The Lodger - Marie Belloc Lowndes (story books for 5 year olds txt) đ
- Author: Marie Belloc Lowndes
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âThereâs the chap!â said Joe Chandler triumphantly. âAnd now, Miss Daisyââhe turned to her jokingly, but there was a funny little tremor in his frank, cheerful-sounding voiceââif you knows of any nice, likely young fellow that answers to that descriptionâwell, youâve only got to walk in and earn your reward of five hundred pounds.â
âFive hundred pounds!â cried Daisy and her father simultaneously.
âYes. Thatâs what the Lord Mayor offered yesterday. Some private blokeânothing official about it. But we of the Yard is barred from taking that reward, worse luck. And itâs too bad, for we has all the trouble, after all.â
âJust hand that bit of paper over, will you?â said Bunting. âIâd like to con it over to myself.â
Chandler threw over the bit of flimsy.
A moment later Bunting looked up and handed it back. âWell, itâs clear enough, isnât it?â
âYes. And thereâs hundredsânay, thousandsâof young fellows that might be a description of,â said Chandler sarcastically. âAs a pal of mine said this morning, âThere isnât a chap will like to carry a newspaper parcel after this.â And it wonât do to have a respectable appearanceâeh?â
Daisyâs voice rang out in merry, pealing laughter. She greatly appreciated Mr. Chandlerâs witticism.
âWhy on earth didnât the people who saw him try and catch him?â asked Bunting suddenly.
And Mrs. Bunting broke in, in a lower voice, âYes, Joeâthat seems odd, donât it?â
Joe Chandler coughed. âWell, itâs this way,â he said. âNo one person did see all that. The man whoâs described here is just made up from the description of two different folk who think they saw him. You see, the murders must have taken placeâwell, now, let me seeâperhaps at two oâclock this last time. Two oâclockâ thatâs the idea. Well, at such a time as that not many people are about, especially on a foggy night. Yes, one woman declares she saw a young chap walking away from the spot where âtwas done; and another oneâbut that was a good bit laterâsays The Avenger passed by her. Itâs mostly her theyâre following in this âere description. And then the boss who has charge of that sort of thing looked up what other people had saidâI mean when the other crimes was committed. Thatâs how he made up this âWanted.ââ
âThen The Avenger may be quite a different sort of man?â said Bunting slowly, disappointedly.
âWell, of course he may be. But, no; I think that description fits him all right,â said Chandler; but he also spoke in a hesitating voice.
âYou was saying, Joe, that they found a weapon?â observed Bunting insinuatingly.
He was glad that Ellen allowed the discussion to go onâin fact, that she even seemed to take an intelligent interest in it. She had come up close to them, and now looked quite her old self again.
âYes. They believe theyâve found the weapon what he does his awful deeds with,â said Chandler. âAt any rate, within a hundred yards of that little dark passage where they found the bodiesâone at each end, that wasâthere was discovered this morning a very peculiar kind oâ knifeââkeen as a razor, pointed as a daggerââ thatâs the exact words the boss used when he was describing it to a lot of us. He seemed to think a lot more of that clue than of the otherâI mean than of the description people gave of the chap who walked quickly by with a newspaper parcel. But now thereâs a pretty job in front of us. Every shop where they sell or might aâ sold, such a thing as that knife, including every eating-house in the East End, has got to be called at!â
âWhatever for?â asked Daisy.
âWhy, with an idea of finding out if anyone saw such a knife fooling about there any time, and, if so, in whose possession it was at the time. But, Mr. BuntingââChandlerâs voice changed; it became businesslike, officialââtheyâre not going to say anything about thatânot in newspapersâtill to-morrow, so donât you go and tell anybody. You see, we donât want to frighten the fellow off. If he knew theyâd got his knifeâwell, he might just make himself scarce, and they donât want that! If itâs discovered that any knife of that kind was sold, say a month ago, to some customer whose ways are known, thenâthenââ
âWhatâll happen then?â said Mrs. Bunting, coming nearer.
âWell, then, nothingâll be put about it in the papers at all,â said Chandler deliberately. âThe only objecâ of letting the public know about it would be if nothink was foundâI mean if the search of the shops, and so on, was no good. Then, of course, we must try and find out someoneâsome private person-like, whoâs watched that knife in the criminalâs possession. Itâs there the rewardâthe five hundred pounds will come in.â
âOh, Iâd give anything to see that knife!â exclaimed Daisy, clasping her hands together.
âYou cruel, bloodthirsty, girl!â cried her stepmother passionately.
They all looked round at her, surprised.
âCome, come, Ellen!â said Bunting reprovingly.
âWell, it is a horrible idea!â said his wife sullenly. âTo go and sell a fellow-being for five hundred pounds.â
But Daisy was offended. âOf course Iâd like to see it!â she cried defiantly. âI never said nothing about the reward. That was Mr. Chandler said that! I only said Iâd like to see the knife.â
Chandler looked at her soothingly. âWell, the day may come when you will see it,â he said slowly.
A great idea had come into his mind.
