The Lodger [43]
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 habitat where his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person who knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding information in expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory after the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences. My suggestion, 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 exceedingly difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for English 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 as she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he was saying.
"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in a railway carriage? He took refuge with someone - a woman his mother 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," said Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You'd only be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone - everyone, that is, who's a good citizen. And you'd be getting something for doing it, 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 common informer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man 'ud care to be called that! It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It's your job to catch those who've done anything wrong. And a man'd be a fool who'd take refuge - like with you. He'd be walking into the lion's mouth - " Bunting laughed.
And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything I wouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn't be afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"
And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting, sitting with towed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience and 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 poor woman heavily. "It's over now. Don't mind me."
"But I don't believe - no, that I don't - that there's anybody in the world who knows who The Avenger is," went on Chandler quickly. "It stands to reason that anybody'd give him up - in their own interest, 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 things he does?" Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandler with eager, anxious eyes.
"I'd be sorry to think he wasn't responsible enough to hang!" said Chandler 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 never heard of anything so cruel - that I never did! If the man's a madman, 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 last few days that she seemed to be taking that monster's part. That's what 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 murders have emptied the public-houses of women for a bit. England's drink is England's shame - I'll never depart from that! Now, Daisy, child, get up, do!
Daisy went on, quite satisfied:
" - however nomad he may be in his habit; must have some habitat where his ways are known to at least one person. Now the person who knows the terrible secret is evidently withholding information in expectation of a reward, or maybe because, being an accessory after the fact, he or she is now afraid of the consequences. My suggestion, 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 exceedingly difficult to trace the crime committed to any individual, for English 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 as she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he was saying.
"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
"Well, d'you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in a railway carriage? He took refuge with someone - a woman his mother 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," said Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You'd only be doing what it's the plain duty of everyone - everyone, that is, who's a good citizen. And you'd be getting something for doing it, 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 common informer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man 'ud care to be called that! It's different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It's your job to catch those who've done anything wrong. And a man'd be a fool who'd take refuge - like with you. He'd be walking into the lion's mouth - " Bunting laughed.
And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I'd done anything I wouldn't mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn't be afraid I'd give you up, Miss Daisy!"
And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting, sitting with towed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience and 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 poor woman heavily. "It's over now. Don't mind me."
"But I don't believe - no, that I don't - that there's anybody in the world who knows who The Avenger is," went on Chandler quickly. "It stands to reason that anybody'd give him up - in their own interest, 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 things he does?" Mrs. Bunting raised her head, and looked over at Chandler with eager, anxious eyes.
"I'd be sorry to think he wasn't responsible enough to hang!" said Chandler 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 never heard of anything so cruel - that I never did! If the man's a madman, 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 last few days that she seemed to be taking that monster's part. That's what 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 murders have emptied the public-houses of women for a bit. England's drink is England's shame - I'll never depart from that! Now, Daisy, child, get up, do!