The Lodger

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

  CHAPTER XXVII

  In vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughterto step through into the Chamber of Horrors. "I think we ought togo straight home," said Mr. Sleuth's landlady decidedly. And Daisymeekly assented. Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared bythe lodger's sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling ofhers was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, onher stepmother's face.

  Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they gothome it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had beentaken.

  "I don't suppose he'll be long before he comes home," said Buntingheavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. Shelooked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face thatthere was something wrong--very wrong indeed.

  The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisyknew there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.

  About six o'clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas inMr. Sleuth's sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance.Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there layher Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactlyas he had left them, when he had come downstairs and suggested thatill-starred expedition to his landlord's daughter. She took a fewsteps forward, listening the while anxiously for the familiar soundof the click in the door which would tell her that the lodger hadcome back, and then she went over to the window and looked out.

  What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless,friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very littlemoney on him!

  Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger's bedroom and opened thedrawer of the looking-glass.

  Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns. If only hehad taken his money out with him! She wondered painfully whether hehad enough on his person to secure a good night's lodging, and thensuddenly she remembered that which brought relief to her mind. Thelodger had given something to that Hopkins fellow--either a sovereignor half a sovereign, she wasn't sure which.

  The memory of Mr. Sleuth's cruel words to her, of his threat, didnot disturb her overmuch. It had been a mistake--all a mistake.Far from betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him--kept his awfulsecret as she could not have kept it had she known, or even dimlysuspected, the horrible fact with which Sir John Burney's words hadmade her acquainted; namely, that Mr. Sleuth was victim of notemporary aberration, but that he was, and had been for years, amadman, a homicidal maniac.

  In her ears there still rang the Frenchman's half careless yetconfident question, "De Leipsic and Liverpool man?"

  Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room,and taking a black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid theleaves of the Bible. Then she opened the Book, and looked at thepage the pin had marked:--

  "My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . .There is none to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up mycurtains."

  At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, andas she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards herstepmother.

  "I'll go down and start getting the lodger's supper ready for you,"said the girl good-naturedly. "He's certain to come in when he getshungry. But he did look upset, didn't he, Ellen? Right down bad--that he did!"

  Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisyto go down.

  "Mr. Sleuth won't never come back no more," she said sombrely, andthen she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change whichcame over her husband's face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief,of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add,"That's to say, I don't suppose he will."

  And Bunting's face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look,the look it had worn the last few days, returned.

  "What makes you think he mayn't come back?" he muttered.

  "Too long to tell you now," she said. "Wait till the child's goneto bed."

  And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.

  And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room whereshe now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to herhusband to follow her upstairs.

  Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on thedoor. And about this they had a few sharp whispered words.

  "You're never going to shut him out?" she expostulated angrily,beneath her breath.

  "I'm not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhapswalking in any minute."

  "Mr. Sleuth won't hurt Daisy, bless you! Much more likely to hurtme," and she gave a half sob.

  Bunting stared at her. "What do you mean?" he said roughly."Come upstairs and tell me what you mean."

  And then, in what had been the lodger's sitting-room, Mrs. Buntingtold her husband exactly what it was that had happened.

  He listened in heavy silence.

  "So you see," she said at last, "you see, Bunting, that 'twas methat was right after all. The lodger was never responsible forhis actions. I never thought he was, for my part."

  And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly. "Depends on what you callresponsible--" he began argumentatively.

  But she would have none of that. "I heard the gentleman say myselfthat he was a lunatic," she said fiercely. And then, dropping hervoice, "A religious maniac--that's what he called him."

  "Well, he never seemed so to me," said Bunting stoutly. "He simplyseemed to me 'centric--that's all he did. Not a bit madder thanmany I could tell you of." He was walking round the room restlessly,but he stopped short at last. "And what d'you think we ought to donow?"

  Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently. "I don't think we oughtto do nothing," she said. "Why should we?"

  And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashionthat irritated her.

  "If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where hewould get it! And his money, too? I hate to feel it's in there."

  "Don't you make any mistake--he'll come back for that," said Bunting,with decision.

  But Mrs. Bunting shook her head. She knew better. "Now," she said,"you go off up to bed. It's no use us sitting up any longer."

  And Bunting acquiesced.

  She ran down and got him a bedroom candle--there was no gas in thelittle back bedroom upstairs. And then she watched him go slowly up.

