"Avenger Inquest ?" they shouted exultantly.

"All the latest evidence!" At one place, where there were a row of contents-bills pinned to the pavement by stones, she stopped and looked down.

"Opening of the Avenger Inquest.

What is he really like?
Full description." On yet another ran the ironic query: "Avenger Inquest.

Do you know him ?" And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs.
Bunting turned sick--so sick and faint that she did what she had never done before in her life--she pushed her way into a public-house, and, putting two pennies down on the counter, asked for, and received, a glass of cold water.
As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind dwelling persistently--not on the inquest at which she had been present, not even on The Avenger, but on his victims.
Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the mortuary.