Hampstead way. He knew where he'd be able to get an
+ambulance quick, and he made a very clever, secret job of it. I
+'spect he'll get promotion for that!"
+
+"What about the clue?" asked Mrs. Bunting, with dry lips. "You said
+there was a clue?"
+
+"Well, I don't rightly understand about the clue myself. All I
+knows is it's got something to do with a public-house, 'The Hammer
+and Tongs,' which isn't far off there. They feels sure The Avenger
+was in the bar just on closing-time."
+
+And then Mrs. Bunting sat down. She felt better now. It was natural
+the police should suspect a public-house loafer. "Then that's why you
+wasn't able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?"
+
+He nodded. "Mum's the word, Mrs. Bunting! It'll all be in the last
+editions of the evening newspapers--it can't be kep' out. There'd be
+too much of a row if 'twas!"
+
+"Are you going off to that public-house now?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, I am. I've got a awk'ard job--to try and worm something out
+of the barmaid."
+
+"Something out of the barmaid?" repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously.
+"Why, whatever for?"
+
+He came and stood close to her. "They think 'twas a gentleman," he
+whispered.
+
+"A gentleman?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression. "Whatever
+makes them think such a silly thing as that?"
+
+"Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a
+leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of
+milk. And what d'you think he did? Paid for it with a sovereign!
+He wouldn't take no change--just made the girl a present of it!
+That's why the young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to
+give him away. She won't tell now what he was like. She doesn't
+know what he's wanted for, and we don't want her to know just yet.
+That's one reason why nothing's being said public about it. But
+there! I really must be going now. My time'll be up at three
+o'clock. I thought of coming in on the way back, and asking you for
+a cup o' tea, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"Do," she said. "Do, Joe. You'll be welcome," but there was no
+welcome in her tired voice.
+
+She let him go alone to the door, and then she went down to her
+kitchen, and began cooking Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
+
+The lodger would be sure to ring soon; and then any minute Bunting
+and Daisy might be home, and they'd want something, too. Margaret
+always had breakfast even when "the family" were away, unnaturally
+early.
+
+As she bustled about Mrs. Bunting tried to empty her mind of all
+thought. But it is very difficult to do that when one is in a state
+of torturing uncertainty. She had not dared to ask Chandler what
+they supposed that man who had gone into the public-house was really
+like. It was fortunate, indeed, that the lodger and that inquisitive
+young chap had never met face to face.
+
+At last Mr. Sleuth's bell rang--a quiet little tinkle. But when
+she went up with his breakfast the lodger was not in his sitting-room.
+
+Supposing him to be still in his bedroom, Mrs. Bunting put the cloth
+on the table, and then she heard the sound of his footsteps coming
+down the stairs, and her quick ears detected the slight whirring
+sound which showed that the gas-stove was alight. Mr. Sleuth had
+already lit the stove; that meant that he would carry out some
+elaborate experiment this afternoon.
+
+"Still snowing?" he said doubtfully. "How very, very quiet and
+still London is when under snow, Mrs. Bunting. I have never known
+it quite as quiet as this morning. Not a sound, outside or in. A
+very pleasant change from the shouting which sometimes goes on in
+the Marylebone Road."
+
+"Yes," she said dully. "It's awful quiet to-day--too quiet to my
+thinking. 'Tain't natural-like."
+
+The outside gate swung to, making a noisy clatter in the still air.
+
+"Is that someone coming in here?" asked Mr. Sleuth, drawing a quick,
+hissing breath. "Perhaps you will oblige me by going to the window
+and telling me who it is, Mrs. Bunting?"
+
+And his landlady obeyed him.
+
+"It's only Bunting, sir--Bunting and his daughter."
+
+"Oh! Is that all?"
+
+Mr. Sleuth hurried after her, and she shrank back a little. She
+had never been quite so near to the lodger before, save on that
+first day when she had been showing him her rooms.
+
+Side by side they stood, looking out of the window. And, as if
+aware that someone was standing there, Daisy turned her bright face
+up towards the window and smiled at her stepmother, and at the
+lodger, whose face she could only dimly discern.
+
+"A very sweet-looking young girl," said Mr. Sleuth thoughtfully.
+And then he quoted a little bit of poetry, and this took Mrs.
+Bunting very much aback.
+
+"Wordsworth," he murmured dreamily. "A poet too little read
+nowadays, Mrs. Bunting; but one with a beautiful feeling for nature,
+for youth, for innocence."
+
+"Indeed, sir?" Mrs. Bunting stepped back a little. "Your breakfast
+will be getting cold, sir, if you don't have it now."
+
+He went back to the table, obediently, and sat down as a child
+rebuked might have done.
+
+And then his landlady Left him.
+
+"Well?" said Bunting cheerily. "Everything went off quite all right.
+And Daisy's a lucky girl--that she is! Her Aunt Margaret gave her
+five shillings."
+
+But Daisy did not look as pleased as her father thought she ought
+to do.
+
+"I hope nothing's happened to Mr. Chandler," she said a little
+disconsolately. "The very last words he said to me last night was
+that he'd be there at ten o'clock. I got quite fidgety as the time
+went on and he didn't come."
+
+"He's been here," said Mrs. Bunting slowly.
+
+"Been here?" cried her husband. "Then why on earth didn't he go and
+fetch Daisy, if he'd time to come here?"
+
+"He was on the way to his job," his wife answered. "You run along,
+child, downstairs. Now that you are here you can make yourself
+useful."
+
+And Daisy reluctantly obeyed. She wondered what it was her
+stepmother didn't want her to hear.
+
+"I've something to tell you, Bunting."
+
+"Yes?" He looked across uneasily. "Yes, Ellen?"
+
+"There's been another o' those murders. But the police don't want
+anyone to know about it--not yet. That's why Joe couldn't go over
+and fetch Daisy. They're all on duty again."
+
+Bunting put out his hand and clutched hold of the edge of the
+mantelpiece. He had gone very red, but his wife was far too much
+concerned with her own feelings and sensations to notice it.
+
+There was a long silence between them. Then he spoke, making a
+great effort to appear unconcerned.
+
+"And where did it happen?" he asked. "Close to the other one?"
+
+She hesitated, then: "I don't know. He didn't say. But hush!"
+she added quickly. "Here's Daisy! Don't let's talk of that horror
+in front of her-like. Besides, I promised Chandler I'd be mum."
+
+And he acquiesced.
+
+"You can be laying the cloth, child, while I go up and clear away
+the lodger's breakfast." Without waiting for an answer, she hurried
+upstairs.
+
+Mr. Sleuth had left the greater part of the nice lemon sole untouched.
+"I don't feel well to-day," he said fretfully. "And, Mrs. Bunting?
+I should be much obliged if your husband would lend me that paper I
+saw in his hand. I do not often care to look at the public prints,
+but I should like to do so now."
+
+She flew downstairs. "Bunting," she said a little breathlessly,
+"the lodger would like you just to lend him the Sun."
+
+Bunting handed it over to her. "I've read it through," he observed.
+"You can tell him that I don't want it back again."
+
+On her way up she glanced down at the pink sheet. Occupying a third
+of the space was an irregular drawing, and under it was written, in
+rather large characters:
+
+"We are glad to be able to present our readers with an authentic
+reproduction of the footprint of the half-worn rubber sole which
+was almost certainly worn by The Avenger when he committed his
+double murder ten days ago."
+
+She went into the sitting-room. To her relief it was empty.
+
+"Kindly put the paper down on the table," came Mr. Sleuth's muffled
+voice from the upper landing.
+
+She did so. "Yes, sir. And Bunting don't want the paper back
+again, sir. He says he's read it." And then she hurried out of
+the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+All afternoon it went on snowing; and the three of them sat there,
+listening and waiting--Bunting and his wife hardly knew for what;
+Daisy for the knock which would herald Joe Chandler.
+
+And about four there came the now familiar sound.
+
+Mrs. Bunting hurried out into the passage, and as she opened the
+front door she whispered, "We haven't said anything to Daisy yet.
+Young girls can't keep secrets."
+
+Chandler nodded comprehendingly. He now looked the low character
+he had assumed to the life, for he was blue with cold, disheartened,
+and tired out.
