CHAPTER XI
It was only Joe. Somehow, even Bunting called him "Joe" now, and nolonger "Chandler," as he had mostly used to do.
Mrs. Bunting had opened the front door only a very little way.She wasn't going to have any strangers pushing in past her.
To her sharpened, suffering senses her house had become a citadelwhich must be defended; aye, even if the besiegers were a mightyhorde with right on their side. And she was always expecting thatfirst single spy who would herald the battalion against whom heronly weapon would be her woman's wit and cunning.
But when she saw who stood there smiling at her, the muscles of herface relaxed, and it lost the tense, anxious, almost agonised lookit assumed the moment she turned her back on her husband andstepdaughter.
"Why, Joe," she whispered, for she had left the door open behindher, and Daisy had already begun to read aloud, as her father hadbidden her. "Come in, do! It's fairly cold to-night."
A glance at his face had shown her that there was no fresh news.
Joe Chandler walked in, past her, into the little hall. Cold?Well, he didn't feel cold, for he had walked quickly to be thesooner where he was now.
Nine days had gone by since that last terrible occurrence, thedouble murder which had been committed early in the morning ofthe day Daisy had arrived in London. And though the thousands ofmen belonging to the Metropolitan Police--to say nothing of thesmaller, more alert body of detectives attached to the Force--were keenly on the alert, not one but had begun to feel thatthere was nothing to be alert about. Familiarity, even withhorror, breeds contempt.
But with the public it was far otherwise. Each day somethinghappened to revive and keep alive the mingled horror and interestthis strange, enigmatic series of crimes had evoked. Even themore sober organs of the Press went on attacking, with gatheringseverity and indignation, the Commissioner of Police; and at thehuge demonstration held in Victoria Park two days before violentspeeches had also been made against the Home Secretary.
But just now Joe Chandler wanted to forget all that. The littlehouse in the Marylebone Road had become to him an enchanted isleof dreams, to which his thoughts were ever turning when he had amoment to spare from what had grown to be a wearisome, because anunsatisfactory, job. He secretly agreed with one of his pals whohad exclaimed, and that within twenty-four hours of the last doublecrime, "Why, 'twould be easier to find a needle in a rick o' haythan this--bloke!"
And if that had been true then, how much truer it was now--afternine long, empty days had gone by?
Quickly he divested himself of his great-coat, muffler, and low hat.Then he put his finger on his lip, and motioned smilingly to Mrs.Bunting to wait a moment. From where he stood in the hall thefather and daughter made a pleasant little picture of contenteddomesticity. Joe Chandler's honest heart swelled at the sight.
Daisy, wearing the blue-and-white check silk dress about which herstepmother and she had had words, sat on a low stool on the leftside of the fire, while Bunting, leaning back in his own comfortablearm-chair, was listening, his hand to his ear, in an attitude--asit was the first time she had caught him doing it, the fact broughta pang to Mrs. Bunting--which showed that age was beginning tocreep over the listener.
One of Daisy's duties as companion to her great-aunt was that ofreading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on heraccomplishment.
Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy had been asking,"Shall I read this, father?" And Bunting had answered quickly,"Aye, do, my dear."
He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at thedoor, he had only just nodded his head. The young man was becomingso frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.
Daisy read out:
"The Avenger: A--"
And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly.Bravely, however, she went on. "A the-o-ry."
"Go in--do!" whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. "Why shouldwe stay out here in the cold? It's ridiculous."
"I don't want to interrupt Miss Daisy," whispered Chandler back,rather hoarsely.
"Well, you'll hear it all the better in the room. Don't thinkshe'll stop because of you, bless you! There's nothing shy aboutour Daisy!"
The young man resented the tart, short tone. "Poor little girl!"he said to himself tenderly. "That's what it is having a stepmother,instead of a proper mother." But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and thenhe was pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a brightblush came over her pretty face.
"Joe begs you won't stop yet awhile. Go on with your reading,"commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly. "Now, Joe, you can go and sit overthere, close to Daisy, and then you won't miss a word."
There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticedthat, but he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he wentand sat on a chair just behind Daisy. From there he could note withreverent delight the charming way her fair hair grew upwards fromthe nape of her slender neck.
"The AVENGER: A THE-O-RY"
began Daisy again, clearing her throat.
"DEAR Sir--I have a suggestion to put forward for which I thinkthere is a great deal to be said. It seems to me very probablethat The Avenger--to give him the name by which he apparentlywishes to be known--comprises in his own person the peculiaritiesof Jekyll and Hyde, Mr. Louis Stevenson's now famous hero.
