The Lodger

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

  CHAPTER XIV

  "There he is at last, and I'm glad of it, Ellen. 'Tain't a nightyou would wish a dog to be out in."

  Bunting's voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round andlook at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read theevening paper he held in his hand.

  He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in hisnice arm-chair. He looked very well--well and ruddy. Mrs. Buntingstared across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, ofresentment. And this was very curious, for she was, in her own dryway, very fond of Bunting.

  "You needn't feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out forhimself all right."

  Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. "Ican't think why he wanted to go out in such weather," he saidimpatiently.

  "Well, it's none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?"

  "No, that's true enough. Still, 'twould be a very bad thing for usif anything happened to him. This lodger's the first bit of luckwe've had for a terrible long time, Ellen."

  Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair. Sheremained silent for a moment. What Bunting had said was too obviousto be worth answering. Also she was listening, following inimagination her lodger's quick, singularly quiet progress--"stealthy" she called it to herself--through the fog-filled,lamp-lit hall. Yes, now he was going up the staircase. Whatwas that Bunting was saying?

  "It isn't safe for decent folk to be out in such weather--no, thatit ain't, not unless they have something to do that won't wait tillto-morrow." The speaker was looking straight into his wife's narrow,colourless face. Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to provehimself right. "I've a good mind to speak to him about it, thatI have! He ought to be told that it isn't safe--not for the sortof man he is--to be wandering about the streets at night. I readyou out the accidents in Lloyd's--shocking, they were, and allbrought about by the fog! And then, that horrid monster 'ull soonbe at his work again--"

  "Monster?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.

  She was trying to hear the lodger's footsteps overhead. She wasvery curious to know whether he had gone into his nice sitting-room,or straight upstairs, to that cold experiment-room, as he now alwayscalled it.

  But her husband went on as if he had not heard her, and she gave uptrying to listen to what was going on above.

  "It wouldn't be very pleasant to run up against such a party as thatin the fog, eh, Ellen?" He spoke as if the notion had a certainpleasant thrill in it after all.

  "What stuff you do talk!" said Mrs. Bunting sharply. And then shegot up. Her husband's remarks had disturbed her. Why couldn't theytalk of something pleasant when they did have a quiet bit of timetogether?

  Bunting looked down again at his paper, and she moved quietly aboutthe room. Very soon it would be time for supper, and to-night shewas going to cook her husband a nice piece of toasted cheese. Thatfortunate man, as she was fond of telling him, with mingled contemptand envy, had the digestion of an ostrich, and yet he was ratherfanciful, as gentlemen's servants who have lived in good placesoften are.

  Yes, Bunting was very lucky in the matter of his digestion. Mrs.Bunting prided herself on having a nice mind, and she would neverhave allowed an unrefined word--such a word as "stomach," forinstance, to say nothing of an even plainer term--to pass herlips, except, of course, to a doctor in a sick-room.

  Mr. Sleuth's landlady did not go down at once into her cold kitchen;instead, with a sudden furtive movement, she opened the door leadinginto her bedroom, and then, closing the door quietly, stepped backinto the darkness, and stood motionless, listening.

  At first she heard nothing, but gradually there stole on herlistening ears the sound of someone moving softly about in theroom just overhead, that is, in Mr. Sleuth's bedroom. But, try asshe might, it was impossible for her to guess what the lodger wasdoing.

  At last she heard him open the door leading out on the littlelanding. She could hear the stairs creaking. That meant, no doubt,that Mr. Sleuth would pass the rest of the evening in the cheerlessroom above. He hadn't spent any time up there for quite a longwhile--in fact, not for nearly ten days. 'Twas odd he chose to-night,when it was so foggy, to carry out an experiment.

  She groped her way to a chair and sat down. She felt very tired--strangely tired, as if she had gone through some great physicalexertion.

  Yes, it was true that Mr. Sleuth had brought her and Bunting luck,and it was wrong, very wrong, of her ever to forget that.

  As she sat there she also reminded herself, and not for the firsttime, what the lodger's departure would mean. It would almostcertainly mean ruin; just as his staying meant all sorts of goodthings, of which physical comfort was the least. If Mr. Sleuthstayed on with them, as he showed every intention of doing, itmeant respectability, and, above all, security.

