ay, 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 swiftly 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, j