"The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet,pleasant-looking gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End ofLondon. He has, however, a tragedy in his past life. He is thehusband of a dipsomaniac wife. She is, of course, under care, andis never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe with hiswidowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister. They notice that hehas become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life,occupying himself each day with some harmless hobby. On foggynights, once the quiet household is plunged in sleep, he creeps outof the house, maybe between one and two o'clock, and swiftly makeshis way straight to what has become The Avenger's murder area.Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her with Judas-likegentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly homeagain. After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, oncemore the quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother,esteemed and even beloved by a large circle of friends andacquaintances. Meantime, the police are searching about the sceneof the tragedy for what they regard as the usual type of criminallunatic.
"I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess thatI am amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries tothe part of London where these murders have been actually committed.I am quite sure from all that has come out--and we must rememberthat full information is never given to the newspapers--The Avengershould be sought for in the West and not in the East End of London--Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very truly--"
Again Daisy hesitated, and then with an effort she brought out theword "Gab-o-ri-you," said she.
"What a funny name!" said Bunting wonderingly.
And then Joe broke in: "That's the name of a French chap what wrotedetective stories," he said. "Pretty good, some of them are, too!"
"Then this Gaboriyou has come over to study these Avenger murders,I take it?" said Bunting.
"Oh, no," Joe spoke with confidence. "Whoever's written that sillyletter just signed that name for fun."
"It is a silly letter," Mrs. Bunting had broken in resentfully. "Iwonder a respectable paper prints such rubbish."
"Fancy if The Avenger did turn out to be a gentleman!" cried Daisy, inan awe-struck voice. "There'd be a how-to-do!"
"There may be something in the notion," said her father thoughtfully."After all, the monster must be somewhere. This very minute he mustbe somewhere a-hiding of himself."
"Of course he's somewhere," said Mrs. Bunting scornfully.
She had just heard Mr. Sleuth moving overhead. 'Twould soon be timefor the lodger's supper.
She hurried on: "But what I do say is that--that--he has nothingto do with the West End. Why, they say it's a sailor from
the Docks--that's a good bit more likely, I take it. But there, I'm fairsick of the whole subject! We talk of nothing else in this house.The Avenger this--The Avenger that--"
"I expect Joe has something to tell us new to-night," said Buntingcheerfully. "Well, Joe, is there anything new?"
"I say, father, just listen to this!" Daisy broke in excitedly.She read out:
"BLOODHOUNDS TO BE SERIOUSLY CONSIDERED"
"Bloodhounds?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, and there was terror in hertone. "Why bloodhounds? That do seem to me a most horrible idea!"
Bunting looked across at her, mildly astonished. "Why, 'twould bea very good idea, if 'twas possible to have bloodhounds in a town.But, there, how can that be done in London, full of butchers' shops,to say nothing of slaughter-yards and other places o' that sort?"
But Daisy went on, and to her stepmother's shrinking ear thereseemed a horrible thrill of delight; of gloating pleasure, in herfresh young voice.
"Hark to this," she said:
"A man who had committed a murder in a lonely wood near Blackburnwas traced by the help of a bloodhound, and thanks to the sagaciousinstincts of the animal, the miscreant was finally convicted andhanged."
"La, now! Who'd ever have thought of such a thing?" Buntingexclaimed, in admiration. "The newspapers do have some usefulhints in sometimes, Joe."
But young Chandler shook his head. "Bloodhounds ain't no use," hesaid; "no use at all! If the Yard was to listen to all thesuggestions that the last few days have brought in--well, all Ican say is our work would be cut out for us--not but what it'scut out for us now, if it comes to that!" He sighed ruefully. Hewas beginning to feel very tired; if only he could stay in thispleasant, cosy room listening to Daisy Bunting reading on and onfor ever, instead of having to go out, as he would presently haveto do, into the cold and foggy night!
Joe Chandler was fast becoming very sick of his new job. Therewas a lot of unpleasantness attached to the business, too. Why,even in the house where he lived, and in the little cook-shop wherehe habitually took his meals, the people round him had taken totaunt him with the remissness of the police. More than that one ofhis pals, a man he'd always looked up to, because the young fellowhad the gift of the gab, had actually been among those who hadspoken at the big demonstration in Victoria Park, making a violentspeech, not only against the Commissioner of the MetropolitanPolice, but also against the Home Secretary.