+
+Daisy gave a little cry of shocked surprise, of amusement, of
+welcome, when she saw how cleverly he was disguised.
+
+"I never!" she exclaimed. "What a difference it do make, to be
+sure! Why, you looks quite horrid, Mr. Chandler."
+
+And, somehow, that little speech of hers amused her father so much
+that he quite cheered up. Bunting had been very dull and quiet
+all that afternoon.
+
+"It won't take me ten minutes to make myself respectable again,"
+said the young man rather ruefully.
+
+His host and hostess, looking at him eagerly, furtively, both came
+to the conclusion that he had been unsuccessful--that he had failed,
+that is, in getting any information worth having. And though, in a
+sense, they all had a pleasant tea together, there was an air of
+constraint, even of discomfort, over the little party.
+
+Bunting felt it hard that he couldn't ask the questions that were
+trembling on his lips; he would have felt it hard any time during
+the last month to refrain from knowing anything Joe could tell him,
+but now it seemed almost intolerable to be in this queer kind of
+half suspense. There was one important fact he longed to know,
+and at last came his opportunity of doing so, for Joe Chandler rose
+to leave, and this time it was Bunting who followed him out into
+the hall.
+
+"Where did it happen?" he whispered. "Just tell me that, Joe?"
+
+"Primrose Hill," said the other briefly. "You'll know all about it
+in a minute or two, for it'll be all in the last editions of the
+evening papers. That's what's been arranged."
+
+"No arrest I suppose?"
+
+Chandler shook his head despondently. "No," he said, "I'm inclined
+to think the Yard was on a wrong tack altogether this time. But one
+can only do one's best. I don't know if Mrs. Bunting told you I'd
+got to question a barmaid about a man who was in her place just
+before closing-time. Well, she's said all she knew, and it's as
+clear as daylight to me that the eccentric old gent she talks about
+was only a harmless luny. He gave her a sovereign just because she
+told him she was a teetotaller!" He laughed ruefully.
+
+Even Bunting was diverted at the notion. "Well, that's a queer
+thing for a barmaid to be!" he exclaimed. "She's niece to the people
+what keeps the public," explained Chandler; and then he went out of
+the front door with a cheerful "So long!"
+
+When Bunting went back into the sitting-room Daisy had disappeared.
+She had gone downstairs with the tray. "Where's my girl?" he said
+irritably.
+
+"She's just taken the tray downstairs."
+
+He went out to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called out sharply,
+"Daisy! Daisy, child! Are you down there?"
+
+"Yes, father," came her eager, happy voice.
+
+"Better come up out of that cold kitchen."
+
+He turned and came back to his wife. "Ellen, is the lodger in? I
+haven't heard him moving about. Now mind what I says, please! I
+don't want Daisy to be mixed up with him."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth don't seem very well to-day," answered Mrs. Bunting
+quietly. "'Tain't likely I should let Daisy have anything to do
+with him. Why, she's never even seen him. 'Tain't likely I should
+allow her to begin waiting on him now."
+
+But though she was surprised and a little irritated by the tone in
+which Bunting had spoken, no glimmer of the truth illumined her mind.
+So accustomed had she become to bearing alone the burden of her awful
+secret, that it would have required far more than a cross word or
+two, far more than the fact that Bunting looked ill and tired, for
+her to have come to suspect that her secret was now shared by another,
+and that other her husband.
+
+Again and again the poor soul had agonised and trembled at the
+thought of her house being invaded by the police, but that was only
+because she had always credited the police with supernatural powers
+of detection. That they should come to know the awful fact she kept
+hidden in her breast would have seemed to her, on the whole, a
+natural thing, but that Bunting should even dimly suspect it appeared
+beyond the range of possibility.
+
+And yet even Daisy noticed a change in her father. He sat cowering
+over the fire--saying nothing, doing nothing.
+
+"Why, father, ain't you well?" the girl asked more than once.
+
+And, looking up, he would answer, "Yes, I'm well enough, nay girl,
+but I feels cold. It's awful cold. I never did feel anything like
+the cold we've got just now."
+
+    *    *    *
+
+At eight the now familiar shouts and cries began again outside.
+
+"The Avenger again!" "Another horrible crime!" "Extra speshul
+edition!"--such were the shouts, the exultant yells, hurled through
+the clear, cold air. They fell, like bombs into the quiet room.
+
+Both Bunting and his wife remained silent, but Daisy's cheeks grew
+pink with excitement, and her eye sparkled.
+
+"Hark, father! Hark, Ellen! D'you hear that?" she exclaimed
+childishly, and even clapped her hands. "I do wish Mr. Chandler
+had been here. He would 'a been startled!"
+
+"Don't, Daisy!" and Bunting frowned.
+
+Then, getting up, he stretched himself. "It's fair getting on my
+mind," he said, "these horrible things happening. I'd like to get
+right away from London, just as far as I could--that I would!"
+
+"Up to John-o'-Groat's?" said Daisy, laughing. And then, "Why,
+father, ain't you going out to get a paper?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose I must."
+
+Slowly he went out of the room, and, lingering a moment in the hall,
+he put on his greatcoat and hat. Then he opened the front door,
+and walked down the flagged path. Opening the iron gate, he stepped
+out on the pavement, then crossed the road to where the newspaper-boys
+now stood.
+
+The boy nearest to him only had the Sun--a late edition of the paper
+he had already read. It annoyed Bunting to give a penny for a
+ha'penny rag of which he already knew the main contents. But there
+was nothing else to do.
+
+Standing under a lamp-post, he opened out the newspaper. It was
+bitingly cold; that, perhaps, was why his hand shook as he looked
+down at the big headlines. For Bunting had been very unfair to the
+enterprise of the editor of his favourite evening paper. This
+special edition was full of new matter--new matter concerning
+The Avenger.
+
+First, in huge type right across the page, was the brief statement
+that The Avenger had now committed his ninth crime, and that he had
+chosen quite a new locality, namely, the lonely stretch of rising
+ground known to Londoners as Primrose Hill.
+
+"The police." so Bunting read, "are very reserved as to the
+circumstances which led to the finding of the body of The Avenger's
+latest victim. But we have reason to believe that they possess
+several really important clues, and that one of them is concerned
+with the half-worn rubber sole of which we are the first to reproduce
+an outline to-day. (See over page.)"
+
+And Bunting, turning the sheet round about, saw the irregular outline
+he had already seen in the early edition of the Sun, that purporting
+to be a facsimile of the imprint left by The Avenger's rubber sole.
+
+He stared down at the rough outline which took up so much of the
+space which should have been devoted to reading matter with a queer,
+sinking feeling of terrified alarm. Again and again criminals had
+been tracked by the marks their boots or shoes had made at or near
+the scenes of their misdoings.
+
+Practically the only job Bunting did in his own house of a menial
+kind was the cleaning of the boots and shoes. He had already
+visualised early this very afternoon the little row with which he
+dealt each morning--first came his wife's strong, serviceable
+boots, then his own two pairs, a good deal patched and mended, and
+next to his own Mr. Sleuth's strong, hardly worn, and expensive
+buttoned boots. Of late a dear little coquettish high-heeled pair
+of outdoor shoes with thin, paperlike soles, bought by Daisy for
+her trip to London, had ended the row. The girl had worn these
+thin shoes persistently, in defiance of Ellen's reproof and advice,
+and he, Bunting, had only once had to clean her more sensible
+country pair, and that only because the others had become wet though
+the day he and she had accompanied young Chandler to Scotland Yard.
+
+Slowly he returned across the road. Somehow the thought of going
+in again, of hearing his wife's sarcastic comments, of parrying
+Daisy's eager questions, had become intolerable. So he walked
+slowly, trying to put off the evil moment when he would have to tell
+them what was in his paper.
+
+The lamp under which he had stood reading was not exactly opposite
+the house. It was rather to the right of it. And when, having
+crossed over the roadway, he walked along the pavement towards his
+own gate, he heard odd, shuffling sounds coming from the inner side
+of the low wall which shut off his little courtyard from the pavement.
+
+Now, under ordinary circumstances Bunting would have rushed forward
+to drive out whoever was there. He and his wife had often had
+trouble, before the cold weather began, with vagrants seeking shelter
+there. But to-night he stayed outside, listening intently, sick
+with suspense and fear.
