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Each passing hour seemed to inject more fear and uncertainty into Bernard’s already tormented mind. He grappled with the haunting question of what to do next, cycling through a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

The gnawing realization that he lacked certainty plagued him incessantly. If only he could be sure, he might have found a clear path forward. But the specter of involving the police loomed large, casting a shadow of ruin and disgrace over his and Ellen’s lives. The thought of public scrutiny and the stain of a gruesome crime hanging over them like a perpetual curse fueled Bernard’s desperation for an alternative solution.

His mind raced, searching for any loophole, any escape from the suffocating grip of guilt and dread. Yet, with each passing moment, the weight on his conscience grew heavier, the options dwindling into a maze of uncertainty.

Amidst this turmoil, a perverse hope emerged—an unspeakable desire for the lodger to slip up, to be caught in the act and relieve Bernard of his unbearable burden. But Mr. Basset, instead of venturing out on his nocturnal activities, retreated further into seclusion, claiming illness and spending prolonged hours in bed, much to Bernard’s unease.

Adding to Bernard’s turmoil was Jerry Chandler’s relentless presence. The detective’s constant scrutiny and obsession with The Rose Killer only intensified Bernard’s anxiety. Even as Chandler delved into every detail of the killer’s modus operandi, painting a vivid picture that made Bernard and Ellen squirm with discomfort, he showed no interest in their enigmatic lodger.

Then came a fateful morning, a tense moment of reckoning between Bernard and Chandler. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension as Chandler, unusually serious, sought a private conversation in the absence of Ellen and Daisy. Bernard braced himself for the worst, anticipating an accusation that would shatter his fragile facade of normalcy and expose him as an unwitting accomplice to a murderer.

“Yes?” Bernard’s voice wavered, teetering on the edge of apprehension as Chandler’s gaze bore into him. “What is it, Jerry?” The words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation, as Bernard sank into his chair, his nerves coiled tight. “Yes?” he repeated, the uncertainty palpable. Chandler’s intense scrutiny felt almost menacing. “Well, out with it, Jerry! Don’t keep me in suspense.”

A faint smile played on Chandler’s lips, a cryptic glint in his eyes. “I don’t think what I’ve got to say can take you by surprise, Mr. Bernard,” he remarked coolly, his demeanor tinged with calculated restraint.

Bernard’s response was a mixture of relief and confusion, his emotions shifting like shadows in the dimly lit room. “My girl?” he exclaimed, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of conversation. “Good Lord, Jerry! Is that all you want to talk about? Why, you fair frightened me—that you did!”

The tension ebbed, replaced by a strained cordiality as Bernard attempted to regain his composure. Chandler’s irritation simmered beneath the surface, his impatience palpable as he navigated Bernard’s sudden shift in mood.

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“As far as I’m concerned,” Bernard declared with forced solemnity, “you have my blessing, Jerry. You’re a very likely young chap, and I had a true respect for your father.” Chandler, though grateful, pressed on, probing for assurance about Daisy’s feelings.

“I can’t answer for Daisy,” Bernard admitted heavily, the weight of parental responsibility evident in his demeanor. “You’ll have to ask her yourself—that’s not a job any other man can do for you, my lad.”

Chandler’s frustration bubbled up, fueled by the obstacles in his path to Daisy. “I never get a chance. I never see her, not by ourselves,” he vented, his impatience breaking through.

Bernard, distracted by his own thoughts, offered a distracted promise. “You come along tomorrow,” he suggested, “and I’ll see you get your walk with Daisy.” The conversation drifted, a dance of words on the surface while deeper concerns gnawed at Bernard’s mind.

Chandler, eager for solitude with Daisy, couldn’t hide his longing. “D’you think they’ll be out long now, Mr. Bernard?” he inquired, his restlessness seeping into his tone.

Bernard, jolted back to the present, hastily invited Chandler to stay. “Sit down, sit down; do!” he urged, a hint of hospitality masking the turmoil brewing within. The mundane act of waiting for Daisy and Ellen to return from shopping became a facade for the undercurrent of tension that pulsed beneath their polite conversation.

The atmosphere in Bernard’s house crackled with tension as he probed Jerry Chandler about the ongoing hunt for The Rose Killer, their voices taking on a darker, more ominous tone.

“And how about your job, Jerry? Nothing new, I take it? I suppose you’re all just waiting for the next time?” Bernard’s voice quivered with suppressed anxiety, a sense of dread hanging heavy in the air.

“Aye—that’s about the figure of it,” Chandler replied, his voice now tinged with somber gravity, a glimpse into the grim reality of their relentless pursuit. “We’re fair tired of it—beginning to wonder when it’ll end, that we are!”

Bernard couldn’t help but delve deeper into the haunting image of their elusive prey. “Do you ever try and make to yourself a picture of what the master’s like?” he ventured, his curiosity tinged with a hint of dread.

Chandler’s response was chillingly descriptive. “I’ve a sort of notion—a savage, fierce-looking devil, the chap must be,” he mused, his words painting a vivid yet terrifying portrait. “It’s someone used to killing, that’s flat.”

Bernard’s mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. “Then it don’t seem to you possible—?” he trailed off, his gaze drifting towards the window, a sense of foreboding settling over him. “You don’t take any stock, I suppose, in that idea some of the papers put out, that the man is”—he hesitated, the words catching in his throat—“a gentleman?”

Chandler’s reaction was swift and dismissive. “No,” he declared emphatically. “I’ve made up my mind that’s quite a wrong tack.”

As the conversation veered into increasingly grim territories, Bernard couldn’t shake off the creeping fear that The Rose Killer might be closer than they imagined. “You don’t think,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “that he could be just staying somewhere, lodging like?”

Chandler’s response, though tinged with a hint of humor, underscored the gravity of their predicament. “Well, if that idea’s correct then, ’twould make our task more difficult than ever,” he acknowledged, a note of resignation creeping into his tone.

The weight of their discussion hung heavy in the room, both men grappling with the magnitude of their quest. Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Mrs. Bernard’s return, a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts that had consumed them.

Daisy’s presence brought a fleeting moment of normalcy, her blush betraying her pleasure at Chandler’s continued presence. However, even her innocent interactions were tinged with the underlying tension that permeated Bernard’s household, a stark reminder of the ever-present threat lurking in their midst.