  Mrs. Bunting thought of Mr. Sleuth's money. He never received aletter, and yet he must have some kind of income--so much wasclear. She supposed he went and drew his money, in sovereigns, outof a bank as he required it.

  Her mind swung round, consciously, deliberately, away from Mr.Sleuth.

  The Avenger? What a strange name! Again she assured herself thatthere would come a time when The Avenger, whoever he was, must feelsatiated; when he would feel himself to be, so to speak, avenged.

  To go back to Mr. Sleuth; it was lucky that the lodger seemed sopleased, not only with the rooms, but with his landlord and landlady--indeed, there was no real reason why Mr. Sleuth should ever wishto leave such nice lodgings.

  ******

  Mrs. Bunting suddenly stood up. She made a strong effort, and shookoff her awful sense of apprehension and unease. Feeling for thehandle of the door giving into the passage she turned it, and then,with light, firm steps, she went down into the kitchen.

  When they had first taken the house, the basement had been made byher care, if not into a pleasant, then, at any rate, into a veryclean place. She had had it whitewashed, and against the stillwhite walls the gas stove loomed up, a great square of black ironand bright steel. It was a large gas-stove, the kind for which onepays four shillings a quarter rent to the gas company, and here, inthe kitchen, there was no foolish shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.Mrs. Bunting was too shrewd a woman to have anything to do with thatkind of business. There was a proper gas-meter, and she paid forwhat she consumed after she had consumed it.

  Putting her candle down on the well-scrubbed wooden table, sheturned up the gas-jet, and blew out the candle.

  Then, lighting one of the gas-rings, she put a frying-pan on thestove, and once more her mind reverted, as if in spite of herself,to Mr. Sleuth. Never had there been a more confiding or trustinggentleman than the lodger, and yet in some ways he was so secret,so--so peculiar.

  She thought of the bag--that bag which had rumbled about soqueerly in the chiffonnier. Something seemed to tell her thattonight the lodger had taken that bag out with him.

  And then she thrust away the thought of the bag almost violentlyfrom her mind, and went back to the more agreeable thought of Mr.Sleuth's income, and of how little trouble he gave. Of course,the lodger was eccentric, otherwise he wouldn't be their lodgerat all--he would be living in quite a different sort of way withsome of his relations, or with a friend in his own class.

  While these thoughts galloped disconnectedly through her mind,Mrs. Bunting went on with her cooking, preparing the cheese, cuttingit up into little shreds, carefully measuring out the butter, doingeverything, as was always her way, with a certain delicate andcleanly precision.

  And then, while in the middle of toasting the bread on which was tobe poured the melted cheese, she suddenly heard sounds which startledher, made her feel uncomfortable.

  Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.

  She looked up and listened.

  Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggynight--going out, as he had done the other evening, for a secondtime? But no; the sounds she heard, the sounds of now familiarfootsteps, did not co
ntinue down the passage leading to the frontdoor.

  Instead--Why, what was this she heard now? She began to listenso intently that the bread she was holding at the end of thetoasting-fork grew quite black. With a start she became awarethat this was so, and she frowned, vexed with herself. That cameof not attending to one's work.

  Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done.He was coming down into the kitchen.

  Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on thekitchen stairs, and Mrs. Bunting's heart began to beat as if inresponse. She put out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of thefact that the cheese would stiffen and spoil in the cold air.

  Then she turned and faced the door.

  There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the dooropened, and revealed, as she had at once known and feared it woulddo, the lodger.

  Mr. Sleuth looked even odder than usual. He was clad in a plaiddressing-gown, which she had never seen him wear before, thoughshe knew that he had purchased it not long after his arrival. Inhis hand was a lighted candle.

  When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing init, the lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.

  "Yes, sir? What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn't ring, sir?"

  Mrs. Bunting held her ground in front of the stove. Mr. Sleuth hadno business to come like this into her kitchen, and she intended tolet him know that such was her view.