+
+Was it possible that their place was being watched--already? He
+thought it only too likely. Bunting, like Mrs. Bunting, credited
+the police with almost supernatural powers, especially since he
+had paid that visit to Scotland Yard.
+
+But to Bunting's amazement, and, yes, relief, it was his lodger who
+suddenly loomed up in the dim light.
+
+Mr. Sleuth must have been stooping down, for his tall, lank form
+had been quite concealed till he stepped forward from behind the
+low wall on to the flagged path leading to the front door.
+
+The lodger was carrying a brown paper parcel, and, as he walked
+along, the new boots he was wearing creaked, and the tap-tap of
+hard nail-studded heels rang out on the flat-stones of the narrow
+path.
+
+Bunting, still standing outside the gate, suddenly knew what it was
+his lodger had been doing on the other side of the low wall. Mr.
+Sleuth had evidently been out to buy himself another pair of new
+boots, and then he had gone inside the gate and had put them on,
+placing his old footgear in the paper in which the new pair had
+been wrapped.
+
+The ex-butler waited--waited quite a long time, not only until Mr.
+Sleuth had let himself into the house, but till the lodger had had
+time to get well away, upstairs.
+
+Then he also walked up the flagged pathway, and put his latchkey in
+the door. He lingered as long over the job of hanging his hat and
+coat up in the hall as he dared, in fact till his wife called out
+to him. Then he went in, and throwing the paper down on the table,
+he said sullenly: "There it is! You can see it all for yourself--
+not that there's very much to see," and groped his way to the fire.
+
+His wife looked at him in sharp alarm. "Whatever have you done to
+yourself?" she exclaimed. "You're ill--that's what it is, Bunting.
+You got a chill last night!"
+
+"I told you I'd got a chill," he muttered. "'Twasn't last night,
+though; 'twas going out this morning, coming back in the bus.
+Margaret keeps that housekeeper's room o' hers like a hothouse--
+that's what she does. 'Twas going out from there into the biting
+wind, that's what did for me. It must be awful to stand about in
+such weather; 'tis a wonder to me how that young fellow, Joe Chandler,
+can stand the life--being out in all weathers like he is."
+
+Bunting spoke at random, his one anxiety being to get away from what
+was in the paper, which now lay, neglected, on the table.
+
+"Those that keep out o' doors all day never do come to no harm,"
+said his wife testily. "But if you felt so bad, whatever was you
+out so long for, Bunting? I thought you'd gone away somewhere!
+D'you mean you only went to get the paper?"
+
+"I just stopped for a second to look at it under the lamp," he
+muttered apologetically.
+
+"That was a silly thing to do!"
+
+"Perhaps it was," he admitted meekly.
+
+Daisy had taken up the paper. "Well, they don't say much," she
+said disappointedly. "Hardly anything at all! But perhaps Mr.
+Chandler 'll be in soon again. If so, he'll tell us more about it."
+
+"A young girl like you oughtn't to want to know anything about
+murders," said her stepmother severely. "Joe won't think any the
+better of you for your inquisitiveness about such things. If I
+was you, Daisy, I shouldn't say nothing about it if he does come in
+--which I fair tell you I hope he won't. I've seen enough of that
+young chap to-day."
+
+"He didn't come in for long--not to-day," said Daisy, her lip
+trembling.
+
+"I can tell you one thing that'll surprise you, my dear"--Mrs.
+Bunting looked significantly at her step-daughter. She also wanted
+to get away from that dread news--which yet was no news.
+
+"Yes?" said Daisy, rather defiantly. "What is it, Ellen?"
+
+"Maybe you'll be surprised to hear that Joe did come in this morning.
+He knew all about that affair then, but he particular asked that
+you shouldn't be told anything about it."
+
+"Never!" cried Daisy, much mortified.
+
+"Yes," went on her stepmother ruthlessly. "You just ask your father
+over there if it isn't true."
+
+"'Tain't a healthy thing to speak overmuch about such happenings,"
+said Bunting heavily.
+
+"If I was Joe," went on Mrs. Bunting, quickly pursuing her advantage,
+"I shouldn't want to talk about such horrid things when I comes in
+to have a quiet chat with friends. But the minute he comes in that
+poor young chap is set upon--mostly, I admit, by your father," she
+looked at her husband severely. "But you does your share, too,
+Daisy! You asks him this, you asks him that--he's fair puzzled
+sometimes. It don't do to be so inquisitive."
+
+******
+
+And perhaps because of this little sermon on Mrs. Bunting's part
+when young Chandler did come in again that evening, very little was
+said of the new Avenger murder.
+
+Bunting made no reference to it at all, and though Daisy said a
+word, it was but a word. And Joe Chandler thought he had never
+spent a pleasanter evening in his life--for it was he and Daisy
+who talked all the time, their elders remaining for the most part
+silent.
+
+Daisy told of all that she had done with Aunt Margaret. She
+described the long, dull hours and the queer jobs her aunt set her
+to do--the washing up of all the fine drawing-room china in a big
+basin lined with flannel, and how terrified she (Daisy) had been
+lest there should come even one teeny little chip to any of it.
+Then she went on to relate some of the funny things Aunt Margaret
+had told her about "the family."
+
+There came a really comic tale, which hugely interested and delighted
+Chandler. This was of how Aunt Margaret's lady had been taken in by
+an impostor--an impostor who had come up, just as she was stepping
+out of her carriage, and pretended to have a fit on the doorstep.
+Aunt Margaret's lady, being a soft one, had insisted on the man
+coming into the hall, where he had been given all kinds of
+restoratives. When the man had at last gone off, it was found that
+he had "wolfed" young master's best walking-stick, one with a fine
+tortoise-shell top to it. Thus had Aunt Margaret proved to her lady
+that the man had been shamming, and her lady had been very angry--
+near had a fit herself!
+
+"There's a lot of that about," said Chandler, laughing.
+"Incorrigible rogues and vagabonds--that's what those sort of people
+are!"
+
+And then he, in his turn, told an elaborate tale of an exceptionally
+clever swindler whom he himself had brought to book. He was very
+proud of that job, it had formed a white stone in his career as a
+detective. And even Mrs. Bunting was quite interested to hear about
+it.
+
+Chandler was still sitting there when Mr. Sleuth's bell rang. For
+awhile no one stirred; then Bunting looked questioningly at his wife.
+
+"Did you hear that?" he said. "I think, Ellen, that was the lodger's
+bell."
+
+She got up, without alacrity, and went upstairs.
+
+"I rang," said Mr. Sleuth weakly, "to tell you I don't require any
+supper to-night, Mrs. Bunting. Only a glass of milk, with a lump
+of sugar in it. That is all I require--nothing more. I feel very
+very far from well"--and he had a hunted, plaintive expression on
+his face. "And then I thought your husband would like his paper
+back again, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+Mrs. Bunting, looking at him fixedly, with a sad intensity of gaze
+of which she was quite unconscious, answered, "Oh, no, sir!
+Bunting don't require that paper now. He read it all through."
+Something impelled her to add, ruthlessly, "He's got another paper
+by now, sir. You may have heard them come shouting outside. Would
+you like me to bring you up that other paper, sir?"
+
+And Mr. Sleuth shook his head. "No," he said querulously. "I much
+regret now having asked for the one paper I did read, for it
+disturbed me, Mrs. Bunting. There was nothing of any value in it--
+there never is in any public print. I gave up reading newspapers
+years ago, and I much regret that I broke though my rule to-day."
+
+As if to indicate to her that he did not wish for any more
+conversation, the lodger then did what he had never done before in
+his landlady's presence. He went over to the fireplace and
+deliberately turned his back on her.
+
+She went down and brought up the glass of milk and the lump of
+sugar he had asked for.
+
+Now he was in his usual place, sitting at the table, studying the
+Book.
+
+When Mrs. Bunting went back to the others they were chatting
+merrily. She did not notice that the merriment was confined to the
+two young people.
+
+"Well?" said Daisy pertly. "How about the lodger, Ellen? Is he
+all right?"
+
+"Yes," she said stiffly. "Of course he is!"
+
+"He must feel pretty dull sitting up there all by himself--awful
+lonely-like, I call it," said the girl.
+
+But her, stepmother remained silent.
