"No, never!" she said. "D’you think that a Bobby might do a thing like that?"
He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn’t worth answering. Then, "It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it while the poor soul was still warm,"—he shuddered—"that brought me out West this morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in Prince Albert Terrace, and I had to go and tell him all about it. They never offered me a bit or a sup—I think they might have done that, don’t you, Mrs. Bunting?"
"Yes," she said absently. "Yes, I do think so."
"But, there, I don’t know that I ought to say that," went on Chandler. "He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like to me while I was telling him."
"Have a bit of something now?" she said suddenly.
"Oh, no, I couldn’t eat anything," he said hastily. "I don’t feel as if I could ever eat anything any more."
"That’ll only make you ill." Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly, for she was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a bite out of the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
"I expect you’re right," he said. "And I’ve a goodish heavy day in front of me. Been up since four, too"
"Four?" she said. "Was it then they found" she hesitated a moment, and then said, "it?"
He nodded. "It was just a chance I was near by. If I’d been half a minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must have knocked up against that—that monster. But two or three people do think they saw him slinking away."
