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Page 25
"Yes," he said, "I'm as right as a trivet now! I've had a good rest
--laid down all this afternoon. You see, the Yard thinks there's
going to be something on to-night. He's always done them in pairs."
"So he has," exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. "So he has! Now, I
never thought o' that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster'll be
on the job again to-night?"
Chandler nodded. "Yes. And I think there's a very good chance of
his being caught too--"
"I suppose there'll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?"
"I should think there will be! How many of our men d'you think
there'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
Bunting shook his head. "I don't know," he said helplessly.
"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice.
"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting."
"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!" incredulously.
"Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!"
Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. "Just
listen to this:
"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to
the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any
surprise at the information that a popular attack has been organised
on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is even
talk of an indignation mass meeting.'
"What d'you think of that? That's not a pleasant thing for a
gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't catch him, now
doesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
"I don't think it's queer at all," said young Chandler crossly.
"Now you just listen again! Here's a bit of the truth for once--
in a newspaper." And slowly he read out:
"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind
man's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes
bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through
the slums of a great city.'"
"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting. "Your hands aren't tied,
and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr. Bunting. We haven't
got the same facilities--no, not a quarter of them--that the
French 'tecs have."
And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: "What was that
word, Joe--'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit you read out."
"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
"Then do they think there's more than one of them?" she said, and
a look of relief came over her thin face.
"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said Chandler.
"They say it can't be the work of one man."
"What do you think, Joe?"
"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think. I'm fair puzzled."
He got up. "Don't you come to the door. I'll shut it all right.
So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps." As he had done the other
evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door. "Any
news of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
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