  Suddenly he turned and came down again. "Ellen," he said, in anurgent whisper, "if I was you I'd take the chain off the door, andI'd lock myself in--that's what I'm going to do. Then he can sneakin and take his dirty money away."

  Mrs. Bunting neither nodded nor shook her head. Slowly she wentdownstairs, and there she carried out half of Bunting's advice.She took, that is, the chain off the front door. But she did notgo to bed, neither did she lock herself in. She sat up all night,waiting. At half-past seven she made herself a cup of tea, andthen she went into her bedroom.

  Daisy opened her eyes.

  "Why, Ellen," she said, "I suppose I was that tired, and slept sosound, that I never heard you come to bed or get up--funny,wasn't it?"

  "Young people don't sleep as light as do old folks," Mrs. Buntingsaid sententiously.

  "Did the lodger come in after all? I suppose he's upstairs now?"

  Mrs. Bunting shook her head. "It looks as if 'twould be a fineday for you down at Richmond," she observed in a kindly tone.

  And Daisy smiled, a very happy, confident little smile.

  ******

  That evening Mrs. Bunting forced herself to tell young Chandlerthat their lodger had, so to speak, disappeared. She and Buntinghad thought carefully over what they would say, and so well didthey carry out their programme, or, what is more likely, so fullwas young Chandler of the long happy day he and Daisy had spenttogether, that he took their news very calmly.

  "Gone away, has he?" he observed casually. "Well, I hope he paidup all right?"

  "Oh, yes, yes," said Mrs. Bunting hastily. "No trouble of that sort."

  And Bunting said shamefacedly, "Ay
e, aye, the lodger was quite anhonest gentleman, Joe. But I feel worried, about him. He was sucha poor, gentle chap--not the sort o' man one likes to think of aswandering about by himself."

  "You always said he was 'centric," said Joe thoughtfully.

  "Yes, he was that," said Bunting slowly. "Regular right-down queer.Leetle touched, you know, under the thatch," and, as he tapped hishead significantly, both young people burst out laughing.

  "Would you like a description of him circulated?" asked Joegood-naturedly.

  Mr. and Mrs. Bunting looked at one another.

  "No, I don't think so. Not yet awhile at any rate. 'Twould upsethim awfully, you see."

  And Joe acquiesced. "You'd be surprised at the number o' peoplewho disappears and are never heard of again," he said cheerfully.And then he got up, very reluctantly.

  Daisy, making no bones about it this time, followed him out intothe passage, and shut the sitting-room door behind her.

  When she came back she walked over to where her father was sittingin his easy chair, and standing behind him she put her arms roundhis neck.

  Then she bent down her head. "Father," she said, "I've a bit ofnews for you!"

  "Yes, my dear?"

  "Father, I'm engaged! Aren't you surprised?"

  "Well, what do you think?" said Bunting fondly. Then he turnedround and, catching hold of her head, gave her a good, hearty kiss.

  "What'll Old Aunt say, I wonder?" he whispered.

  "Don't you worry about Old Aunt," exclaimed his wife suddenly."I'll manage Old Aunt! I'll go down and see her. She and I havealways got on pretty comfortable together, as you knows well, Daisy."

  "Yes," said Daisy a little wonderingly. "I know you have, Ellen."

  ******

  Mr. Sleuth never came back, and at last after many days and manynights had gone by, Mrs. Bunting left off listening for the clickof the lock which she at once hoped and feared would herald herlodger's return.

  As suddenly and as mysteriously as they had begun the "Avenger"murders stopped, but there came a morning in the early spring whena gardener, working in the Regent's Park, found a newspaper in whichwas wrapped, together with a half-worn pair of rubber-soled shoes,a long, peculiarly shaped knife. The fact, though of considerableinterest to the police, was not chronicled in any newspaper, butabout the same time a picturesque little paragraph went the roundof the press concerning a small boxful of sovereigns which had beenanonymously forwarded to the Governors of the Foundling Hospital.

  Meanwhile Mrs. Bunting had been as good as her word about "Old Aunt,"and that lady had received the wonderful news concerning Daisy in amore philosophical spirit than her great-niece had expected her todo. She only observed that it was odd to reflect that if gentlefolksleave a house in charge of the police a burglary is pretty sure tofollow--a remark which Daisy resented much more than did her Joe.

  Mr. Bunting and his Ellen are now in the service of an oldlady, by whom they are feared as well as respected, and whom theymake very comfortable.