But Daisy, like most people who believe themselves blessed with thepossession of an accomplishment, had no mind to leave off readingjust yet.
"Here's another notion!" she exclaimed. "Another letter, father!"
"PARDON TO ACCOMPLICES.
"DEAR Sir--During the last day or two several of the moreIntelligent of my acquaintances have suggested that The Avenger,whoever he may be, must be known to a certain number of persons.It is impossible that the perpetrator of such deeds, howevernomad he may be in his habits--"
"Now I wonder what 'nomad' can be?" Daisy interrupted herself, andlooked round at her little audience.
"I've always declared the fellow had all his senses about him,"observed Bunting confidently.
Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
"--however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitatwhere his ways are known to at least one person. Now the personwho knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding informationin expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessoryafter the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences. Mysuggestion, Sir, is that the Home Secretary promise a free pardon.The more so that only thus can this miscreant be brought to justice.Unless he was caught red-handed in the act, it will be exceedinglydifficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, forEnglish law looks very askance at circumstantial evidence."
"There's something worth listening to in that letter," said Joe,leaning forward.
Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily asshe turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what hewas saying.
"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman ina railway carriage? He took refuge with someone--a woman hismother had known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time.But at last she gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!"
"I don't think I'd like to give anybody up for a reward," saidBunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You'donly be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone--everyone, thatis, who's a good citizen. And you'd be getting something for doingit, which is more than most people gets as does their duty."
"A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a commoninformer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man 'ud care to becalled that! It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It'syour job to catch those who've done anything wrong. And a man'd bea fool who'd take refuge--like with you. He'd be walking into thelion's mouth--" Bunting laughed.
And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything Iwouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn'tbe afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"
And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting,sitting with bowed head over the table, an exclamation of impatienceand anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.
"Why, Ellen, don't you feel well?" asked Bunting quickly.
"Just a spasm, a sharp stitch in my side, like," answered the poorwoman heavily. "It's over now. Don't mind me."
"But I don't believe--no, that I don't--that there's anybody inthe world who knows who The Avenger is," went on Chandler quickly."It stands to reason that anybody'd give him up--in their owninterest, if not in anyone else's. Who'd shelter such a creature?Why, 'twould be dangerous to have him in the house along with one!"
"Then it's your idea that he's not responsible for the wicked thingshe does?" Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandlerwith eager, anxious eyes.
"I'd be sorry to think he wasn't responsible enough to hang!" saidChandler deliberately. "After all the trouble he's been giving us, too!"
"Hanging'd be too good for that chap," said Bunting.
"Not if he's not responsible," said his wife sharply. "I neverheard of anything so cruel--that I never did! If the man's amadman, he ought to be in an asylum--that's where he ought to be."
"Hark to her now!" Bunting looked at his Ellen with amusement."Contrary isn't the word for her! But there, I've noticed the lastfew days that she seemed to be taking that monster's part. That'swhat comes of being a born total abstainer."
Mrs. Bunting had got up from her chair. "What nonsense you do talk!"she said angrily. "Not but what it's a good thing if these murdershave emptied the public-houses of women for a bit. England's drinkis England's shame--I'll never depart from that! Now, Daisy, child,get up, do! Put down that paper. We've heard quite enough. You canbe laying the cloth while I goes down the kitchen."
"Yes, you mustn't be forgetting the lodger's supper," called outBunting. "Mr. Sleuth don't always ring--" he turned to Chandler."For one thing, he's often out about this time."
"Not often--just now and again, when he wants to buy something,"snapped out Mrs. Bunting. "But I hadn't forgot his supper. Henever do want it before eight o'clock."
"Let me take up the lodger's supper, Ellen," Daisy's eager voicebroke in. She had got up in obedience to her stepmother, and wasnow laying the cloth.
"Certainly not! I told you he only wanted me to wait on him. Youhave your work cut out looking after things down here--that's whereI wants you to help me."
Chandler also got up. Somehow he didn't like to be doing nothingwhile Daisy was so busy. "Yes," he said, looking across at Mrs.Bunting, "I'd forgotten about your lodger. Going on all right, eh?"
"Never knew so quiet and well-behaved a gentleman," said Bunting."He turned our luck, did Mr. Sleuth."
His wife left t
he room, and after she had gone Daisy laughed."You'll hardly believe it, Mr. Chandler, but I've never seen thiswonderful lodger. Ellen keeps him to herself, that she does! If Iwas father I'd be jealous!"
Both men laughed. Ellen? No, the idea was too funny.