+
+"Whatever does he do with himself all day?" persisted Daisy.
+
+"Just now he's reading the Bible," Mrs. Bunting answered, shortly
+and dryly.
+
+"Well, I never! That's a funny thing for a gentleman to do!"
+
+And Joe, alone of her three listeners, laughed--a long hearty peal
+of amusement.
+
+"There's nothing to laugh at," said Mrs. Bunting sharply. "I should
+feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected with the
+Bible."
+
+And poor Joe became suddenly quite serious. This was the first time
+that Mrs. Bunting had ever spoken really nastily to him, and he
+answered very humbly, "I beg pardon. I know I oughtn't to have
+laughed at anything to do with the Bible, but you see, Miss Daisy
+said it so funny-like, and, by all accounts, your lodger must be a
+queer card, Mrs. Bunting."
+
+"He's no queerer than many people I could mention," she said quickly;
+and with these enigmatic words she got up, and left the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+Each hour of the days that followed held for Bunting its full meed
+of aching fear and suspense.
+
+The unhappy man was ever debating within himself what course he
+should pursue, and, according to his mood and to the state of his
+mind at any particular moment, he would waver between various
+widely-differing lines of action.
+
+He told himself again and again, and with fretful unease, that the
+most awful thing about it all was that he wasn't sure. If only he
+could have been sure, he might have made up his mind exactly what
+it was he ought to do.
+
+But when telling himself this he was deceiving himself, and he was
+vaguely conscious of the fact; for, from Bunting's point of view,
+almost any alternative would have been preferable to that which to
+some, nay, perhaps to most, householders would have seemed the only
+thing to do, namely, to go to the police. But Londoners of Bunting's
+class have an uneasy fear of the law. To his mind it would be ruin
+for him and for his Ellen to be mixed up publicly in such a terrible
+affair. No one concerned in the business would give them and their
+future a thought, but it would track them to their dying day, and,
+above all, it would make it quite impossible for them ever to get
+again into a good joint situation. It was that for which Bunting,
+in his secret soul, now longed with all his heart.
+
+No, some other way than going to the police must be found--and he
+racked his slow brain to find it.
+
+The worst of it was that every hour that went by made his future
+course more difficult and more delicate, and increased the awful
+weight on his conscience.
+
+If only he really knew! If only he could feel quite sure! And
+then he would tell himself that, after all, he had very little to
+go upon; only suspicion--suspicion, and a secret, horrible
+certainty that his suspicion was justified.
+
+And so at last Bunting began to long for a solution which he knew
+to be indefensible from every point of view; he began to hope, that
+is, in the depths of his heart, that the ledger would again go out
+one evening on his horrible business and be caught--red-handed.
+
+But far from going out on any business, horrible or other, Mr.
+Sleuth now never went out at all. He kept upstairs, and often spent
+quite a considerable part of his day in bed. He still felt, so he
+assured Mrs. Bunting, very far from well. He had never thrown off
+the chill he had caught on that bitter night he and his landlord
+had met on their several ways home.
+
+Joe Chandler, too, had become a terrible complication to Daisy's
+father. The detective spent every waking hour that he was not on
+duty with the Buntings; and Bunting, who at one time had liked him
+so well and so cordially, now became mortally afraid of him.
+
+But though the young man talked of little else than The Avenger,
+and though on one evening he described at immense length the
+eccentric-looking gent who had given the barmaid a sovereign,
+picturing Mr. Sleuth with such awful accuracy that both Bunting and
+Mrs. Bunting secretly and separately turned sick when they listened
+to him, he never showed the slightest interest in their lodger.
+
+At last there came a morning when Bunting and Chandler held a strange
+conversation about The Avenger. The young fellow had come in earlier
+than usual, and just as he arrived Mrs. Bunting and Daisy were
+starting out to do some shopping. The girl would fain have stopped
+behind, but her stepmother had given her a very peculiar, disagreeable
+look, daring her, so to speak, to be so forward, and Daisy had gone
+on with a flushed, angry look on her pretty face.
+
+And then, as young Chandler stepped through into the sitting-room,
+it suddenly struck Bunting that the young man looked unlike himself
+--indeed, to the ex-butler's apprehension there was something almost
+threatening in Chandler's attitude.
+
+"I want a word with you, Mr. Bunting," he began abruptly, falteringly.
+"And I'm glad to have the chance now that Mrs. Bunting and Miss Daisy
+are out."
+
+Bunting braced himself to hear the awful words--the accusation of
+having sheltered a murderer, the monster whom all the world was
+seeking, under his roof. And then he remembered a phrase, a
+horrible legal phrase--"Accessory after the fact." Yes, he had
+been that, there wasn't any doubt about it!
+
+"Yes?" he said. "What is it, Joe?" and then the unfortunate man
+sat down in his chair. "Yes?" he said again uncertainly; for young
+Chandler had now advanced to the table, he was looking at Bunting
+fixedly--the other thought threateningly. "Well, out with it,
+Joe! Don't keep me in suspense."
+
+And then a slight smile broke over the young man's face. "I don't
+think what I've got to say can take you by surprise, Mr. Bunting."
+
+And Bunting wagged his head in a way that might mean anything--yes
+or no, as the case might be.
+
+The two men looked at one another for what seemed a very, very long
+time to the elder of them. And then, making a great effort, Joe
+Chandler brought out the words, "Well, I suppose you know what it
+is I want to talk about. I'm sure Mrs. Bunting would, from a look
+or two she's lately cast on me. It's your daughter--it's Miss
+Daisy."
+
+And then Bunting gave a kind of cry, 'twixt a sob and a laugh.
+"My girl?" he cried. "Good Lord, Joe! Is that all you wants to
+talk about? Why, you fair frightened me--that you did!"
+
+And, indeed, the relief was so great that the room swam round as
+he stared across it at his daughter's lover, that lover who was
+also the embodiment of that now awful thing to him, the law. He
+smiled, rather foolishly, at his visitor; and Chandler felt a sharp
+wave of irritation, of impatience sweep over his good-natured soul.
+Daisy's father was an old stupid--that's what he was.
+
+And then Bunting grew serious. The room ceased to go round. "As
+far as I'm concerned," he said, with a good deal of solemnity, even
+a little dignity, "you have my blessing, Joe. You're a very likely
+young chap, and I had a true respect for your father."
+
+"Yes," said Chandler, "that's very kind of you, Mr. Bunting. But
+how about her--her herself?"
+
+Bunting stared at him. It pleased him to think that Daisy hadn't
+given herself away, as Ellen was always hinting the girl was doing.
+
+"I can't answer for Daisy," he said heavily. "You'll have to ask
+her yourself--that's not a job any other man can do for you, my lad."
+
+"I never gets a chance. I never sees her, not by our two selves,"
+said Chandler, with some heat. "You don't seem to understand, Mr.
+Bunting, that I never do see Miss Daisy alone," he repeated. "I
+hear now that she's going away Monday, and I've only once had the
+chance of a walk with her. Mrs. Bunting's very particular, not to
+say pernickety in her ideas, Mr. Bunting--"
+
+"That's a fault on the right side, that is--with a young girl,"
+said Bunting thoughtfully.
+
+And Chandler nodded. He quite agreed that as regarded other young
+chaps Mrs. Bunting could not be too particular.
+
+"She's been brought up like a lady, my Daisy has," went on Bunting,
+with some pride. "That Old Aunt of hers hardly lets her out of her
+sight."
+
+"I was coming to the old aunt," said Chandler heavily. "Mrs.
+Bunting she talks as if your daughter was going to stay with that
+old woman the whole of her natural life--now is that right? That's
+what I wants to ask you, Mr. Bunting,--is that right?"
+
+"I'll say a word to Ellen, don't you fear," said Bunting abstractedly.
+
+His mind had wandered off, away from Daisy and this nice young chap,
+to his now constant anxious preoccupation. "You come along
+to-morrow," he said, "and I'll see you gets your walk with Daisy.
+It's only right you and she should have a chance of seeing one
+another without old folk being by; else how's the girl to tell
+whether she likes you or not! For the matter of that, you hardly
+knows her, Joe--" He looked at the young man consideringly.
