sible that, in their agitation, they had left the front door
open, and that someone, some merciless myrmidon of the law, had
crept in behind them?

Both felt a curious thrill of satisfaction when they saw that it
was only Mr. Sleuth--Mr. Sleuth dressed for going out; the tall
hat he had worn when he had first come to them was in his hand, but
he was wearing a coat instead of his Inverness cape.

"I heard you come in"--he addressed Mrs. Bunting in his high,
whistling, hesitating voice--"and so I've come down to ask you if
you and Miss Bunting will come to Madame Tussaud's now. I have
never seen those famous waxworks, though I've heard of the place
all my life."

As Bunting forced himself to look fixedly at his lodger, a sudden
doubt bringing with it a sense of immeasurable relief, came to
Mr. Sleuth's landlord.

Surely it was inconceivable that this gentle, mild-mannered
gentleman could be the monster of cruelty and cunning that Bunting
had now for the terrible space of four days believed him to be!

He tried to catch his wife's eye, but Mrs. Bunting was looking away,
staring into vacancy. She still, of course, wore the bonnet and
cloak in which she had just been out to do her marketing. Daisy
was already putting on her hat and coat.

"Well?" said Mr. Sleuth. Then Mrs. Bunting turned, and it seemed
to his landlady that he was looking at her threateningly. "Well?"

"Yes, sir. We'll come in a minute," she said dully.

CHAPTER XXVI

Madame Tussaud's had hitherto held pleasant memories for Mrs. Bunting.
In the days when she and Bunting were courting they often spent there
part of their afternoon-out.

The butler had an acquaintance, a man named Hopkins, who was one of
the waxworks staff, and this man had sometimes given him passes for
"self and lady." But this was the first time Mrs. Bunting had been
inside the place since she had come to live almost next door, as it
were, to the big building.

They walked in silence to the familiar entrance, and then, after
the ill-assorted trio had gone up the great staircase and into the
first gallery, Mr. Sleuth suddenly stopped short. The presence of
those curious, still, waxen figures which suggest so strangely death
in life, seemed to surprise and affright him.

Daisy took quick advantage of the lodger's hesitation and unease.

"Oh, Ellen," she cried, "do let us begin by going into the Chamber
of Horrors! I've never been in there. Old Aunt made father promise
he