s had evoked. Even the
more sober organs of the Press went on attacking, with gathering
severity and indignation, the Commissioner of Police; and at the
huge demonstration held in Victoria Park two days before violent
speeches had also been made against the Home Secretary.

But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that. The little
house in the Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isle
of dreams, to which his thoughts were ever turning when he had a
moment to spare from what had grown to be a wearisome, because an
unsatisfactory, job. He secretly agreed with one of his pals who
had exclaimed, and that within twenty-four hours of the last double
crime, "Why, 'twould be easier to find a needle in a rick o' hay
than this--bloke!"

And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now--after
nine long, empty days had gone by?

Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat.
Then he put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs.
Bunting to wait a moment. From where he stood in the hall the
father and daughter made a pleasant little picture of contented
domesticity. Joe Chandler's honest heart swelled at the sight.

Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which her
stepmother and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the left
side of the fire, while Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortable
arm-chair, was listening, his hand to his ear, in an attitude--as
it was the first time she had caught him doing it, the fact brought
a pang to Mrs. Bunting--which showed that age was beginning to
creep over the listener.

One of Daisy's duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of
reading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her
accomplishment.

Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy had been asking,
"Shall I read this, father?" And Bunting had answered quickly,
"Aye, do, my dear."

He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the
door, he had only just nodded his head. The young man was becoming
so frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.

Daisy read out:

"The Avenger: A--"

And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly.
Bravely, however, she went on. "A the-o-ry."

"Go in--do!" whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. "Why should
we stay out here in the cold? It's ridiculous."

"I don't want to interrupt Miss Daisy," whispered Chandler back,
rather hoarsely.

"Well, you'll