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"There’ll be a description circulated in an hour or two," went on Chandler. "Perhaps that’ll help catch ​him. There isn’t a London man or woman, I don’t suppose, who wouldn’t give a good bit to lay that chap by the heels. Well, I suppose I must be going now."

"Won’t you wait a bit longer for Bunting?" she said hesitatingly.

"No, I can’t do that. But I’ll come in, maybe, either this evening or to-morrow, and tell you any more that’s happened. Thanks kindly for the tea. It’s made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting."

"Well, you’ve had enough to unman you, Joe."

"Aye, that I have," he said heavily.

A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife had quite a little tiff—the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuth became their lodger.

It fell out this way. When he heard who had been there, Bunting was angry that Mrs. Bunting hadn’t got more details of the horrible occurrence which had taken place that morning, out of Chandler.

"You don’t mean to say, Ellen, that you can’t even tell me where it happened?" he said indignantly. "I suppose you put Chandler off—that’s what you did! Why, whatever did he come here for, excepting to tell us all about it?"