“And to-day will take place the inquest on the double crime of ten days ago.  To my mind it would be well if a preliminary public inquiry could be held at once.  Say, on the very day the discovery of a fresh murder is made.  In that way alone would it be possible to weigh and sift the evidence offered by members of the general public.  For when a week or more has elapsed, and these same people have been examined and cross-examined in private by the police, their impressions have had time to become blurred and hopelessly confused.  On that last occasion but one there seems no doubt that several people, at any rate two women and one man, actually saw the murderer hurrying from the scene of his atrocious double crime—­this being so, to-day’s investigation may be of the highest value and importance.  To-morrow I hope to give an account of the impression made on me by the inquest, and by any statements made during its course.”

Even when her husband had come in with the tray Mrs. Bunting had gone on reading, only lifting up her eyes for a moment.  At last he said rather crossly, “Put down that paper, Ellen, this minute!  The omelette I’ve cooked for you will be just like leather if you don’t eat it.”

But once his wife had eaten her breakfast—­and, to Bunting’s mortification, she left more than half the nice omelette untouched —­she took the paper up again.  She turned over the big sheets, until she found, at the foot of one of the ten columns devoted to The Avenger and his crimes, the information she wanted, and then uttered an exclamation under her breath.

What Mrs. Bunting had been looking for—­what at last she had found —­was the time and place of the inquest which was to be held that day.  The hour named was a rather odd time—­two o’clock in the afternoon, but, from Mrs. Bunting’s point of view, it was most convenient.

By two o’clock, nay, by half-past one, the lodger would have had his lunch; by hurrying matters a little she and Bunting would have had their dinner, and—­and Daisy wasn’t coming home till tea-time.

She got up out of her husband’s chair.  “I think you’re right,” she said, in a quick, hoarse tone.  “I mean about me seeing a doctor, Bunting.  I think I will go and see a doctor this very afternoon.”

“Wouldn’t you like me to go with you?” he asked.

“No, that I wouldn’t.  In fact I wouldn’t go at all you was to go with me.”

“All right,” he said vexedly.  “Please yourself, my dear; you know best.”

“I should think I did know best where my own health is concerned.”

Even Bunting was incensed by this lack of gratitude. “’Twas I said, long ago, you ought to go and see the doctor; ’twas you said you wouldn’t!” he exclaimed pugnaciously.

“Well, I’ve never said you was never right, have I?  At any rate, I’m going.”

“Have you a pain anywhere?” He stared at her with a look of real solicitude on his fat, phlegmatic face.