“Yes,” he said, “let us go into the Chamber of Horrors; that’s a good idea, Miss Bunting.  I’ve always wanted to see the Chamber of Horrors.”

They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were then kept, and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where waxen effigies of dead criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.

Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband’s old acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting the public to the Chamber of Horrors.

“Well, you are a stranger,” the man observed genially.  “I do believe that this is the very first time I’ve seen you in here, Mrs. Bunting, since you was married!”

“Yes,” she said, “that is so.  And this is my husband’s daughter, Daisy; I expect you’ve heard of her, Mr. Hopkins.  And this”—­she hesitated a moment—­“is our lodger, Mr. Sleuth.”

But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away.  Daisy, leaving her stepmother’s side, joined him.

Two, as all the world knows, is company, three is none.  Mrs. Bunting put down three sixpences.

“Wait a minute,” said Hopkins; “you can’t go into the Chamber of Horrors just yet.  But you won’t have to wait more than four or five minutes, Mrs. Bunting.  It’s this way, you see; our boss is in there, showing a party round.”  He lowered his voice.  “It’s Sir John Burney—­I suppose you know who Sir John Burney is?”

“No,” she answered indifferently, “I don’t know that I ever heard of him.”

She felt slightly—­oh, very sightly—­uneasy about Daisy.  She would have liked her stepdaughter to keep well within sight and sound, but Mr. Sleuth was now taking the girl down to the other end of the room.

“Well, I hope you never will know him—­not in any personal sense, Mrs. Bunting.”  The man chuckled.  “He’s the Commissioner of Police —­the new one—­that’s what Sir John Burney is.  One of the gentlemen he’s showing round our place is the Paris Police boss—­ whose job is on all fours, so to speak, with Sir John’s.  The Frenchy has brought his daughter with him, and there are several other ladies.  Ladies always likes horrors, Mrs. Bunting; that’s our experience here.  ’Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors’—­ that’s what they say the minute they gets into this here building!”

Mrs. Bunting looked at him thoughtfully.  It occurred to Mr. Hopkins that she was very wan and tired; she used to look better in the old days, when she was still in service, before Bunting married her.

“Yes,” she said; “that’s just what my stepdaughter said just now.  ’Oh, take me to the Chamber of Horrors’—­that’s exactly what she did say when we got upstairs.”

******

A group of people, all talking and laughing together; were advancing, from within the wooden barrier, toward the turnstile.

Mrs. Bunting stared at them nervously.  She wondered which of them was the gentleman with whom Mr. Hopkins had hoped she would never be brought into personal contact; she thought she could pick him out among the others.  He was a tall, powerful, handsome gentleman, with a military appearance.