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Page 22
As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting,
sitting comfortably in their parlour, heard his wife stepping heavily
under the load of the well-laden tray.
"Wait a minute!" he called out. "I'll help you, Ellen," and he came
out and took the tray from her.
She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-room
floor landing.
There she stopped him. "Here," she whispered quickly, "you give me
that, Bunting. The lodger won't like your going in to him." And
then, as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, she
added in a rather acid tone, "You might open the door for me, at
any rate! How can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray on
my hands?"
She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised--rather
put out. Ellen wasn't exactly what you'd call a lively, jolly woman,
but when things were going well--as now--she was generally equable
enough. He supposed she was still resentful of the way he had
spoken to her about young Chandler and the new Avenger murder.
However, he was always for peace, so he opened the drawing-room door,
and as soon as he had started going downstairs Mrs. Bunting walked
into the room.
And then at once there came over her the queerest feeling of relief,
of lightness of heart.
As usual, the lodger was sitting at his old place, reading the Bible.
Somehow--she could not have told you why, she would not willingly
have told herself--she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth looking
different. But no, he appeared to be exactly the same--in fact,
as he glanced up at her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted up
his thin, pallid face.
"Well, Mrs. Bunting," he said genially, "I overslept myself this
morning, but I feel all the better for the rest."
"I'm glad of that, sir," she answered, in a low voice. "One of the
ladies I once lived with used to say, 'Rest is an old-fashioned
remedy, but it's the best remedy of all.'"
Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden's Concordance off
the table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady
laying the cloth.
Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in the
morning. "I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you
outside the door just now?"
"Yes, sir. Bunting helped me up with the tray."
"I'm afraid I give you a good deal of trouble," he said hesitatingly.
But she answered quickly, "Oh, no, sir! Not at all, sir! I was
only saying yesterday that we've never had a lodger that gave us as
little trouble as you do, sir."
"I'm glad of that. I am aware that my habits are somewhat peculiar."
He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of
denial to this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and
truthful woman. It never occurred to her to question his statement.
Mr. Sleuth's habits were somewhat peculiar. Take that going out at
night, or rather in the early morning, for instance? So she remained
silent.
After she had laid the lodger's breakfast on the table she prepared
to leave the room. "I suppose I'm not to do your room till you goes
out, sir?"
And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply. "No, no!" he said. "I never
want my room done when I am engaged in studying the Scriptures, Mrs.
Bunting. But I am not going out to-day. I shall be carrying out a
somewhat elaborate experiment--upstairs. If I go out at all" he
waited a moment, and again he looked at her fixedly "--I shall wait
till night-time to do so." And then, coming back to the matter in
hand, he added hastily, "Perhaps you could do my room when I go
upstairs, about five o'clock--if that time is convenient to you,
that is?"
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