+
+Chandler shook his head impatiently. "I knows her quite as well as
+I wants to know her," he said. "I made up my mind the very first
+time I see'd her, Mr. Bunting."
+
+"No! Did you really?" said Bunting. "Well, come to think of it,
+I did so with her mother; aye, and years after, with Ellen, too.
+But I hope you'll never want no second, Chandler,"
+
+"God forbid!" said the young man under his breath. And then he
+asked, rather longingly, "D'you think they'll be out long now, Mr.
+Bunting?"
+
+And Bunting woke up to a due sense of hospitality. "Sit down, sit
+down; do!" he said hastily. "I don't believe they'll be very long.
+They've only got a little bit of shopping to do."
+
+And then, in a changed, in a ringing, nervous tone, he asked, "And
+how about your job, Joe? Nothing new, I take it? I suppose you're
+all just waiting for the next time?"
+
+"Aye--that's about the figure of it." Chandler's voice had also
+changed; it was now sombre, menacing. "We're fair tired of it--
+beginning to wonder when it'll end, that we are!"
+
+"Do you ever try and make to yourself a picture of what the master's
+like?" asked Bunting. Somehow, he felt he must ask that.
+
+"Yes," said Joe slowly. "I've a sort of notion--a savage,
+fierce-looking devil, the chap must be. It's that description that
+was circulated put us wrong. I don't believe it was the man that
+knocked up against that woman in the fog--no, not one bit I don't.
+But I wavers, I can't quite make up my mind. Sometimes I think it's
+a sailor--the foreigner they talks about, that goes away for eight
+or nine days in between, to Holland maybe, or to France. Then,
+again, I says to myself that it's a butcher, a man from the Central
+Market. Whoever it is, it's someone used to killing, that's flat."
+
+"Then it don't seem to you possible--?" (Bunting got up and walked
+over to the window.) "You don't take any stock, I suppose, in that
+idea some of the papers put out, that the man is"--then he
+hesitated and brought out, with a gasp--"a gentleman?"
+
+Chandler looked at him, surprised. "No," he said deliberately.
+"I've made up my mind that's quite a wrong tack, though I knows that
+some of our fellows--big pots, too--are quite sure that the fellow
+what gave the girl the sovereign is the man we're looking for. You
+see, Mr. Bunting, if that's the fact--well, it stands to reason the
+fellow's an escaped lunatic; and if he's an escaped lunatic he's got
+a keeper, and they'd be raising a hue and cry after him; now,
+wouldn't they?"
+
+"You don't think," went on Bunting, lowering his voice, "that he
+could be just staying somewhere, lodging like?"
+
+"D'you mean that The Avenger may be a toff, staying in some
+West-end hotel, Mr. Bunting? Well, things almost as funny as that
+'ud be have come to pass." He smiled as if the notion was a funny
+one.
+
+"Yes, something o' that sort," muttered Bunting.
+
+"Well, if your idea's correct, Mr. Bunting--"
+
+"I never said 'twas my idea," said Bunting, all in a hurry.
+
+"Well, if that idea's correct then, 'twill make our task more
+difficult than ever. Why, 'twould be looking for a needle in a
+field of hay, Mr. Bunting! But there! I don't think it's
+anything quite so unlikely as that--not myself I don't." He
+hesitated. "There's some of us"--he lowered his voice--"that
+hopes he'll betake himself off--The Avenger, I mean--to another
+big city, to Manchester or to Edinburgh. There'd be plenty of
+work for him to do there," and Chandler chuckled at his own grim
+joke.
+
+And then, to both men's secret relief, for Bunting was now
+mortally afraid of this discussion concerning The Avenger and
+his doings, they heard Mrs. Bunting's key in the lock.
+
+Daisy blushed rosy-red with pleasure when she saw that young
+Chandler was still there. She had feared that when they got home
+he would be gone, the more so that Ellen, just as if she was doing
+it on purpose, had lingered aggravatingly long over each small
+purchase.
+
+"Here's Joe come to ask if he can take Daisy out for a walk,"
+blurted out Bunting.
+
+"My mother says as how she'd like you to come to tea, over at
+Richmond," said Chandler awkwardly, "I just come in to see whether
+we could fix it up, Miss Daisy." And Daisy looked imploringly at
+her stepmother.
+
+"D'you mean now--this minute?" asked Mrs. Bunting tartly.
+
+"No, o' course not"--Bunting broke in hastily. "How you do go on,
+Ellen!"
+
+"What day did your mother mention would be convenient to her?"
+asked Mrs. Bunting, looking at the young man satirically.
+
+Chandler hesitated. His mother had not mentioned any special day
+--in fact, his mother had shown a surprising lack of anxiety to
+see Daisy at all. But he had talked her round.
+
+"How about Saturday?" suggested Bunting. "That's Daisy's' birthday.
+'Twould be a birthday treat for her to go to Richmond, and she's
+going back to Old Aunt on Monday."
+
+"I can't go Saturday," said Chandler disconsolately. "I'm on duty
+Saturday."
+
+"Well, then, let it be Sunday," said Bunting firmly. And his wife
+looked at him surprised; he seldom asserted himself so much in her
+presence.
+
+"What do you say, Miss Daisy?" said Chandler.
+
+"Sunday would be very nice," said Daisy demurely. And then, as the
+young man took up his hat, and as her stepmother did not stir, Daisy
+ventured to go out into the hall with him for a minute.
+
+Chandler shut the door behind them, and so was spared the hearing
+of Mrs. Bunting's whispered remark: "When I was a young woman folk
+didn't gallivant about on Sunday; those who was courting used to
+go to church together, decent-like--"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+Daisy's eighteenth birthday dawned uneventfully. Her father gave
+her what he had always promised she should have on her eighteenth
+birthday--a watch. It was a pretty little silver watch, which
+Bunting had bought secondhand on the last day he had been happy--
+it seemed a long, long time ago now.
+
+Mrs. Bunting thought a silver watch a very extravagant present but
+she was far too wretched, far too absorbed in her own thoughts, to
+trouble much about it. Besides, in such matters she had generally
+had the good sense not to interfere between her husband and his
+child.
+
+In the middle of the birthday morning Bunting went out to buy
+himself some more tobacco. He had never smoked so much as in the
+last four days, excepting, perhaps, the week that had followed on
+his leaving service. Smoking a pipe had then held all the exquisite
+pleasure which we are told attaches itself to the eating of forbidden
+fruit.
+
+His tobacco had now become his only relaxation; it acted on his
+nerves as an opiate, soothing his fears and helping him to think.
+But he had been overdoing it, and it was that which now made him
+feel so "jumpy," so he assured himself, when he found himself
+starting at any casual sound outside, or even when his wife spoke
+to him suddenly.
+
+Just now Ellen and Daisy were down in the kitchen, and Bunting
+didn't quite like the sensation of knowing that there was only
+one pair of stairs between Mr. Sleuth and himself. So he quietly
+slipped out of the house without telling Ellen that he was going
+out.
+
+In the last four days Bunting had avoided his usual haunts; above
+all, he had avoided even passing the time of day to his
+acquaintances and neighbours. He feared, with a great fear, that
+they would talk to him of a subject which, because it filled his
+mind to the exclusion of all else, might make him betray the
+knowledge--no, not knowledge, rather the--the suspicion--that
+dwelt within him.
+
+But to-day the unfortunate man had a curious, instinctive longing
+for human companionship--companionship, that is, other than that
+of his wife and of his daughter.
+
+This longing for a change of company finally led him into a small,
+populous thoroughfare hard by the Edgeware Road. There were more
+people there than usual just now, for the housewives of the
+neighbourhood were doing their Saturday marketing for Sunday. The
+ex-butler turned into a small old-fashioned shop where he generally
+bought his tobacco.
+
+Bunting passed the time of day with the tobacconist, and the two
+fell into desultory talk, but to his customer's relief and surprise
+the man made no allusion to the subject of which all the
+neighbourhood must still be talking.
+
+And then, quite suddenly, while still standing by the counter, and
+before he had paid for the packet of tobacco he held in his hand,
+Bunting, through the open door, saw with horrified surprise that
+Ellen, his wife, was standing, alone, outside a greengrocer's shop
+just opposite.
+
+Muttering a word of apology, he rushed out of the shop and across
+the road.