âNo! What makes you think that?â
âIf they catches him, and if you comes along with me to see our Black Museum at the Yard, youâll certainly see the knife, Miss Daisy. They keeps all them kind of things there. So if, as I say, this weapon should lead to the conviction of The Avengerâwell, then, that knife âull be there, and youâll see it!â
âThe Black Museum? Why, whatever do they have a museum in your place for?â asked Daisy wonderingly. âI thought there was only the British Museumââ
And then even Mrs. Bunting, as well as Bunting and Chandler, laughed aloud.
âYou are a goosey girl!â said her father fondly. âWhy, thereâs a lot of museums in London; the townâs thick with âem. Ask Ellen there. She and me used to go to them kind of places when we was courtingâif the weather was bad.â
âBut our museumâs the one that would interest Miss Daisy,â broke in Chandler eagerly. âItâs a regular Chamber of âOrrors!â
âWhy, Joe, you never told us about that place before,â said Bunting excitedly. âDâyou really mean that thereâs a museum where they keeps all sorts of things connected with crimes? Things like knives murders have been committed with?â
âKnives?â cried Joe, pleased at having become the centre of attention, for Daisy had also fixed her blue eyes on him, and even Mrs. Bunting looked at him expectantly. âMuch more than knives, Mr. Bunting! Why, theyâve got there, in little bottles, the real poison what people have been done away with.â
âAnd can you go there whenever you like?â asked Daisy wonderingly. She had not realised before what extraordinary and agreeable privileges are attached to the position of a detective member of the London Police Force.
âWell, I suppose I couldââ Joe smiled. âAnyway I can certainly get leave to take a friend there.â He looked meaningly at Daisy, and Daisy looked eagerly at him.
But would Ellen ever let her go out by herself with Mr. Chandler? Ellen was so prim, soâso irritatingly proper. But what was this father was saying? âDâyou really mean that, Joe?â
âYes, of course I do!â
âWell, then, look here! If it isnât asking too much of a favour, I should like to go along there with you very much one day. I donât want to wait till The Avengerâs caughtââBunting smiled broadly. âIâd be quite content as it is with what there is in that museum oâ yours. Ellen, there,ââhe looked across at his wifeââdonât agree with me about such things. Yet I donât think Iâm a bloodthirsty man! But Iâm just terribly interested in all that sort of thingâalways have been. I used to positively envy the butler in that Balham Mystery!â
Again a look passed between Daisy and the young manâit was a look which contained and carried a great many things backwards and forwards, such asââNow, isnât it funny that your father should want to go to such a place? But still, I canât help it if he does want to go, so we must put up with his company, though it would have been much nicer for us to go just by our two selves.â And then Daisyâs look answered quite as plainly, though perhaps Joe didnât read her glance quite as clearly as she had read his: âYes, it is tiresome. But father means well; and âtwill be very pleasant going there, even if he does come too.â
âWell, what dâyou say to the day after to-morrow, Mr. Bunting? Iâd call for you here aboutâshall we say half-past two?âand just take you and Miss Daisy down to the Yard. âTwouldnât take very long; we could go all the way by bus, right down to Westminster Bridge.â He looked round at his hostess: âWouldnât you join us, Mrs. Bunting? âTis truly a wonderful interesting place.â
But his hostess shook her head decidedly. ââTwould turn me sick,â she exclaimed, âto see the bottle of poison what had done away with the life of some poor creature!
âAnd as for knivesâ!â a look of real horror, of startled fear, crept over her pale face.
âThere, there!â said Bunting hastily. âLive and let liveâthatâs what I always say. Ellen ainât on in this turn. She can just stay at home and mind the catâI beg his pardon, I mean the lodger!â
âI wonât have Mr. Sleuth laughed at,â said Mrs. Bunting darkly. âBut there! Iâm sure itâs very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving Bunting and Daisy such a rare treatââshe spoke sarcastically, but none of the three who heard her understood that.
The moment she passed though the great arched door which admits the stranger to that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart of that great organism which fights the forces of civilised crime, Daisy Bunting felt that she had indeed become free of the Kingdom of Romance. Even the lift in which the three of them were whirled up to one of the upper floors of the huge building was to the girl a new and delightful experience. Daisy had always lived a simple, quiet life in the little country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this was the first time a lift had come her way.
With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler marched his friends down a wide, airy corridor.
Daisy clung to her fatherâs arm, a little bewildered, a little oppressed by her good fortune. Her happy young voice was stilled by the awe she felt at the wonderful place where she found herself, and by the glimpses she caught of great rooms full of busy, silent men engaged in unravellingâor so she supposed âthe mysteries of crime.
They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped short. âLook in there,â he said, in a low voice, addressing the father rather than the daughter, âthatâs the Finger-Print Room. Weâve records here of over two hundred thousand menâs and womenâs finger-tips! I expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once weâve got the print of a manâs five finger-tips, well, heâs done forâif he ever does anything else, that is. Once weâve got that bit of him registered he canât never escape usâno, not if he tries ever so. But though thereâs nigh on a quarter of a million records in there, yet it donât
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