Now, doesn't it stand to reason that the fellow, reading all that, and seeing the sense of it, said to himself, 'I'll go on another tack this time'?
Just listen to this!" He pulled a strip of paper, part of a column cut from a newspaper, out of his pocket: "'AN EX-LORD MAYOR OF LONDON ON THE AVENGER "'Will the murderer be caught?
Yes,' replied Sir John, 'he will certainly be caught--probably when he commits his next crime.

A whole army of bloodhounds, metaphorical and literal, will be on his track the moment he draws blood again.

With the whole community against him, he cannot escape, especially when it be remembered that he chooses the quietest hour in the twenty-four to commit his crimes.
"'Londoners are now in such a state of nerves--if I may use the expression, in such a state of funk--that every passer-by, however innocent, is looked at with suspicion by his neighbour if his avocation happens to take him abroad between the hours of one and three in the morning.' "I'd like to gag that ex-Lord Mayor!" concluded Joe Chandler wrathfully.
Just then the lodger's bell rang.
"Let me go up, my dear," said Bunting.
His wife still looked pale and shaken by the fright she had had.
"No, no," she said hastily.

"You stop down here, and talk to Joe.
I'll look after Mr.Sleuth.He may be wanting his supper just a bit earlier than usual to-day." Slowly, painfully, again feeling as if her legs were made of cotton wool, she dragged herself up to the first floor, knocked at the door, and then went in.
"You did ring, sir ?" she said, in her quiet, respectful way.
And Mr.Sleuth looked up.
She thought--but, as she reminded herself afterwards, it might have been just her idea, and nothing else--that for the first time the lodger looked frightened--frightened and cowed.
"I heard a noise downstairs," he said fretfully, "and I wanted to know what it was all about.

As I told you, Mrs.Bunting, when I first took these rooms, quiet is essential to me." "It was just a friend of ours, sir.