ant, but unmistakable, shouts
which betokened that something had happened last night--something
which made it worth while for the newspaper-sellers to come crying
down the Marylebone Road.

"Well?" she said a little breathlessly. "Well, Joe? I suppose
you've brought us news? I suppose there's been another?"

He looked at her, surprised. "No, that there hasn't, Mrs. Bunting
--not as far as I know, that is. Oh, you're thinking of those
newspaper chaps? They've got to cry out something," he grinned.
"You wouldn't 'a thought folk was so bloodthirsty. They're just
shouting out that there's been an arrest; but we don't take no
stock of that. It's a Scotchman what gave himself up last night
at Dorking. He'd been drinking, and was a-pitying of himself.
Why, since this business began, there's been about twenty arrests,
but they've all come to nothing."

"Why, Ellen, you looks quite sad, quite disappointed," said Bunting
jokingly. "Come to think of it, it's high time The Avenger was at
work again." He laughed as he made his grim joke. Then turned to
young Chandler: "Well, you'll be glad when its all over, my lad."

"Glad in a way," said Chandler unwillingly. "But one 'ud have liked
to have caught him. One doesn't like to know such a creature's at
large, now, does one?"

Mrs. Bunting had taken off her bonnet and jacket. "I must just go
and see about Mr. Sleuth's breakfast," she said in a weary,
dispirited voice, and left them there.

She felt disappointed, and very, very depressed. As to the plot
which had been hatching when she came in, that had no chance of
success; Bunting would never dare let Daisy send out another
telegram contradicting the first. Besides, Daisy's stepmother
shrewdly suspected that by now the girl herself wouldn't care to
do such a thing. Daisy had plenty of sense tucked away somewhere
in her pretty little head. If it ever became her fate to live as
a married woman in London, it would be best to stay on the right
side of Aunt Margaret.

And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother's heart became
very soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready. In fact,
there was nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth's two eggs. Feeling
suddenly more cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took
the tray upstairs.

"As it was rather late, I didn't wait for you to ring, sir," she
said.

And the lodger looked up from the table where, as usual, he was
studying with painful, almost agonising int