ng 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 dist