under it was written, in
rather large characters:

"We are glad to be able to present our readers with an authentic
reproduction of the footprint of the half-worn rubber sole which
was almost certainly worn by The Avenger when he committed his
double murder ten days ago."

She went into the sitting-room. To her relief it was empty.

"Kindly put the paper down on the table," came Mr. Sleuth's muffled
voice from the upper landing.

She did so. "Yes, sir. And Bunting don't want the paper back
again, sir. He says he's read it." And then she hurried out of
the room.

CHAPTER XXIII

All afternoon it went on snowing; and the three of them sat there,
listening and waiting--Bunting and his wife hardly knew for what;
Daisy for the knock which would herald Joe Chandler.

And about four there came the now familiar sound.

Mrs. Bunting hurried out into the passage, and as she opened the
front door she whispered, "We haven't said anything to Daisy yet.
Young girls can't keep secrets."

Chandler nodded comprehendingly. He now looked the low character
he had assumed to the life, for he was blue with cold, disheartened,
and tired out.

Daisy gave a little cry of shocked surprise, of amusement, of
welcome, when she saw how cleverly he was disguised.

"I never!" she exclaimed. "What a difference it do make, to be
sure! Why, you looks quite horrid, Mr. Chandler."

And, somehow, that little speech of hers amused her father so much
that he quite cheered up. Bunting had been very dull and quiet
all that afternoon.

"It won't take me ten minutes to make myself respectable again,"
said the young man rather ruefully.

His host and hostess, looking at him eagerly, furtively, both came
to the conclusion that he had been unsuccessful--that he had failed,
that is, in getting any information worth having. And though, in a
sense, they all had a pleasant tea together, there was an air of
constraint, even of discomfort, over the little party.

Bunting felt it hard that he couldn't ask the questions that were
trembling on his lips; he would have felt it hard any time during
the last month to refrain from knowing anything Joe could tell him,
but now it seemed almost intolerable to be in this queer kind of
half suspense. There was one important fact he longed to know,
and at last came his opportunity of doing so, for Joe Chandler rose
to leave, and this time it was Bunting who followed him out into
the hall.

"Where did it happ