ng confidently.

Daisy went on, quite satisfied:

"--however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat
where his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person
who knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding information
in expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory
after the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences. My
suggestion, Sir, is that the Home Secretary promise a free pardon.
The more so that only thus can this miscreant be brought to justice.
Unless he was caught red-handed in the act, it will be exceedingly
difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for
English law looks very askance at circumstantial evidence."

"There's something worth listening to in that letter," said Joe,
leaning forward.

Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as
she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he
was saying.

"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.

"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in
a railway carriage? He took refuge with someone--a woman his
mother had known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time.
But at last she gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!"

"I don't think I'd like to give anybody up for a reward," said
Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.

"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You'd
only be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone--everyone, that
is, who's a good citizen. And you'd be getting something for doing
it, which is more than most people gets as does their duty."

"A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common
informer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man 'ud care to be
called that! It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It's
your job to catch those who've done anything wrong. And a man'd be
a fool who'd take refuge--like with you. He'd be walking into the
lion's mouth--" Bunting laughed.

And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything I
wouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.

And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn't
be afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"

And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting,
sitting with bowed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience
and anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.

"Why, Ellen, don't you feel well?" asked Bunting quickly.