she said reprovingly.

And Chandler backed her up. "No, indeed," he said feelingly. "I'll
never forget what I've been made to see over this job. And as for
that grey bit of paper, Mr. Bunting--or, rather, those grey bits of
paper"--he corrected himself hastily--"you know they've three of
them now at the Yard--well, they gives me the horrors!"

And then he jumped up. "That reminds me that I oughtn't to be
wasting my time in pleasant company--"

"Won't you stay and have a bit of dinner?" said Mrs. Bunting
solicitously.

But the detective shook his head. "No," he said, "I had a bite
before I came out. Our job's a queer kind of job, as you know. A
lot's left to our discretion, so to speak, but it don't leave us
much time for lazing about, I can tell you."

When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate
carelessness he inquired, "Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London
again soon?"

Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened. He was very, very
fond of his only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom. "No,"
he said, "I'm afraid not Joe. Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady,
keeps Daisy pretty tightly tied to her apron-string. She was quite
put about that week the child was up with us last June."

"Indeed? Well, so long!"