s
of detection. That they should come to know the awful fact she kept
hidden in her breast would have seemed to her, on the whole, a
natural thing, but that Bunting should even dimly suspect it appeared
beyond the range of possibility.

And yet even Daisy noticed a change in her father. He sat cowering
over the fire--saying nothing, doing nothing.

"Why, father, ain't you well?" the girl asked more than once.

And, looking up, he would answer, "Yes, I'm well enough, my girl,
but I feels cold. It's awful cold. I never did feel anything like
the cold we've got just now."

* * *

At eight the now familiar shouts and cries began again outside.

"The Avenger again!" "Another horrible crime!" "Extra speshul
edition!"--such were the shouts, the exultant yells, hurled through
the clear, cold air. They fell, like bombs into the quiet room.

Both Bunting and his wife remained silent, but Daisy's cheeks grew
pink with excitement, and her eye sparkled.

"Hark, father! Hark, Ellen! D'you hear that?" she exclaimed
childishly, and even clapped her hands. "I do wish Mr. Chandler
had been here. He would 'a been startled!"

"Don't, Daisy!" and Bunting frowned.

Then, getting up, he stretched himself. "It's fair getting on my
mind," he said, "these horrible things happening. I'd like to get
right away from London, just as far as I could--that I would!"

"Up to John-o'-Groat's?" said Daisy, laughing. And then, "Why,
father, ain't you going out to get a paper?"

"Yes, I suppose I must."

Slowly he went out of the room, and, lingering a moment in the hall,
he put on his greatcoat and hat. Then he opened the front door,
and walked down the flagged path. Opening the iron gate, he stepped
out on the pavement, then crossed the road to where the newspaper-boys
now stood.

The boy nearest to him only had the Sun--a late edition of the paper
he had already read. It annoyed Bunting to give a penny for a
ha'penny rag of which he already knew the main contents. But there
was nothing else to do.

Standing under a lamp-post, he opened out the newspaper. It was
bitingly cold; that, perhaps, was why his hand shook as he looked
down at the big headlines. For Bunting had been very unfair to the
enterprise of the editor of his favourite evening paper. This
special edition was full of new matter--new matter concerning
The Avenger.

First, in huge type right across the page, was the brief statement
that The Avenger had now comm