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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +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 + |