“About terms?” he echoed.  And then there came a pause.  “My name is Sleuth,” he said suddenly,—­“S-l-e-u-t-h.  Think of a hound, Mrs. Bunting, and you’ll never forget my name.  I could provide you with a reference—­” (he gave her what she described to herself as a funny, sideways look), “but I should prefer you to dispense with that, if you don’t mind.  I am quite willing to pay you—­well, shall we say a month in advance?”

A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting’s cheeks.  She felt sick with relief—­nay, with a joy which was almost pain.  She had not known till that moment how hungry she was—­how eager for—­a good meal.  “That would be all right, sir,” she murmured.

“And what are you going to charge me?” There had come a kindly, almost a friendly note into his voice.  “With attendance, mind!  I shall expect you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask if you can cook, Mrs. Bunting?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” she said.  “I am a plain cook.  What would you say to twenty-five shillings a week, sir?” She looked at him deprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on falteringly, “You see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would have the best of attendance and careful cooking—­and my husband, sir—­he would be pleased to valet you.”

“I shouldn’t want anything of that sort done for me,” said Mr. Sleuth hastily.  “I prefer looking after my own clothes.  I am used to waiting on myself.  But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike to sharing lodgings—­”

She interrupted eagerly, “I could let you have the use of the two floors for the same price—­that is, until we get another lodger.  I shouldn’t like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir.  It’s such a poor little room.  You could do as you say, sir—­do your work and your experiments up here, and then have your meals in the drawing-room.”

“Yes,” he said hesitatingly, “that sounds a good plan.  And if I offered you two pounds, or two guineas?  Might I then rely on your not taking another lodger?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.  “I’d be very glad only to have you to wait on, sir.”

“I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting?  I don’t like to be disturbed while I’m working.”

He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, “I suppose you have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?”

“Oh, yes, sir, there’s a key—­a very nice little key.  The people who lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door.”  She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a round disk had been fitted above the old keyhole.

He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as if absorbed in thought, “Forty-two shillings a week?  Yes, that will suit me perfectly.  And I’ll begin now by paying my first month’s rent in advance.  Now, four times forty-two shillings is”—­he jerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for the first time he smiled, a queer, wry smile—­“why, just eight pounds eight shillings, Mrs. Bunting!”