CHAPTER V
How quietly, how uneventfully, how pleasantly, sped the next fewdays. Already life was settling down into a groove. Waiting onMr. 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 waitedon only by one person, and that person his landlady. He gave hervery little trouble. Indeed, it did her good having to wait on thelodger; 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. Themore so that whatever his oddities Mr. Sleuth had none of thosetiresome, disagreeable ways with which landladies are only toofamiliar, and which seem peculiar only to those human beings whoalso happen to be lodgers. To take but one point: Mr. Sleuth didnot ask to be called unduly early. Bunting and his Ellen had falleninto the way of lying rather late in the morning, and it was a greatcomfort not to have to turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea atseven, or even half-past seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom required anythingbefore eleven.
But odd he certainly was.
The second evening he had been with them Mr. Sleuth had brought ina book of which the queer name was Cruden's Concordance. That andthe Bible--Mrs. Bunting had soon discovered that there was arelation between the two books--seemed to be the lodger's onlyreading. He spent hours each day, generally after he had eatenthe breakfast which also served for luncheon, poring over the OldTestament 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 exactinglandlady could have wished. Never had there been a more confidingor trusting gentleman. On the very first day he had been with themhe had allowed his money--the considerable sum of one hundred andeighty-four sovereigns--to lie about wrapped up in little piecesof rather dirty newspaper on his dressing-table. That had quiteupset Mrs. Bunting. She had allowed herself respectfully to pointout to him that what he was doing was foolish, indeed wrong. Butas only answer he had laughed, and she had been startled when theloud, unusual and discordant sound had issued from his thin lips.
"I know those I can trust," he had answered, stuttering rather, aswas his way when moved. "And--and I assure you, Mrs. Bunting, thatI hardly have to speak to a human being--especially to a woman"(and he had drawn in his breath with a hissing sound) "before Iknow exactly what manner of person is before me."
It hadn't taken the landlady very long to find out that her lodgerhad a queer kind of fear and dislike of women. When she was doingthe staircase and landings she would often hear Mr. Sleuth readingaloud to himself passages in the Bible that were very uncomplimentaryto her sex. But Mrs. Bunting had no very great opinion of her sisterwoman, so that didn't put her out. Besides, where one's lodger isconcerned, a dislike of women is better than--well, than the otherthing.
In any case, where would have been the good of worrying about thelodger's funny ways? Of course, Mr. Sleuth was eccentric. If hehadn't been, as Bunting funnily styled it, "just a leetle touchedupstairs," he wouldn't be here, living this strange, solitary lifein lodgings. He would be living in quite a different sort of waywith some of his relatives, or with a friend of his own class.
There came a time when Mrs. Bunting, looking back--as even theleast imaginative of us are apt to look back to any part of ourown past lives which becomes for any reason poignantly memorable--wondered how soon it was that she had discovered that herlodger was given to creeping out of the house at a time whenalmost all living things prefer to sleep.
She brought herself to believe--but I am inclined to doubt whethershe was right in so believing--that the first time she became awareof this strange nocturnal habit of Mr. Sleuth's happened to beduring the night which preceded the day on which she had observed avery curious circumstance. This very curious circumstance was thecomplete disappearance of one of Mr. Sleuth's three suits of clothes.
It always passes my comprehension how people can remember, over anylength of time, not every moment of certain happenings, for that isnatural enough, but the day, the hour, the minute when thesehappenings took place! Much as she thought about it afterwards,even Mrs. Bunting never quite made up her mind whether it was duringthe fifth or the sixth night of Mr. Sleuth's stay under her roofthat she became aware that he had gone out at two in the morning andhad only come in at five.
But that there did come such a night is certain--as certain as isthe fact that her discovery coincided with various occurrenceswhich were destined to remain retrospectively memorable.
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It was intensely dark, intensely quiet--the darkest quietest hourof the night, when suddenly Mrs. Bunting was awakened from a deep,dreamless sleep by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. Sheknew at once what those sounds were. They were those made by Mr.Sleuth, first coming down the stairs, and walking on tiptoe--shewas sure it was on tiptoe--past her door, and finally softlyshutting the front door behind him.
Try as she would, Mrs. Bunting found it quite impossible to go tosleep again. There she lay wide awake, afraid to move lest Buntingshould 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 shefelt very tired, so tired indeed, that she had been very glad whenBunting good-naturedly suggested that he should go out and do theirlittle bit of marketing.
