But the detective shook his head. "No," he said, "I had a bite before I came out. Our job"s a queer kind of job, as you know. A lot"s left to our discretion, so to speak, but it don"t leave us much time for lazing about, I can tell you."
When he reached the door he turned round, and with elaborate carelessness he inquired, "Any chance of Miss Daisy coming to London again soon?"
Bunting shook his head, but his face brightened. He was very, very fond of his only child; the pity was he saw her so seldom. "No,"
he said, "I"m afraid not Joe. Old Aunt, as we calls the old lady, keeps Daisy pretty tightly tied to her ap.r.o.n-string. She was quite put about that week the child was up with us last June."
"Indeed? Well, so long!"
After his wife had let their friend out, Bunting said cheerfully, "Joe seems to like our Daisy, eh, Ellen?"
But Mrs. Bunting shook her head scornfully. She did not exactly dislike the girl, though she did not hold with the way Bunting"s daughter was being managed by that old aunt of hers--an idle, good-for-nothing way, very different from the fashion in which she herself had been trained at the Foundling, for Mrs. Bunting as a little child had known no other home, no other family than those provided by good Captain Coram.
"Joe Chandler"s too sensible a young chap to be thinking of girls yet awhile," she said tartly.
"No doubt you"re right," Bunting agreed. "Times be changed. In my young days chaps always had time for that. "Twas just a notion that came into my head, hearing him asking, anxious-like, after her."
About five o"clock, after the street lamps were well alight, Mr.
Sleuth went out, and that same evening there came two parcels addressed to his landlady. These parcels contained clothes. But it was quite clear to Mrs. Bunting"s eyes that they were not new clothes. In fact, they had evidently been bought in some good second-hand clothes-shop. A funny thing for a real gentleman like Mr. Sleuth to do! It proved that he had given up all hope of getting back his lost luggage.
When the lodger had gone out he had not taken his bag with him, of that Mrs. Bunting was positive. And yet, though she searched high and low for it, she could not find the place where Mr. Sleuth kept it. And at last, had it not been that she was a very clear-headed woman, with a good memory, she would have been disposed to think that the bag had never existed, save in her imagination.
But no, she could not tell herself that! She remembered exactly how it had looked when Mr. Sleuth had first stood, a strange, queer-looking figure of a man, on her doorstep.
She further remembered how he had put the bag down on the floor of the top front room, and then, forgetting what he had done, how he had asked her eagerly, in a tone of angry fear, where the bag was --only to find it safely lodged at his feet!
As time went on Mrs. Bunting thought a great deal about that bag, for, strange and amazing fact, she never saw Mr. Sleuth"s bag again.
But, of course, she soon formed a theory as to its whereabouts.
The brown leather bag which had formed Mr. Sleuth"s only luggage the afternoon of his arrival was almost certainly locked up in the lower part of the drawing-room chiffonnier. Mr. Sleuth evidently always carried the key of the little corner cupboard about his person; Mrs. Bunting had also had a good hunt for that key, but, as was the case with the bag, the key disappeared, and she never saw either the one or the other again.
CHAPTER V
How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next few days. Already life was settling down into a groove. Waiting on Mr. Sleuth was just what Mrs. Bunting could manage to do easily, and without tiring herself.
It had at once become clear that the lodger preferred to be waited on only by one person, and that person his landlady. He gave her very little trouble. Indeed, it did her good having to wait on the lodger; it even did her good that he was not like other gentlemen; for the fact occupied her mind, and in a way it amused her. The more so that whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of those tiresome, disagreeable ways with which landladies are only too familiar, and which seem peculiar only to those human beings who also happen to be lodgers. To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth did not ask to be called unduly early. Bunting and his Ellen had fallen into the way of lying rather late in the morning, and it was a great comfort not to have to turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea at seven, or even half-past seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything before eleven.
But odd he certainly was.
The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought in a book of which the queer name was Cruden"s Concordance. That and the Bible--Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was a relation between the two books--seemed to be the lodger"s only reading. He spent hours each day, generally after he had eaten the breakfast which also served for luncheon, poring over the Old Testament and over that strange kind of index to the Book.
As for the delicate and yet the all-important question of money, Mr. Sleuth was everything--everything that the most exacting landlady could have wished. Never had there been a more confiding or trusting gentleman. On the very first day he had been with them he had allowed his money--the considerable sum of one hundred and eighty-four sovereigns--to lie about wrapped up in little pieces of rather dirty newspaper on his dressing-table. That had quite upset Mrs. Bunting. She had allowed herself respectfully to point out to him that what he was doing was foolish, indeed wrong. But as only answer he had laughed, and she had been startled when the loud, unusual and discordant sound had issued from his thin lips.
