“Here’s your tea, Ellen,” he said, and there was a thrill of eager, nay happy, excitement in his voice.
She turned herself round and sat up. “Well?” she asked. “Well? Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“I thought you was asleep,” he stammered out. “I thought, Ellen, you never heard nothing.”
“How could I have slept through all that din? Of course I heard. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I’ve hardly had time to glance at the paper myself,” he said slowly.
“You was reading it just now,” she said severely, “for I heard the rustling. You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring. Don’t tell me! What was that they was shouting about the Edgware Road?”
“Well,” said Bunting, “as you do know, I may as well tell you. The Avenger’s moving West—that’s what he’s doing. Last time ’twas King’s Cross—now ’tis the Edgware Road. I said he’d come our way, and he has come our way!”
“You just go and get me that paper,” she commanded. “I wants to see for myself.”
Bunting went into the next room; then he came back and handed her silently the odd-looking, thin little sheet.
“Why, whatever’s this?” she asked. “This ain’t our paper!”