+
+"Ellen!" he gasped hoarsely, "you've never gone and left my little
+girl alone in the house with the lodger?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting's face went yellow with fear. "I thought you was
+indoors," she cried. "You was indoors! Whatever made you come out
+for, without first making sure I'd stay in?"
+
+Bunting made no answer; but, as they stared at each other in
+exasperated silence, each now knew that the other knew.
+
+They turned and scurried down the crowded street. "Don't run," he
+said suddenly; "we shall get there just as quickly if we walk fast.
+People are noticing you, Ellen. Don't run."
+
+He spoke breathlessly, but it was breathlessness induced by fear
+and by excitement, not by the quick pace at which they were walking.
+
+At last they reached their own gate, and Bunting pushed past in
+front of his wife.
+
+After all, Daisy was his child; Ellen couldn't know how he was
+feeling.
+
+He seemed to take the path in one leap, then fumbled for a moment
+with his latchkey.
+
+Opening wide the door, "Daisy!" he called out, in a wailing voice,
+"Daisy, my dear! where are you?"
+
+"Here I am, father. What is it?"
+
+"She's all right." Bunting turned a grey face to his wife. "She's
+all right, Ellen."
+
+He waited a moment, leaning against the wall of the passage. "It
+did give me a turn," he said, and then, warningly, "Don't frighten
+the girl, Ellen."
+
+Daisy was standing before the fire in their sitting room, admiring
+herself in the glass.
+
+"Oh, father," she exclaimed, without turning round, "I've seen the
+lodger! He's quite a nice gentleman, though, to be sure, he does
+look a cure. He rang his bell, but I didn't like to go up; and so
+he came down to ask Ellen for something. We had quite a nice
+little chat--that we had. I told him it was my birthday, and he
+asked me and Ellen to go to Madame Tussaud's with him this
+afternoon." She laughed, a little self-consciously. "Of course,
+I could see he was 'centric, and then at first he spoke so funnily.
+'And who be you?' he says, threatening-like. And I says to him,
+'I'm Mr. Bunting's daughter, sir.' 'Then you're a very fortunate
+girl '--that's what he says, Ellen--'to 'ave such a nice
+step-mother as you've got. That's why,' he says, 'you look such
+a good, innocent girl.' And then he quoted a bit of the Prayer
+Book. 'Keep innocency,' he says, wagging his head at me. Lor'!
+It made me feel as if I was with Old Aunt again."
+
+"I won't have you going out with the lodger--that's flat."
+
+Bunting spoke in a muffled, angry tone. He was wiping his forehead
+with one hand, while with the other he mechanically squeezed the
+little packet of tobacco, for which, as he now remembered, he had
+forgotten to pay.
+
+Daisy pouted. "Oh, father, I think you might let me have a treat
+on my birthday! I told him that Saturday wasn't a very good day--
+at least, so I'd heard--for Madame Tussaud's. Then he said we
+could go early, while the fine folk are still having their dinners."
+She turned to her stepmother, then giggled happily. "He particularly
+said you was to come, too. The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you,
+Ellen; if I was father, I'd feel quite jealous!"
+
+Her last words were cut across by a tap-tap on the door.
+
+Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively. Was it
+possible that, in their agitation, they had left the front door
+open, and that someone, some merciless myrmidon of the law, had
+crept in behind them?
+
+Both felt a curious thrill of satisfaction when they saw that it
+was only Mr. Sleuth--Mr. Sleuth dressed for going out; the tall
+hat he had worn when he had first come to them was in his hand, but
+he was wearing a coat instead of his Inverness cape.
+
+"I heard you come in"--he addressed Mrs. Bunting in his high,
+whistling, hesitating voice--"and so I've come down to ask you if
+you and Miss Bunting will come to Madame Tussaud's now. I have
+never seen those famous waxworks, though I've heard of the place
+all my life."
+
+As Bunting forced himself to look fixedly at his lodger, a sudden
+doubt bringing with it a sense of immeasurable relief, came to
+Mr. Sleuth's landlord.
+
+Surely it was inconceivable that this gentle, mild-mannered
+gentleman could be the monster of cruelty and cunning that Bunting
+had now for the terrible space of four days believed him to be!
+
+He tried to catch his wife's eye, but Mrs. Bunting was looking away,
+staring into vacancy. She still, of course, wore the bonnet and
+cloak in which she had just been out to do her marketing. Daisy
+was already putting on her hat and coat.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Sleuth. Then Mrs. Bunting turned, and it seemed
+to his landlady that he was looking at her threateningly. "Well?"
+
+"Yes, sir. We'll come in a minute," she said dully.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+Madame Tussaud's had hitherto held pleasant memories for Mrs. Bunting.
+In the days when she and Bunting were courting they often spent there
+part of their afternoon-out.
+
+The butler had an acquaintance, a man named Hopkins, who was one of
+the waxworks staff, and this man had sometimes given him passes for
+"self and lady." But this was the first time Mrs. Bunting had been
+inside the place since she had come to live almost next door, as it
+were, to the big building.
+
+They walked in silence to the familiar entrance, and then, after
+the ill-assorted trio had gone up the great staircase and into the
+first gallery, Mr. Sleuth suddenly stopped short. The presence of
+those curious, still, waxen figures which suggest so strangely death
+in life, seemed to surprise and affright him.
+
+Daisy took quick advantage of the lodger's hesitation and unease.
+
+"Oh, Ellen," she cried, "do let us begin by going into the Chamber
+of Horrors! I've never been in there. Old Aunt made father promise
+he wouldn't take me the only time I've ever been here. But now that
+I'm eighteen I can do just as I like; besides, Old Aunt will never
+know."
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked down at her, and a smile passed for a moment over
+his worn, gaunt face.
+
+"Yes," he said, "let us go into the Chamber of Horrors; that's a
+good idea, Miss Bunting. I've always wanted to see the Chamber of
+Horrors."
+
+They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were
+then kept, and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where
+waxen effigies of dead criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.
+
+Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband's
+old acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting
+the public to the Chamber of Horrors.
+
+"Well, you are a stranger," the man observed genially. "I do believe
+that this is the very first time I've seen you in here, Mrs. Bunting,
+since you was married!"
+
+"Yes," she said, "that is so. And this is my husband's daughter,
+Daisy; I expect you've heard of her, Mr. Hopkins. And this"--she
+hesitated a moment--"is our lodger, Mr. Sleuth."
+
+But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away. Daisy, leaving her
+stepmother's side, joined him.
+
+Two, as all the world knows, is company, three is none. Mrs.
+Bunting put down three sixpences.
+
+"Wait a minute," said Hopkins; "you can't go into the Chamber of
+Horrors just yet. But you won't have to wait more than four or
+five minutes, Mrs. Bunting. It's this way, you see; our boss is
+in there, showing a party round." He lowered his voice. "It's
+Sir John Burney--I suppose you know who Sir John Burney is?"
+
+"No," she answered indifferently, "I don't know that I ever heard
+of him."
+
+She felt slightly--oh, very sightly--uneasy about Daisy. She
+would have liked her stepdaughter to keep well within sight and
+sound, but Mr. Sleuth was now taking the girl down to the other
+end of the room.
+
+"Well, I hope you never will know him--not in any personal sense,
+Mrs. Bunting." The man chuckled. "He's the Commissioner of Police
+--the new one--that's what Sir John Burney is. One of the
+gentlemen he's showing round our place is the Paris Police boss--
+whose job is on all fours, so to speak, with Sir John's. The
+Frenchy has brought his daughter with him, and there are several
+other ladies. Ladies always likes horrors, Mrs. Bunting; that's
+our experience here. 'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors '--
+that's what they say the minute they gets into this here building!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked at him thoughtfully. It occurred to Mr. Hopkins
+that she was very wan and tired; she used to look better in the old
+days, when she was still in service, before Bunting married her.
+
+"Yes," she said; "that's just what my stepdaughter said just now.
+'Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors'--that's exactly what she
+did say when we got upstairs."
+
+******
+
+A group of people, all talking and laughing together; were advancing,
+from within the wooden barrier, toward the turnstile.
+
+Mrs. Bunting stared at them nervously. She wondered which of them
+was the gentleman with whom Mr. Hopkins had hoped she would never be
+brought into personal contact; she thought she could pick him out
+among the others. He was a tall, powerful, handsome gentleman, with
+a military appearance.
