's part
when young Chandler did come in again that evening, very little was
said of the new Avenger murder.

Bunting made no reference to it at all, and though Daisy said a
word, it was but a word. And Joe Chandler thought he had never
spent a pleasanter evening in his life--for it was he and Daisy
who talked all the time, their elders remaining for the most part
silent.

Daisy told of all that she had done with Aunt Margaret. She
described the long, dull hours and the queer jobs her aunt set her
to do--the washing up of all the fine drawing-room china in a big
basin lined with flannel, and how terrified she (Daisy) had been
lest there should come even one teeny little chip to any of it.
Then she went on to relate some of the funny things Aunt Margaret
had told her about "the family."

There came a really comic tale, which hugely interested and delighted
Chandler. This was of how Aunt Margaret's lady had been taken in by
an impostor--an impostor who had come up, just as she was stepping
out of her carriage, and pretended to have a fit on the doorstep.
Aunt Margaret's lady, being a soft one, had insisted on the man
coming into the hall, where he had been given all kinds of
restoratives. When the man had at last gone off, it was found that
he had "wolfed" young master's best walking-stick, one with a fine
tortoise-shell top to it. Thus had Aunt Margaret proved to her lady
that the man had been shamming, and her lady had been very angry--
near had a fit herself!

"There's a lot of that about," said Chandler, laughing.
"Incorrigible rogues and vagabonds--that's what those sort of people
are!"

And then he, in his turn, told an elaborate tale of an exceptionally
clever swindler whom he himself had brought to book. He was very
proud of that job, it had formed a white stone in his career as a
detective. And even Mrs. Bunting was quite interested to hear about
it.

Chandler was still sitting there when Mr. Sleuth's bell rang. For
awhile no one stirred; then Bunting looked questioningly at his wife.

"Did you hear that?" he said. "I think, Ellen, that was the lodger's
bell."

She got up, without alacrity, and went upstairs.

"I rang," said Mr. Sleuth weakly, "to tell you I don't require any
supper to-night, Mrs. Bunting. Only a glass of milk, with a lump
of sugar in it. That is all I require--nothing more. I feel very
very far from well"--and he had a hunted, plaintive expression on
his face. "And then I thought y