There had suddenly come over her a feeling of horrible self-rebuke and even self-loathing.It was dreadful that she, of all women, should have longed to hear that another murder had been committed last night!
Yet such was the shameful fact.She had listened all through breakfast hoping to hear the dread news being shouted outside; yes, and more or less during the long discussion which had followed on the receipt of Margaret's letter she had been hoping - hoping against hope - that those dreadful triumphant shouts of the newspaper-sellers still might come echoing down the Marylebone Road.
And yet hypocrite that she was, she had reproved Bunting when he had expressed, not disappointment exactly - but, well, surprise, that nothing had happened last night.
Now her mind switched off to Joe Chandler.Strange to think how afraid she had been of that young man! She was no longer afraid of him, or hardly at all.He was dotty - that's what was the matter with him, dotty with love for rosy-checked, blue-eyed little Daisy.
Anything might now go on, right under Joe Chandler's very nose - but, bless you, he'd never see it! Last summer, when this affair, this nonsense of young Chandler and Daisy bad begun, she had had very little patience with it all.In fact, the memory of the way Joe had gone on then, the tiresome way he would be always dropping in, had been one reason (though not the most important reason of all)why she had felt so terribly put about at the idea of the girl coming again.But now? Well, now she had become quite tolerant, quite kindly - at any rate as far as Joe Chandler was concerned.
She wondered why.
Still, 'twouldn't do Joe a bit of harm not to see the girl for a couple of days.In fact 'twould be a very good thing, for then he'd think of Daisy - think of her to the exclusion of all else.Absence does make the heart grow fonder - at first, at any rate.Mrs.
Bunting was well aware of that.During the long course of hers and Bunting's mild courting, they'd been separated for about three months, and it was that three months which had made up her mind for her.She had got so used to Bunting that she couldn't do without him, and she had felt - oddest fact of all - acutely, miserably jealous.But she hadn't let him know that - no fear!
Of course, Joe mustn't neglect his job - that would never do, But what a good thing it was, after all, that he wasn't like some of those detective chaps that are written about in stories - the sort of chaps that know everything, see everything, guess everything - even where there isn't anything to see, or know, or guess!
Why, to take only one little fact - Joe Chandler had never shown the slightest curiosity about their lodger....
Mrs.Bunting pulled herself together with a start, and hurried quickly on.Bunting would begin to wonder what had happened to her.
She went into the Post Office and handed the form to the young woman without a word.Margaret, a sensible woman, who was accustomed to manage other people's affairs, had even written out the words: "Will be with you to tea.- DAISY."It was a comfort to have the thing settled once for all.If anything horrible was going to happen in the next two or three days - it was just as well Daisy shouldn't be at home.Not that there was any real danger that anything would happen, - Mrs.Bunting felt sure of that.
By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally counting up the number of murders The Avenger had committed.Nine, or was it ten? Surely by now The Avenger must be avenged? Surely by now, if - as that writer in the newspaper had suggested - he was a quiet, blameless gentleman living in the West End, whatever vengeance he had to wreak, must be satisfied?
She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn't do for the lodger to ring before she had got back.Bunting would never know how to manage Mr.
Sleuth, especially if Mr.Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
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