But Chandler paid no heed to her remarks. “Has Miss Daisy arrived?” he asked, in a lower voice.
She nodded. And then he went through into the room where the father and daughter were sitting.
“Well?” said Bunting, starting up. “Well, Joe? Now you can tell us all about that mysterious clue. I suppose it’d be too good news to expect you to tell us they’ve caught him?”
“No fear of such good news as that yet awhile. If they’d caught him,” said Joe ruefully, “well, I don’t suppose I should be here, Mr. Bunting. But the Yard are circulating a description at last. And—well, they’ve found his weapon!”
“No?” cried Bunting excitedly. “You don’t say so! Whatever sort of a thing is it? And are they sure ’tis his?”
“Well, ’tain’t sure, but it seems to be likely.”
Mrs. Bunting had slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. But she was still standing with her back against the door, looking at the group in front of her. None of them were thinking of her—she thanked God for that! She could hear everything that was said without joining in the talk and excitement.
“Listen to this!” cried Joe Chandler exultantly. “’Tain’t given out yet—not for the public, that is—but we was all given it by eight o’clock this morning. Quick work that, eh?” He read out:
“WANTED
“A man, of age approximately 28, slight in figure, height approximately 5 ft. 8 in. Complexion dark. No beard or whiskers. Wearing a black diagonal coat, hard felt hat, high white collar, and tie. Carried a newspaper parcel. Very respectable appearance.”