"He’d a-liked so much to hear you tell all about it, Joe."
As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him. "Why, you do look bad!" she exclaimed.
And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad—very bad indeed.
"I can’t help it," he said, with a kind of gasp. "It was your saying that about my telling you all about it that made me turn queer. You see, this time I was one of the first there, and it fairly turned me sick—that it did. Oh, it was too awful, Mrs. Bunting! Don’t talk of it."
He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
She looked at him with sympathetic interest. "Why, Joe," she said, "I never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see, that anything could upset you like that."
"This isn’t like anything there’s ever been before," he said. "And then—then—oh, Mrs. Bunting, ’twas I that discovered the piece of paper this time."
"Then it is true," she cried eagerly. "It is The Avenger’s bit of paper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in that practical joker."
"I did," said Chandler reluctantly. "You see, there are some queer fellows even—even—" (he lowered his voice, and looked round him as if the walls had ears)—"even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, and these murders have fair got on our nerves."
