igator's own account he had
discovered all sorts of things that had escaped the eye of the
police and of the official detectives. For instance, owing, he
admitted, to a fortunate chance, he had been at the place where
the two last murders had been committed very soon after the double
crime had been discovered--in fact within half an hour, and he
had found, or so he felt sure, on the slippery, wet pavement
imprints of the murderer's right foot.

The paper reproduced the impression of a half-worn rubber sole.
At the same time, he also admitted--for the Special Investigator
was very honest, and he had a good bit of space to fill in the
enterprising paper which had engaged him to probe the awful
mystery--that there were thousands of rubber soles being worn in
London. . . .

And when she came to that statement Mrs. Bunting looked up, and
there came a wan smile over her thin, closely-shut lips. It was
quite true--that about rubber soles; there were thousands of
rubber soles being worn just now. She felt grateful to the Special
Investigator for having stated the fact so clearly.

The column ended up with the words:

"And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten
days ago. To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public
inquiry could be held at once. Say, on the very day the discovery
of a fresh murder is made. In that way alone would it be possible
to weigh and sift the evidence offered by members of the general
public. For when a week or more has elapsed, and these same people
have been examined and cross-examined in private by the police,
their impressions have had time to become blurred and hopelessly
confused. On that last occasion but one there seems no doubt
that several people, at any rate two women and one man, actually
saw the murderer hurrying from the scene of his atrocious double
crime--this being so, to-day's investigation may be of the highest
value and importance. To-morrow I hope to give an account of
the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements
made during its course."

Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had
gone on reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment. At last he
said rather crossly, "Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute! The
omelette I've cooked for you will be just like leather if you don't
eat it."

But once his wife had eaten her breakfast--and, to Bunting's
mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette