CHAPTER VI
Mr. Sleuth's bell rang again.
Mr. Sleuth's breakfast was quite ready, but for the first time sincehe had been her lodger Mrs. Bunting did not answer the summons atonce. But when there came the second imperative tinkle--forelectric bells had not been fitted into that old-fashioned house--she made up her mind to go upstairs.
As she emerged into the hall from the kitchen stairway, Bunting,sitting comfortably in their parlour, heard his wife stepping heavilyunder the load of the well-laden tray.
"Wait a minute!" he called out. "I'll help you, Ellen," and he cameout and took the tray from her.
She said nothing, and together they proceeded up to the drawing-roomfloor landing.
There she stopped him. "Here," she whispered quickly, "you give methat, Bunting. The lodger won't like your going in to him." Andthen, as he obeyed her, and was about to turn downstairs again, sheadded in a rather acid tone, "You might open the door for me, atany rate! How can I manage to do it with this here heavy tray onmy hands?"
She spoke in a queer, jerky way, and Bunting felt surprised--ratherput out. Ellen wasn't exactly what you'd call a lively, jolly woman,but when things were going well--as now--she was generally equableenough. He supposed she was still resentful of the way he hadspoken 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 walkedinto 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 willinglyhave told herself--she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth lookingdifferent. But no, he appeared to be exactly the same--in fact,as he glanced up at her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted uphis thin, pallid face.
"Well, Mrs. Bunting," he said genially, "I overslept myself thismorning, but I feel all the better for the rest."
"I'm glad of that, sir," she answered, in a low voice. "One of theladies I once lived with used to say, 'Rest is an old-fashionedremedy, but it's the best remedy of all.'"
Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden's Concordance offthe table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landladylaying the cloth.
Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in themorning. "I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with yououtside 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 wasonly saying yesterday that we've never had a lodger that gave us aslittle 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 ofdenial to this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest andtruthful woman. It never occurred to her to question his statement.Mr. Sleuth's habits were somewhat peculiar. Take that going out atnight, or rather in the early morning, for instance? So she remainedsilent.
After she had laid the lodger's breakfast on the table she preparedto leave the room. "I suppose I'm not to do your room till you goesout, sir?"
And Mr. Sleuth looked up sharply. "No, no!" he said. "I neverwant 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 asomewhat elaborate experiment--upstairs. If I go out at all" hewaited a moment, and again he looked at her fixedly "--I shall waittill night-time to do so." And then, coming back to the matter inhand, he added hastily, "Perhaps you could do my room when I goupstairs, about five o'clock--if that time is convenient to you,that is?"
"Oh, yes, sir! That'll do nicely!"
Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she did so she took herselfwordlessly, ruthlessly to task, but she did not face--even in herinmost heart--the strange tenors and tremors which had so shakenher. She only repeated to herself again and again, "I've got upset--that's what I've done," and then she spoke aloud, "I must getmyself a dose at the chemist's next time I'm out. That's what Imust do."
And just as she murmured the word "do," there came a loud doubleknock on the front door.
It was only the postman's knock, but the postman was an unfamiliarvisitor in that house, and Mrs. Bunting started violently. She wasnervous, that's what was the matter with her,--so she told herselfangrily. No doubt this was a letter for Mr. Sleuth; the lodger musthave relations and acquaintances somewhere in the world. Allgentlefolk have. But when she picked the small envelope off thehall floor, she saw it was a letter from Daisy, her husband's daughter.
"Bunting!" she called out sharply. "Here's a letter for you."
She opened the door of their sitting-room and looked in. Yes, therewas her husband, sitting back comfortably in his easy chair, readinga paper. And as she saw his broad, rather rounded back, Mrs. Buntingfelt a sudden thrill of sharp irritation. There he was, doingnothing--in fact, doing worse than nothing--wasting his timereading all about those horrid crimes.
She sighed--a long, unconscious sigh. Bunting was getting intoidle ways, bad ways for a man of his years. But how could sheprevent it? He had been such an active, conscientious sort of manwhen they had first made acquaintance. . .
She also could remember, even more clearly than Bunting did himself,that first meeting of theirs in the dining-room of No. 90 CumberlandTerrace. As she had stood there, pouring out her mistress's glass ofport wine, she had not been too much absorbed in her task to have agood out-of-her-eye look at the spruce, nice, respectable-lookingfellow who was standing over by the window. How superior he hadappeared even then to the man she already hoped he would succeed asbutler!
To-day, perhaps because she was not feeling quite herself, the pastrose before her very vividly, and a lump came into her throat.
Putting the letter addressed to her husband on the table, she closedthe door softly, and went down into the kitchen; there were variouslittle things to put away and clean up, as well as their dinner tocook. And all the time she was down there she fixed her mindobstinately, determinedly on Bunting and on the problem of Bunting.She wondered what she'd better do to get him into good ways again.
Thanks to Mr. Sleuth, their outlook was now moderately bright. Aweek ago everything had seemed utterly hopeless. It seemed as ifnothing could save them from disaster. But everything was nowchanged!
Perhaps it would be well for her to go and see the new proprietorof that registry office, in Baker Street, which had lately changedhands. It would be a good thing for Bunting to get even anoccasional job--for the matter of that he could now take up afairly regular thing in the way of waiting. Mrs. Bunting knew thatit isn't easy to get a man out of idle ways once he has acquiredthose ways.
When, at last, she went upstairs again she felt a little ashamed ofwhat she had been thinking, for Bunting had laid the cloth, and laidit very nicely, too, and brought up the two chairs to the table.
"Ellen?" he cried eagerly, "here's news! Daisy's coming to-morrow!There's scarlet fever in their house. Old Aunt thinks she'd bettercome away for a few days. So, you see, she'll be here for herbirthday. Eighteen, that's what she be on the nineteenth! It domake me feel old--that it do!"
Mrs. Bunting put down the tray. "I can't have the girl here justnow," she said shortly. "I've just as much to do as I can manage.The lodger gives me more trouble than you seem to think for."
"Rubbish!" he said sharply. "I'll help you with the lodger. It'syour own fault you haven't had help with him before. Of course,Daisy must come here. Whatever other place could the girl go to?"
Bunting felt pugnacious--so cheerful as to be almost light-hearted.But as he looked across at his wife his feeling of satisfactionvanished. Ellen's face was pinched and drawn to-day; she looked ill--ill and horribly tired. It was very aggravating of her to go andb
ehave like this--just when they were beginning to get on nicelyagain.
"For the matter of that," he said suddenly, "Daisy'll be able to helpyou with the work, Ellen, and she'll brisk us both up a bit."
Mrs. Bunting made no answer. She sat down heavily at the table.And then she said languidly, "You might as well show me the girl'sletter."
He handed it across to her, and she read it slowly to herself.
"DEAR FATHER (it ran)--I hope this finds you as well at it leavesme. Mrs. Puddle's youngest has got scarlet fever, and Aunt thinksI had better come away at once, just to stay with you for a fewdays. Please tell Ellen I won't give her no trouble. I'll startat ten if I don't hear nothing.--Your loving daughter,
"Yes, I suppose Daisy will have to come here," Mrs. Bunting slowly."It'll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her life."
And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to contenthimself.
******
Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by. When dusk fell Mr.Sleuth's landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor. Sheremembered that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
He was a tidy man, was the lodger; he did not throw his thingsabout as so many gentlemen do, leaving them all over the place.No, he kept everything scrupulously tidy. His clothes, and thevarious articles Mrs. Bunting had bought for him during the firsttwo days he had been there, were carefully arranged in the chestof drawers. He had lately purchased a pair of boots. Those hehad arrived in were peculiar-looking footgear, buff leather shoeswith rubber soles, and he had told his landlady on that very firstday that he never wished them to go down to be cleaned.
A funny idea--a funny habit that, of going out for a walk aftermidnight in weather so cold and foggy that all other folk wereglad to be at home, snug in bed. But then Mr. Sleuth himselfadmitted that he was a funny sort of gentleman.
After she had done his bedroom the landlady went into thesitting-room and gave it a good dusting. This room was not keptquite as nice as she would have liked it to be. Mrs. Buntinglonged to give the drawing-room something of a good turn out; butMr. Sleuth disliked her to be moving about in it when he himselfwas in his bedroom; and when up he sat there almost all the time.Delighted as he had seemed to be with the top room, he only usedit when making his mysterious experiments, and never during theday-time.
And now, this afternoon, she looked at the rosewood chiffonnier withlonging eyes--she even gave that pretty little piece of furniturea slight shake. If only the doors would fly open, as the lockeddoors of old cupboards sometimes do, even after they have beensecurely fastened, how pleased she would be, how much morecomfortable somehow she would feel!
But the chiffonnier refused to give up its secret.
******
About eight o'clock on that same evening Joe Chandler came in, justfor a few minutes' chat. He had recovered from his agitation of themorning, but he was full of eager excitement, and Mrs. Buntinglistened in silence, intensely interested in spite of herself, whilehe and Bunting talked.
"Yes," he said, "I'm as right as a trivet now! I've had a good rest--laid down all this afternoon. You see, the Yard thinks there'sgoing to be something on to-night. He's always done them in pairs."
"So he has," exclaimed Bunting wonderingly. "So he has! Now, Inever thought o' that. Then you think, Joe, that the monster'll beon the job again to-night?"
Chandler nodded. "Yes. And I think there's a very good chance ofhis being caught too--"
"I suppose there'll be a lot on the watch to-night, eh?"
"I should think there will be! How many of our men d'you thinkthere'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
Bunting shook his head. "I don't know," he said helplessly.
"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an encouraging voice.
"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting."
"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!" incredulously.
"Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his monkey up!"Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat pocket. "Justlisten to this:
"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they have no clue tothe perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we cannot feel anysurprise at the information that a popular attack has been organisedon the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. There is eventalk of an indignation mass meeting.'
"What d'you think of that? That's not a pleasant thing for agentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't catch him, nowdoesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
"I don't think it's queer at all," said young Chandler crossly."Now you just listen again! Here's a bit of the truth for once--in a newspaper." And slowly he read out:
"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a game of blindman's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied and his eyesbandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer throughthe slums of a great city.'"
"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting. "Your hands aren't tied,and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr. Bunting. We haven'tgot the same facilities--no, not a quarter of them--that theFrench 'tecs have."
And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke: "What was thatword, Joe--'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit you read out."
"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
"Then do they think there's more than one of them?" she said, anda look of relief came over her thin face.
"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said Chandler."They say it can't be the work of one man."
"What do you think, Joe?"
"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think. I'm fair puzzled."
He got up. "Don't you come to the door. I'll shut it all right.So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps." As he had done the otherevening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door. "Anynews of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
"Yes; she's coming to-morrow," said her father. "They've got scarletfever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks she'd better clear out."
The husband and wife went to bed early that night, but Mrs. Buntingfound she could not sleep. She lay wide awake, hearing the hours,the half-hours, the quarters chime out from the belfry of the oldchurch close by.
And then, just as she was dozing off--it must have been about oneo'clock--she heard the sound she had half unconsciously beenexpecting to hear, that of the lodger's stealthy footsteps comingdown the stairs just outside her room.
He crept along the passage and let himself out very, very quietly.
But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did not hear himcome in again, for she soon fell into a heavy sleep.
Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next morning; odderstill, it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of bed, and goingout into the passage, picked up the newspaper which had just beenpushed through the letter-box.
But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go back at once intoher bedroom. Instead she lit the gas in the passage, and leaningup against the wall to steady herself, for she was trembling withcold and fatigue, she opened the paper.
Yes, there was the heading she sought:
"The AVENGER Murders"
But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that followed:
"Up to the time of going to press there is little new to reportconcerning the extraordinary series of crimes which are amazing,and, indeed, staggering not only London, but the whole civilisedworld, and which would seem to be the work of some woman-hatingteetotal fanatic. Since yesterday morning, when the last of thesedastardly murders was committed, no reliable clue to the perpetrator,or perpetrators, has been obtained, though several arrests were madein the course of the day. In every case, however, those arrestedwere able to prove a satisfactory alibi."
And then, a little lower down:
"The excitement grows and gro
ws. It is not too much to say thateven a stranger to London would know that something very unusualwas in the air. As for the place where the murder was committedlast night--"
"Last night!" thought Mrs. Bunting, startled; and then she realisedthat "last night," in this connection, meant the night before last.
She began the sentence again:
"As for the place where the murder was committed last night, allapproaches to it were still blocked up to a late hour by hundredsof onlookers, though, of course, nothing now remains in the way oftraces of the tragedy."
Slowly and carefully Mrs. Bunting folded the paper up again in itsoriginal creases, and then she stooped and put it back down on themat where she had found it. She then turned out the gas, and goingback into bed she lay down by her still sleeping husband.
"Anything the matter?" Bunting murmured, and stirred uneasily."Anything the matter, Ellen?"
She answered in a whisper, a whisper thrilling with a strangegladness, "No, nothing, Bunting--nothing the matter! Go to sleepagain, my dear."
They got up an hour later, both in a happy, cheerful mood. Buntingrejoiced at the thought of his daughter's coming, and even Daisy'sstepmother told herself that it would be pleasant having the girlabout the house to help her a bit.
About ten o'clock Bunting went out to do some shopping. He broughtback with him a nice little bit of pork for Daisy's dinner, andthree mince-pies. He even remembered to get some apples for thesauce.