“Well?” said Bunting cheerily. “Everything went off quite all right. And Daisy’s a lucky girl—that she is! Her Aunt Margaret gave her five shillings.”
But Daisy did not look as pleased as her father thought she ought to do.
“I hope nothing’s happened to Mr. Chandler,” she said a little disconsolately. “The very last words he said to me last night was that he’d be there at ten o’clock. I got quite fidgety as the time went on and he didn’t come.”
“He’s been here,” said Mrs. Bunting slowly.
“Been here?” cried her husband. “Then why on earth didn’t he go and fetch Daisy, if he’d time to come here?”
“He was on the way to his job,” his wife answered. “You run along, child, downstairs. Now that you are here you can make yourself useful.”
And Daisy reluctantly obeyed. She wondered what it was her stepmother didn’t want her to hear.
“I’ve something to tell you, Bunting.”
“Yes?” He looked across uneasily. “Yes, Ellen?”
“There’s been another o’ those murders. But the police don’t want anyone to know about it—not yet. That’s why Joe couldn’t go over and fetch Daisy. They’re all on duty again.”