The Lodger by Marie Belloc Lowndes Read Free Book Online Page B

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 l1ouse. 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.
      "Wouldn't you like me just to make you a cup of
tea?" she said solicitously.
      "Well, to tell truth, I should be right down
thankful for one, Mrs. Bunting!" Then he looked round, and again he
said her name, "Mrs. Bunting - ?"
      He spoke in so odd, so thick a tone that she turned
quickly. "Yes, what is it, Joe?" she asked. And then, in sudden
terror, "You've never come to tell me that anything's happened to
Bunting? He's not had an accident?"
      "Goodness, no! Whatever made you think that? But -
but, Mrs. Bunting, there's been another of them!"
      His voice dropped almost to a whisper. He was
staring at her