Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out into the passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.

When she came back she walked over to where her father was sitting in his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms round his neck.

Then she bent down her head.  “Father,” she said, “I’ve a bit of news for you!”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Father, I’m engaged!  Aren’t you surprised?”

“Well, what do you think?” said Bunting fondly.  Then he turned round and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.

“What’ll Old Aunt say, I wonder?” he whispered.

“Don’t you worry about Old Aunt,” exclaimed his wife suddenly.  “I’ll manage Old Aunt!  I’ll go down and see her.  She and I have always got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy.”

“Yes,” said Daisy a little wonderingly.  “I know you have, Ellen.”

******

Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and many nights had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the click of the lock which she at once hoped and feared would herald her lodger’s return.

As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the “Avenger” murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring when a gardener, working in the Regent’s Park, found a newspaper in which was wrapped, together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes, a long, peculiarly shaped knife.  The fact, though of considerable interest to the police, was not chronicled in any newspaper, but about the same time a picturesque little paragraph went the round of the press concerning a small boxful of sovereigns which had been anonymously forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.

Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about “Old Aunt,” and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in a more philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her to do.  She only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolks leave a house in charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure to follow—­a remark which Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.

Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an old lady, by whom they are feared as well as respected, and whom they make very comfortable.