  "No, I--I didn't ring," he stammered awkwardly. "The truth is, Ididn't know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. Please excuse my costume.My gas-stove has gone wrong, or, rather, that shilling-in-the-slotarrangement has done so. So I came down to see if you had agas-stove. I am going to ask you to allow me to use it to-night foran important experiment I wish to make."

  Mrs. Bunting's heart was beating quickly--quickly. She felthorribly troubled, unnaturally so. Why couldn't Mr. Sleuth'sexperiment wait till the morning? She stared at him dubiously, butthere was that in his face that made her at once afraid and pitiful.It was a wild, eager, imploring look.

  "Oh, certainly, sir; but you will find it very cold down here."

  "It seems most pleasantly warm," he observed, his voice full ofrelief, "warm and cosy, after my cold room upstairs."

  Warm and cosy? Mrs. Bunting stared at him in amazement. Nay, eventhat cheerless room at the top of the house must be far warmer andmore cosy than this cold underground kitchen could possibly be.

  "I'll make you a fire, sir. We never use the grate, but it's inperfect order, for the first thing I did after I came into the housewas to have the chimney swept. It was terribly dirty. It mighthave set the house on fire." Mrs. Bunting's housewifely instinctswere roused. "For the matter of that, you ought to have a fire inyour bedroom this cold night."

  "By no means--I would prefer not. I certainly do not want a firethere. I dislike an open fire, Mrs. Bunting. I thought I had toldyou as much."

  Mr. Sleuth frowned. He stood there, a strange-looking figure, hiscandle still alight, just inside the kitchen door.

  "I shan't be very long, sir. Just about a quarter of an hour. Youcould come down then. I'll have everything quite tidy for you. Isthere anything I can do to help you?"

  "I do not require the use of your kitchen yet--thank you all thesame, Mrs. Bunting. I shall come down later--altogether later--after you and your husband have gone to bed. But I should be muchobliged if you would see that the gas people come to-morrow andput my stove in order. It might be done while I am out. That theshilling-in-the-slot machine should go wrong is very unpleasant.It has upset me greatly."

  "Perhaps Bunting could put it right for you, sir. For the matterof that, I could ask him to go up now."

  "No, no, I don't want anything of that sort done to-night. Besides,he couldn't put it right. I am something of an expert, Mrs. Bunting,and I have done all I could. The cause of the trouble is quitesimple. The machine is choked up with shillings; a very foolishplan, so I always felt it to be."

  Mr. Sleuth spoke pettishly, with far more heat than he was wont tospeak, but Mrs. Bunting sympathised with him in this matter. Shehad always suspected that those slot machines were as dishonest asif they were human. It was dreadful, the way they swallowed upthe shillings! She had had one once, so she knew.

  And as if he were divining her thoughts, Mr. Sleuth walked forwardand stared at the stove. "Then you haven't got a slot machine?" hesaid wonderingly. "I'm very glad of that, for I expect my experimentwill take some time. But, of course, I shall pay you something forthe use of the stove, Mrs. Bunting."

  "Oh, no, sir, I wouldn't think of charging you anything for that.We don't use our stove very much, you know, sir. I'm never in thekitchen a minute longer than I can help this cold weather."

  Mrs. Bunting was beginning to feel better. When she was actuallyin Mr. Sleuth's presence her morbid fears would be lulled, perhapsbecause his manner almost invariably was gentle and very quiet.But still there came over her an eerie feeling, as, with himpreceding her, they made a slow progress to the ground floor.

  Once there, the lodger courteously bade his landlady good-night,and proceeded upstairs to his own apartments.

  Mrs. Bunting returned to the kitchen. Again she lighted the stove;but she felt unnerved, afraid of she knew not what. As she wascooking the cheese, she tried to concentrate her mind on what shewas doing, and on the whole she succeeded. But another part of hermind seemed to be working independently, asking her insistentquestions.

  The place seemed to her alive with alien presences, and once shecaught herself listening--which was absurd, for, of course, shecould not hope to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two, if not three,flights upstairs. She wondered in what the lodger's experimentsconsisted. It was odd that she had never been able to discover whatit was he really did with that big gas-stove. All she knew wasthat he used a very high degree of heat.