took their news very calmly.

"Gone away, has he?" he observed casually. "Well, I hope he paid
up all right?"

"Oh, yes, yes," said Mrs. Bunting hastily. "No trouble of that sort."

And Bunting said shamefacedly, "Aye, aye, the lodger was quite an
honest gentleman, Joe. But I feel worried, about him. He was such
a poor, gentle chap--not the sort o' man one likes to think of as
wandering about by himself."

"You always said he was 'centric," said Joe thoughtfully.

"Yes, he was that," said Bunting slowly. "Regular right-down queer.
Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch," and, as he tapped his
head significantly, both young people burst out laughing.

"Would you like a description of him circulated?" asked Joe
good-naturedly.

Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.

"No, I don't think so. Not yet awhile at any rate. 'Twould upset
him awfully, you see."

And Joe acquiesced. "You'd be surprised at the number o' people
who disappears and are never heard of again," he said cheerfully.
And then he got up, very reluctantly.

Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into
the passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.

When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting
in his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round
his neck.

Then she bent down her head. "Father," she said, "I've a bit of
news for you!"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Father, I'm engaged! Aren't you surprised?"

"Well, what do you think?" said Bunting fondly. Then he turned
round and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.

"What'll Old Aunt say, I wonder?" he whispered.

"Don't you worry about Old Aunt," exclaimed his wife suddenly.
"I'll manage Old Aunt! I'll go down and see her. She and I have
always got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy."

"Yes," said Daisy a little wonderingly. "I know you have, Ellen."

******

Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many
nights had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click
of the lock which she at once hoped and feared would herald her
lodger's return.

As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the "Avenger"
murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when
a gardener, working in the Regent's Park, found a newspaper in which
was wrapped, together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes,
a long, peculiarly shaped knife. The fact, thoug