paper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in that
practical joker."

"I did," said Chandler reluctantly. "You see, there are some queer
fellows even--even--" (he lowered his voice, and looked round him
as if the walls had ears)--"even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, and
these murders have fair got on our nerves."

"No, never!" she said. "D'you think that a Bobby might do a thing
like that?"

He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn't worth answering.
Then, "It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while
the poor soul was still warm,"--he shuddered--"that brought me out
West this morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince
Albert Terrace, and I had to go and tell him all about it. They
never offered me a bit or a sup--I think they might have done that,
don't you, Mrs. Bunting?"

"Yes," she said absently. "Yes, I do think so."

"But, there, I don't know that I ought to say that," went on Chandler.
"He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like to
me while I was telling him."

"Have a bit of something now?" she said suddenly.

"Oh, no, I couldn't eat anything," he said hastily. "I don't feel
as if I could ever eat anything any more."