And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier with longing eyes—she even gave that pretty little piece of furniture a slight shake. If only the doors would fly open, as the locked doors of old cupboards sometimes do, even after they have been securely fastened, how pleased she would be, how much more comfortable somehow she would feel! But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret. About eight o’clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, just for a few minutes’ chat. He had recovered from his agitation of the morning, but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Bunting listened in silence, intensely interested in spite of herself, while he and Bunting talked. “Yes,” he said, “I’m as right as a trivet now! I’ve had a good rest—laid down all this afternoon. You see, the Yard thinks there’s going to be something on to-night. He’s always done them in pairs.” “So he has,” exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. “So he has! Now, I never thought o’ that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster’ll be on the job again to-night?” Chandler nodded. “Yes. And I think there’s a very good chance of his being caught too—” “I suppose there’ll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?” “I should think there will be! How many of our men d’you think there’ll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?” Bunting shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I mean extra,” suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice. “A thousand?” ventured Bunting. “Five thousand, Mr. Bunting.” “Never!” exclaimed Bunting, amazed. And even Mrs. Bunting echoed “Never!” incredulously. “Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!” Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. “Just listen to this: “‘The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue to the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel any surprise at the information that a popular attack has been organised on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is even talk of an indignation mass meeting.’ “What d’you think of that? That’s not a pleasant thing for a gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?” “Well, it does seem queer that the police can’t catch him, now doesn’t it?” said Bunting argumentatively. “I don’t think it’s queer at all,” said young Chandler crossly. “Now you just listen again! Here’s a bit of the truth for once—in a newspaper.” And slowly he read out: “‘The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blind man’s buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyes bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer through the slums of a great city.’” “Whatever does that mean?” said Bunting. “Your hands aren’t tied, and your eyes aren’t bandaged, Joe?” “It’s metaphorical-like that it’s intended, Mr. Bunting. We haven’t got the same facilities—no, not a quarter of them—that the French ’tecs have.”