The worthy couple had very soon discovered that in the matter ofcatering it was not altogether an easy matter to satisfy Mr. Sleuth,and that though he always tried to appear pleased. This perfectlodger had one serious fault from the point of view of those whokeep lodgings. Strange to say, he was a vegetarian. He would noteat meat in any form. He sometimes, however, condescended to achicken, and when he did so condescend he generously intimated thatMr. 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 hadbeen 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 wasa gregarious soul, and liked to have a gossip in the shops hefrequented, 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 brokennight, and it was a comfort to her to know that Mr. Sleuth was notlikely to ring before twelve.
But long before twelve a loud ring suddenly clanged through thequiet house. She knew it for the front door bell.
Mrs. Bunting frowned. No doubt the ring betokened one of thosetiresome people who come round for old bottles and such-likefal-lals.
She went slowly, reluctantly to the door. And then her face cleared,for it was that good young chap, Joe Chandler, who stood waitingoutside.
He was breathing a little hard, as if he had walked over-quicklythrough the moist, foggy air.
"Why, Joe?" said Mrs. Bunting wonderingly. "Come in--do! Bunting'sout, but he won't be very long now. You've been quite a strangerthese 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 justnow--the job of trying to catch The Avenger! Her husband hadalluded to the fact again and again when reading out to her littlebits from the halfpenny evening paper he was taking again.
She led the way to the sitting-room. It was a good thing Buntinghad insisted on lighting the fire before he went out, for now theroom was nice and warm--and it was just horrible outside. She hadfelt a chill go right through her as she had stood, even for thatsecond, at the front door.
And she hadn't been alone to feel it, for, "I say, it is jolly tobe in here, out of that awful cold!" exclaimed Chandler, sittingdown 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 ofdoors.
"Wouldn't you like me just to make you a cup of tea?" she saidsolicitously.
"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'venever come to tell me that anything's happened to Bunting? He'snot 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 withunhappy, it seemed to her terror-filled, eyes.
"Another of them?" She looked at him, bewildered--at a loss.And then what he meant flashed across her--"another of them"meant another of these strange, mysterious, awful murders.
But her relief for the moment was so great--for she really hadthought for a second that he had come to give her ill news ofBunting--that the feeling that she did experience on hearingthis piece of news was actually pleasurable, though she wouldhave been much shocked had that fact been brought to her notice.
Almost in spite of herself, Mrs. Bunting had become keenly interestedin the amazing series of crimes which was occupying the imaginationof the whole of London's nether-world. Even her refined mind hadbusied itself for the last two or three days with the strange problemso frequently presented to it by Bunting--for Bunting, now that theywere no longer worried, took an open, unashamed, intense interest in"The Avenger" and his doings.
She took the kettle off the gas-ring. "It's a pity Bunting isn'there," she said, drawing in her breath. "He'd a-liked so much tohear you tell all about it, Joe."
As she spoke she was pouring boiling water into a little teapot.
But Chandler said nothing, and she turned and glanced at him. "Why,you do look bad!" she exclaimed.
And, indeed, the young fellow did look bad--very bad indeed.
"I can't help it," he said, with a kind of gasp. "It was yoursaying that about my telling you all about it that made me turnqueer. You see, this time I was one of the first there, and itfairly turned me sick--that it did. Oh, it was too awful, Mrs.Bunting! Don't talk of it."
He began gulping down the hot tea before it was well made.
She looked at him with sympathetic interest. "Why, Joe," she said,"I never would have thought, with all the horrible sights you see,that anything could upset you like that."
"This isn't like anything there's ever been before," he said. "Andthen--then--oh, Mrs. Bunting, 'twas I that discovered the piece ofpaper this time."
"Then it is true," she cried eagerly. "It is The Avenger's bit ofpaper! Bunting always said it was. He never believed in thatpractical joker."
"I did," said Chandler reluctantly. "You see, there are some queerfellows even--even--" (he lowered his voice, and looked round himas if the walls had ears)--"even in the Force, Mrs. Bunting, andthese murders have fair got on our nerves."
"No, never!" she said. "D'you think that a Bobby might do a thinglike that?"
