Mr. Sleuth's voice answered her from the bedroom. "I'm not well,"
he called out querulously; "I think I've caught a chill. I should
be obliged if you would kindly bring me up a cup of tea, and put it
outside my door, Mrs. Bunting."

"Very well, sir."

Mrs. Bunting turned and went downstairs. She still felt queer and
giddy, so instead of going into the kitchen, she made the lodger his
cup of tea over her sitting-room gas-ring.

During their midday dinner the husband and wife had a little
discussion as to where Daisy should sleep. It had been settled
that a bed should be made up for her in the top back room, but
Mrs. Bunting saw reason to change this plan. "I think 'twould be
better if Daisy were to sleep with me, Bunting, and you was to
sleep upstairs."

Bunting felt and looked rather surprised, but he acquiesced. Ellen
was probably right; the girl would be rather lonely up there, and,
after all, they didn't know much about the lodger, though he seemed
a respectable gentleman enough.

Daisy was a good-natured girl; she liked London, and wanted to make
herself useful to her stepmother. "I'll wash up; don't you bother to
come downstairs," she said cheerfully.

Bunting began to walk up and down the room. His wife gave him a
furtive glance; she wondered what he was thinking about.

"Didn't you get a paper?" she said at last.

"Yes, of course I did," he answered hastily. "But I've put it away.
I thought you'd rather not look at it, as you're that nervous."

Again she glanced at him quickly, furtively, but he seemed just as
usual--he evidently meant just what he said and no more.

"I thought they was shouting something in the street--I mean just
before I was took bad."

It was now Bunting's turn to stare at his wife quickly and rather
furtively. He had felt sure that her sudden attack of queerness,
of hysterics--call it what you might--had been due to the shouting
outside. She was not the only woman in London who had got the
Avenger murders on her nerves. His morning paper said quite a lot
of women were afraid to go out alone. Was it possible that the
curious way she had been taken just now had had nothing to do with
the shouts and excitement outside?

"Don't you know what it was they were calling out?" he asked slowly.

Mrs. Bunting looked across at him. She would have given a very
great deal to be able to lie, to pretend that she did not know what
those dreadful cries had portended. But when it came to the