"I know those I can trust," he had answered, stuttering rather, as was his way when moved. "And--and I a.s.sure you, Mrs. Bunting, that I hardly have to speak to a human being--especially to a woman"
(and he had drawn in his breath with a hissing sound) "before I know exactly what manner of person is before me."
It hadn"t taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodger had a queer kind of fear and dislike of women. When she was doing the staircase and landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth reading aloud to himself pa.s.sages in the Bible that were very uncomplimentary to her s.e.x. But Mrs. Bunting had no very great opinion of her sister woman, so that didn"t put her out. Besides, where one"s lodger is concerned, a dislike of women is better than--well, than the other thing.
In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about the lodger"s funny ways? Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric. If he hadn"t been, as Bunting funnily styled it, "just a leetle touched upstairs," he wouldn"t be here, living this strange, solitary life in lodgings. He would be living in quite a different sort of way with some of his relatives, or with a friend of his own cla.s.s.
There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back--as even the least imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of our own past lives which becomes for any reason poignantly memorable --wondered how soon it was that she had discovered that her lodger was given to creeping out of the house at a time when almost all living things prefer to sleep.
She brought herself to believe--but I am inclined to doubt whether she was right in so believing--that the first time she became aware of this strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth"s happened to be during the night which preceded the day on which she had observed a very curious circ.u.mstance. This very curious circ.u.mstance was the complete disappearance of one of Mr. Sleuth"s three suits of clothes.
It always pa.s.ses my comprehension how people can remember, over any length of time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that is natural enough, but the day, the hour, the minute when these happenings took place! Much as she thought about it afterwards, even Mrs. Bunting never quite made up her mind whether it was during the fifth or the sixth night of Mr. Sleuth"s stay under her roof that she became aware that he had gone out at two in the morning and had only come in at five.
But that there did come such a night is certain--as certain as is the fact that her discovery coincided with various occurrences which were destined to remain retrospectively memorable.
It was intensely dark, intensely quiet--the darkest quietest hour of the night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep, dreamless sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. She knew at once what those sounds were. They were those made by Mr.
Sleuth, first coming down the stairs, and walking on tiptoe--she was sure it was on tiptoe--past her door, and finally softly shutting the front door behind him.
Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go to sleep again. There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Bunting should waken up too, till she heard Mr. Sleuth, three hours later, creep back into the house and so up to bed.
Then, and not till then, she slept again. But in the morning she felt very tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad when Bunting good-naturedly suggested that he should go out and do their little bit of marketing.
The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter of catering it was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth, and that though he always tried to appear pleased. This perfect lodger had one serious fault from the point of view of those who keep lodgings. Strange to say, he was a vegetarian. He would not eat meat in any form. He sometimes, however, condescended to a chicken, and when he did so condescend he generously intimated that Mr. and Mrs. Bunting were welcome to a share in it.
Now to-day--this day of which the happenings were to linger in Mrs.
Bunting"s mind so very long, and to remain so very vivid, it had been arranged that Mr. Sleuth was to have some fish for his lunch, while what he left was to be "done up" to serve for his simple supper.
Knowing that Bunting would be out for at least an hour, for he was a gregarious soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops he frequented, Mrs. Bunting rose and dressed in a leisurely manner; then she went and "did" her front sitting-room.
She felt languid and dull, as one is apt to feel after a broken night, and it was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was not likely to ring before twelve.
But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through the quiet house. She knew it for the front door bell.
Mrs. Bunting frowned. No doubt the ring betokened one of those tiresome people who come round for old bottles and such-like fal-lals.
She went slowly, reluctantly to the door. And then her face cleared, for it was that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waiting outside.
He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quickly through the moist, foggy air.
"Why, Joe?" said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly. "Come in--do! Bunting"s out, but he won"t be very long now. You"ve been quite a stranger these last few days."
"Well, you know why, Mrs. Bunting--"
She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he could mean. Then, suddenly she remembered. Why, of course, Joe was on a big job just now--the job of trying to catch The Avenger! Her husband had alluded to the fact again and again when reading out to her little bits from the halfpenny evening paper he was taking again.
She led the way to the sitting-room. It was a good thing Bunting had insisted on lighting the fire before he went out, for now the room was nice and warm--and it was just horrible outside. She had felt a chill go right through her as she had stood, even for that second, at the front door.
And she hadn"t been alone to feel it, for, "I say, it is jolly to be in here, out of that awful cold!" exclaimed Chandler, sitting down heavily in Bunting"s easy chair.
And then Mrs. Bunting bethought herself that the young man was tired, as well as cold. He was pale, almost pallid under his usual healthy, tanned complexion--the complexion of the man who lives much out of doors.