He nodded impatiently, as if the question wasn't worth answering.Then, "It was all along of that bit of paper and my finding it whilethe poor soul was still warm,"--he shuddered--"that brought me outWest this morning. One of our bosses lives close by, in PrinceAlbert Terrace, and I had to go and tell him all about it. Theynever offered me a bit or a sup--I think they might have done that,don't you, Mrs. Bunting?"
"Yes," she said absently. "Yes, I do think so."
"But, there, I don't know that I ought to say that," went on Chandler."He had me up in his dressing-room, and was very considerate-like tome while I was telling him."
"Have a bit of something now?" she said suddenly.
"Oh, no, I couldn't eat anything," he said hastily. "I don't feelas if I could ever eat anything any more."
"That'll only make you ill." Mrs. Bunting spoke rather crossly,for she was a sensible woman. And to please her he took a biteout of the slice of bread-and-butter she had cut for him.
"I expect you're right," he said. "And I've a goodish heavy dayin front of me. Been up since four, too--"
"Four?" she said. "Was it then they found--" she hesitated amoment, and then said, "it?"
He nodded. "It was just a chance I was near by. If I'd been halfa minute sooner either I or the officer who found her must haveknocked up against that--that monster. But two or three peopledo think they saw him slinking away."
"What was he like?" she asked curiously.
"Well, that's hard to answer. You see, there was such an awfulfog. But there's one thing they all agree about. He was carryinga bag--"
"A bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting, in a low voice. "Whatever sort ofbag might it have been, Joe?"
There had come across her--just right in her middle, like--such astrange sensation, a curious kind of tremor, or fluttering.
She was at a loss to account for it.
"Just a hand-bag," said Joe Chandler vaguely. "A woman I spoke to--cross-examining her, like--who was positive she had seen him,said, 'Just a tall, thin shadow--that's what he was, a tall, thinshadow of a man--with a bag.'"
"With a bag?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently. "How very strangeand peculiar--"
"Why, no, not strange at all. He has to carry the thing he doesthe deed with in something, Mrs. Bunting. We've always wondered howhe hid it. They generally throws the knife or fire-arms away, youknow."
"Do they, indeed?" Mrs. Bunting still spoke in that absent, wonderingway. She was thinking that she really must try and see what thelodger had done with his bag. It was possible--in fact, when onecame to think of it, it was very probable--that he had just lostit, being so forgetful a gentleman, on one of the days he had goneout, as she knew he was fond of doing, into the Regent's Park.
"There'll be a description circulated in an hour or two," went onChandler. "Perhaps that'll help catch him. There isn't a Londonman or woman, I don't suppose, who wouldn't give a good bit to laythat chap by the heels. Well, I suppose I must be going now."
"Won't you wait a bit longer for Bunting?" she said hesitatingly.
"No, I can't do that. But I'll come in, maybe, either this eveningor to-morrow, and tell you any more that's happened. Thanks kindlyfor the tea. It's made a man of me, Mrs. Bunting."
"Well, you've had enough to unman you, Joe."
"Aye, that I have," he said heavily.
A few minutes later Bunting did come in, and he and his wife hadquite a little tiff--the first tiff they had had since Mr. Sleuthbecame their lodger.
It fell out this way. When he heard who had been there, Buntingwas angry that Mrs. Bunting hadn't got more details of the horribleoccurrence which had taken place that morning, out of Chandler.
"You don't mean to say, Ellen, that you can't even tell me where ithappened?" he said indignantly. "I suppose you put Chandler off--that's what you did! Why, whatever did he come here for,excepting to tell us all about it?"
"He came to have something to eat and drink," snapped out Mrs.Bunting. "That's what the poor lad came for, if you wants to know.He could hardly speak of it at all--he felt so bad. In fact, hedidn't say a word about it until he'd come right into the room andsat down. He told me quite enough!"
"Didn't he tell you if the piece of paper on which the murderer hadwritten his name was square or three-cornered?" demanded Bunting.
"No; he did not. And that isn't the sort of thing I should havecared to ask him."
"The more fool you!" And then he stopped abruptly. The newsboyswere coming down the Marylebone Road, shouting out the awfuldiscovery which had been made that morning--that of The Avenger'sfifth murder. Bunting went out to buy a paper, and his wife tookthe things he had brought in down to the kitchen.
The noise the newspaper-sellers made outside had evidently wakenedMr. Sleuth, for his landlady hadn't been in the kitchen ten minutesbefore his bell r
ang.
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