ssed up, as she knew he
sometimes, not very often, did dress up in the course of his work.

Mrs. Bunting began laughing--laughing helplessly, hysterically,
just as she had done on the morning of Daisy's arrival, when the
newspaper-sellers had come shouting down the Marylebone Road.

"What's all this about?" Bunting came out

Young Chandler ruefully shut the front door. "I didn't mean to
upset her like this," he said, looking foolish; "'twas just my silly
nonsense, Mr. Bunting." And together they helped her into the
sitting-room.

But, once there, poor Mrs. Bunting went on worse than ever; she
threw her black apron over her face, and began to sob hysterically.

"I made sure she'd know who I was when I spoke," went on the young
fellow apologetically. "But, there now, I have upset her. I am
sorry!"

"It don't matter!" she exclaimed, throwing the apron off her face,
but the tears were still streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and
laughed by turns. "Don't matter one little bit, Joe! 'Twas stupid
of me to be so taken aback. But, there, that murder that's happened
close by, it's just upset me--upset me altogether to-day."

"Enough to upset anyone--that was," acknowledged the young man
ruefully. "I've only come in for a minute, like. I haven't no
right to come when I'm on duty like this--"

Joe Chandler was looking longingly at what remains of the meal were
still on the table.

"You can take a minute just to have a bite and a sup," said Bunting
hospitably; "and then you can tell us any news there is, Joe. We're
right in the middle of everything now, ain't we?" He spoke with
evident enjoyment, almost pride, in the gruesome fact.

Joe nodded. Already his mouth was full of bread-and-butter. He
waited a moment, and then: "Well I have got one piece of news--not
that I suppose it'll interest you very much."

They both looked at him--Mrs. Bunting suddenly calm, though her
breast still heaved from time to time.

"Our Boss has resigned!" said Joe Chandler slowly, impressively.

"No! Not the Commissioner o' Police?" exclaimed Bunting.

"Yes, he has. He just can't bear what's said about us any longer
--and I don't wonder! He done his best, and so's we all. The
public have just gone daft--in the West End, that is, to-day. As
for the papers, well, they're something cruel--that's what they
are. And the ridiculous ideas they print! You'd never believe the
things they asks us to do--and quite serious-like."

"What d'you m