+
+Just now he was smiling down into the face of a young lady.
+"Monsieur Barberoux is quite right," he was saying in a loud,
+cheerful voice, "our English law is too kind to the criminal,
+especially to the murderer. If we conducted our trials in the
+French fashion, the place we have just left would be very much
+fuller than it is to-day. A man of whose guilt we are absolutely
+assured is oftener than not acquitted, and then the public taunt
+us with 'another undiscovered crime!"'
+
+"D'you mean, Sir John, that murderers sometimes escape scot-free?
+Take the man who has been committing all these awful murders this
+last month? I suppose there's no doubt he'll be hanged--if he's
+ever caught, that is!"
+
+Her girlish voice rang out, and Mrs. Bunting could hear every word
+that was said.
+
+The whole party gathered round, listening eagerly. "Well, no."
+He spoke very deliberately. "I doubt if that particular murderer
+ever will be hanged."
+
+"You mean that you'll never catch him?" the girl spoke with a touch
+of airy impertinence in her clear voice.
+
+"I think we shall end by catching him--because"--he waited a moment,
+then added in a lower voice--"now don't give me away to a newspaper
+fellow, Miss Rose--because now I think we do know who the murderer
+in question is--"
+
+Several of those standing near by uttered expressions of surprise and
+incredulity.
+
+"Then why don't you catch him?" cried the girl indignantly.
+
+"I didn't say we knew where he was; I only said we knew who he was,
+or, rather, perhaps I ought to say that I personally have a very
+strong suspicion of his identity."
+
+Sir John's French colleague looked up quickly. "De Leipsic and
+Liverpool man?" he said interrogatively.
+
+The other nodded. "Yes, I suppose you've had the case turned up?"
+
+Then, speaking very quickly, as if he wished to dismiss the subject
+from his own mind, and from that of his auditors, he went on:
+
+"Four murders of the kind were committed eight years ago--two in
+Leipsic, the others, just afterwards, in Liverpool,--and there were
+certain peculiarities connected with the crimes which made it clear
+they were committed by the same hand. The perpetrator was caught,
+fortunately for us, red-handed, just as he was leaving the house of
+his last victim, for in Liverpool the murder was committed in a
+house. I myself saw the unhappy man--I say unhappy, for there is
+no doubt at all that he was mad "--he hesitated, and added in a
+lower tone--"suffering from an acute form of religious mania.
+I myself saw him, as I say, at some length. But now comes the really
+interesting point. I have just been informed that a month ago this
+criminal lunatic, as we must of course regard him, made his escape
+from the asylum where he was confined. He arranged the whole
+thing with extraordinary cunning and intelligence, and we should
+probably have caught him long ago, were it not that he managed, when
+on his way out of the place, to annex a considerable sum of money
+in gold, with which the wages of the asylum staff were about to be
+paid. It is owing to that fact that his escape was, very wrongly,
+concealed--"
+
+He stopped abruptly, as if sorry he had said so much, and a moment
+later the party were walking in Indian file through the turnstile,
+Sir John Burney leading the way.
+
+Mrs. Bunting looked straight before her. She felt--so she
+expressed it to her husband later--as if she had been turned to
+stone.
+
+Even had she wished to do so, she had neither the time nor the power
+to warn her lodger of his danger, for Daisy and her companion were
+now coming down the room, bearing straight for the Commissioner of
+Police. In another moment Mrs. Bunting's lodger and Sir John Burney
+were face to face.
+
+Mr. Sleuth swerved to one side; there came a terrible change over
+his pale, narrow face; it became discomposed, livid with rage and
+terror.
+
+But, to Mrs. Bunting's relief--yes, to her inexpressible relief
+--Sir John Burney and his friends swept on. They passed Mr. Sleuth
+and the girl by his side, unaware, or so it seemed to her, that
+there was anyone else in the room but themselves.
+
+"Hurry up, Mrs. Bunting," said the turnstile-keeper; "you and your
+friends will have the place all to yourselves for a bit." From an
+official he had become a man, and it was the man in Mr. Hopkins that
+gallantly addressed pretty Daisy Bunting: "It seems strange that a
+young lady like you should want to go in and see all those 'orrible
+frights," he said jestingly.
+
+"Mrs. Bunting, may I trouble you to come over here for a moment?"
+
+The words were hissed rather than spoken by Mr. Sleuth's lips.
+
+His landlady took a doubtful step towards him.
+
+"A last word with you, Mrs. Bunting." The lodger's face was still
+distorted with fear and passion. "Do not think to escape the
+consequences of your hideous treachery. I trusted you, Mrs. Bunting,
+and you betrayed me! Put I am protected by a higher power, for
+I still have much to do." Then, his voice sinking to a whisper, he
+hissed out "Your end will be bitter as wormwood and sharp as a
+two-edged sword. Your feet shall go down to death, and your steps
+take hold on hell."
+
+Even while Mr. Sleuth was muttering these strange, dreadful words,
+he was looking round, glancing this way and that, seeking a way of
+escape.
+
+At last his eyes became fixed on a small placard placed above a
+curtain. "Emergency Exit" was written there. Mrs. Bunting thought
+he was going to make a dash for the place; but Mr. Sleuth did
+something very different. Leaving his landlady's side, he walked
+over to the turnstile, he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and
+then touched the man on the arm. "I feel ill," he said, speaking
+very rapidly; "very ill indeed! It is the atmosphere of this place.
+I want you to let me out by the quickest way. It would be a pity
+for me to faint here--especially with ladies about."
+
+His left hand shot out and placed what he had been fumbling for in
+his pocket on the other's bare palm. "I see there's an emergency
+exit over there. Would it be possible for me to get out that way?"
+
+"Well, yes, sir; I think so."
+
+The man hesitated; he felt a slight, a very sight, feeling of
+misgiving. He looked at Daisy, flushed and smiling, happy and
+unconcerned, and then at Mrs. Bunting. She was very pale; but
+surely her lodger's sudden seizure was enough to make her feel
+worried. Hopkins felt the half-sovereign pleasantly tickling his
+palm. The Paris Prefect of Police had given him only half-a-crown
+--mean, shabby foreigner!
+
+"Yes, sir; I can let you out that way," he said at last, "and p'raps
+when you're standing out in the air, on the iron balcony, you'll feel
+better. But then, you know, sir, you'll have to come round to the
+front if you wants to come in again, for those emergency doors only
+open outward."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Sleuth hurriedly. "I quite understand! If I
+feel better I'll come in by the front way, and pay another shilling
+--that's only fair."
+
+"You needn't do that if you'll just explain what happened here."
+
+The man went and pulled the curtain aside, and put his shoulder
+against the door. It burst open, and the light, for a moment,
+blinded Mr. Sleuth.
+
+He passed his hand over his eyes. "Thank you," he muttered, "thank
+you. I shall get all right out there."
+
+An iron stairway led down into a small stable yard, of which the
+door opened into a side street.
+
+Mr. Sleuth looked round once more; he really did feel very ill--
+ill and dazed. How pleasant it would be to take a flying leap over
+the balcony railing and find rest, eternal rest, below.
+
+But no--he thrust the thought the temptation, from him. Again a
+convulsive look of rage came over his face. He had remembered his
+landlady. How could the woman whom he had treated so generously have
+betrayed him to his arch-enemy?--to the official, that is, who had
+entered into a conspiracy years ago to have him confined--him, an
+absolutely sane man with a great avenging work to do in the world--
+in a lunatic asylum.
+
+He stepped out into the open air, and the curtain, falling-to behind
+him, blotted out the tall, thin figure from the little group of
+people who had watched him disappear.
+
+Even Daisy felt a little scared. "He did look bad, didn't he, now?"
+she turned appealingly to Mr. Hopkins.
+
+"Yes, that he did, poor gentleman--your lodger, too?" he looked
+sympathetically at Mrs. Bunting.
+
+She moistened her lips with her tongue. "Yes," she repeated dully,
+"my lodger."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+In vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughter
+to step through into the Chamber of Horrors. "I think we ought to
+go straight home," said Mr. Sleuth's landlady decidedly. And Daisy
+meekly assented. Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared by
+the lodger's sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling of
+hers was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on
+her step-mother's face.
