contemporary abstract painting

contemporary abstract painting
By this time she was out in the street again, and she began mentally counting up the number of murders The Avenger had committed. Nine, or was it ten? Surely by now The Avenger must be avenged? Surely by now, if - as that writer in the newspaper had suggested - he was a quiet, blameless gentleman living in the West End, whatever vengeance he had to wreak, must be satisfied?
She began hurrying homewards; it wouldn't do for the lodger to ring before she had got back. Bunting would never know how to manage Mr. Sleuth, especially if Mr. Sleuth was in one of his queer moods.
******
Mrs. Bunting put the key into the front door lock and passed into the house. Then her heart stood still with fear and terror. There came the sound of voices - of voices she thought she did not know - in the sitting-room.
She opened the door, and' then drew a long breath. It was only Joe Chandler - Joe, Daisy, and Bunting, talking together. They stopped rather guiltily as she came in, but not before she had heard Chandler utter the words: "That don't mean nothing! I'll just run out and send another saying you won't come, Miss Daisy."