+
+Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got
+home it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been
+taken.
+
+"I don't suppose he'll be long before he comes home," said Bunting
+heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. She
+looked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that
+there was something wrong--very wrong indeed.
+
+The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisy
+knew there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.
+
+About six o'clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas in
+Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance.
+Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay
+her Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly
+as he had left them, when he had come downstairs and suggested that
+ill-starred expedition to his landlord's daughter. She took few
+steps forward, listening the while anxiously for the familiar sound
+of the click in the door which would tell her that the lodger had
+come back, and then she went over to the window and looked out.
+
+What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless,
+friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very little
+money on him!
+
+Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger's bedroom and opened the
+drawer of the looking-glass.
+
+Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns. If only he
+had taken his money out with him! She wondered painfully whether he
+had enough on his person to secure a good night's lodging, and then
+suddenly she remembered that which brought relief to her mind. The
+lodger had given something to that Hopkins fellow--either a sovereign
+or half a sovereign, she wasn't sure which.
+
+The memory of Mr. Sleuth's cruel words to her, of his threat, did
+not disturb her overmuch. It had been a mistake--all a mistake.
+Far from betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him--kept his awful
+secret as she could not have kept it had she known, or even dimly
+suspected, the horrible fact with which Sir John Burney's words had
+made her acquainted; namely, that Mr. Sleuth was victim of no
+temporary aberration, but that he was, and had been for years, a
+madman, a homicidal maniac.
+
+In her ears there still rang the Frenchman's half careless yet
+confident question, "De Leipsic and Liverpool man?"
+
+Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room,
+and taking a black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid the
+leaves of the Bible. Then she opened the Book, and looked at the
+page the pin had marked:--
+
+"My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . .
+There is none to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up my
+curtains."
+
+At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and
+as she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her
+stepmother.
+
+"I'll go down and start getting the lodger's supper ready for you,"
+said the girl good-naturedly. "He's certain to come in when he gets
+hungry. But he did look upset, didn't he, Ellen? Right down bad--
+that he did!"
+
+Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy
+to go down.
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't never come back no more," she said sombrely, and
+then she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change which
+came over her husband's face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief,
+of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add,
+"That's to say, I don't suppose he will."
+
+And Bunting's face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look,
+the look it had worn the last few days, returned.
+
+"What makes you think he mayn't come back?" he muttered.
+
+"Too long to tell you now," she said. "Wait till the child's gone
+to bed."
+
+And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.
+
+And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where
+she now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her
+husband to follow her upstairs.
+
+Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on the
+door. And about this they had a few sharp whispered words.
+
+"You're never going to shut him out?" she expostulated angrily,
+beneath her breath.
+
+"I'm not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhaps
+walking in any minute."
+
+"Mr. Sleuth won't hurt Daisy, bless you! Much more likely to hurt
+me," and she gave a half sob.
+
+Bunting stared at her. "What do you mean?" he said roughly.
+"Come upstairs and tell me what you mean."
+
+And then, in what had been the lodger's sitting-room, Mrs. Bunting
+told her husband exactly what it was that had happened.
+
+He listened in heavy silence.
+
+"So you see," she said at last, "you see, Bunting, that 'twas me
+that was right after all. The lodger was never responsible for
+his actions. I never thought he was, for my part."
+
+And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly. "Depends on what you call
+responsible--" he began argumentatively.
+
+But she would have none of that. "I heard the gentleman say myself
+that he was a lunatic," she said fiercely. And then, dropping, her
+voice, "A religious maniac--that's what he called him."
+
+"Well, he never seemed so to me," said Bunting stoutly. "He simply
+seemed to me 'centric--that's all he did. Not a bit madder than
+many I could tell you of." He was walking round the room restlessly,
+but he stopped short at last. "And what d'you think we ought to do
+now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently. "I don't think we ought
+to do nothing," she said. "Why should we?"
+
+And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashion
+that irritated her.
+
+"If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where he
+would get it! And his money, too? I hate to feel it's in there."
+
+"Don't you make any mistake--he'll come back for that," said Bunting,
+with decision.
+
+But Mrs. Bunting shook her head. She knew better. "Now," she said,
+"you go off up to bed. It's no use us sitting up any longer."
+
+And Bunting acquiesced.
+
+She ran down and got him a bedroom candle--there was no gas in the
+little back bedroom upstairs. And then she watched him go slowly up.
+
+Suddenly he turned and came down again. "Ellen," he said, in an
+urgent whisper, "if I was you I'd take the chain off the door, and
+I'd lock myself in--that's what I'm going to do. Then he can sneak
+in and take his dirty money away."
+
+Mrs. Bunting neither nodded nor shook her head. Slowly she went
+downstairs, and there she carried out half of Bunting's advice.
+She took, that is, the chain off the front door. But she did not
+go to bed, neither did she lock herself in. She sat up all night,
+waiting. At half-past seven she made herself a cup of tea, and
+then she went into her bedroom.
+
+Daisy opened her eyes.
+
+"Why, Ellen," she said, "I suppose I was that tired, and slept so
+sound, that I never heard you come to bed or get up--funny,
+wasn't it?"
+
+"Young people don't sleep as light as do old folks," Mrs. Bunting
+said sententiously.
+
+"Did the lodger come in after all? I suppose he's upstairs now?"
+
+Mrs. Bunting shook her head. "It looks as if 'twould be a fine
+day for you down at Richmond," she observed in a kindly tone.
+
+And Daisy smiled, a very happy, confident little smile.
+
+******
+
+That evening Mrs. Bunting forced herself to tell young Chandler
+that their lodger had, so to speak, disappeared. She and Bunting
+had thought carefully over what they would say, and so well did
+they carry out their programme, or, what is more likely, so full
+was young Chandler of the long happy day he and Daisy had spent
+together, that he took their news very calmly.
+
+"Gone away, has he?" he observed casually. "Well, I hope he paid
+up all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes," said Mrs. Bunting hastily. "No trouble of that sort."
+
+And Bunting said shamefacedly, "Aye, aye, the lodger was quite an
+honest gentleman, Joe. But I feel worried, about him. He was such
+a poor, gentle chap--not the sort o' man one likes to think of as
+wandering about by himself."
+
+"You always said he was 'centric," said Joe thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes, he was that," said Bunting slowly. "Regular right-down queer.
+Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch," and, as he tapped his
+head significantly, both young people burst out laughing.
+
+"Would you like a description of him circulated?" asked Joe
+good-naturedly.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.
+
+"No, I don't think so. Not yet awhile at any rate. 'Twould upset
+him awfully, you see."
+
+And Joe acquiesced. "You'd be surprised at the number o' people
+who disappears and are never heard of again" he said cheerfully.
+And then he got up, very reluctantly.
+
+Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into
+the passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.
+
+When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting
+in his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round
+his neck.
+
+Then she bent down her head. "Father," she said, "I've a bit of
+news for you!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?"
+
+"Father, I'm engaged! Aren't you surprised?"
+
+"Well, what do you think?" said Bunting fondly. Then he turned
+round and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.
+
+"What'll Old Aunt say, I wonder?" he whispered.
+
+"Don't you worry about Old Aunt," exclaimed his wife suddenly.
+"I'll manage Old Aunt! I'll go down and see her. She and I have
+always got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy."
+
+"Yes," said Daisy a little wonderingly. "I know you have, Ellen."
+
+******
+
+Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many
+nights had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click
+of the lock which she at once hoped and feared would herald her
+lodger's return.
+
+As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the "Avenger"
+murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when
+a gardener, working in the Regent's Park, found a newspaper in which
+was wrapped, together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes,
+a long, peculiarly shaped knife. The fact, though of considerable
+interest to the police, was not chronicled in any newspaper, but
+about the same time a picturesque little paragraph went the round
+of the press concerning a small boxful of sovereigns which had been
+anonymously forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about "Old Aunt,"
+and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in a
+more philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her to
+do. She only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolks
+leave a house in charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure to
+follow--a remark which Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.
+
+
+Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an old
+lady, by whom they are feared as well as respected, and whom they
+make very comfortable.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lodger, by Marie Belloc Lowndes
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LODGER ***
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