“Look there!” she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in her voice.  “Look there, Bunting!”

And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.

He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusion that his wife had just had in a furniture dealer, and that this ten pounds represented all their nice furniture upstairs.  If that were so, then it was the beginning of the end.  That furniture in the first-floor front had cost—­Ellen had reminded him of the fact bitterly only yesterday—­seventeen pounds nine shillings, and every single item had been a bargain.  It was too bad that she had only got ten pounds for it.

Yet he hadn’t the heart to reproach her.

He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting that troubled, rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thought had happened.

“We’ve a new lodger!” she cried.  “And—­and, Bunting?  He’s quite the gentleman!  He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, at two guineas a week.”

“No, never!”

Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there, fascinated by the little heap of gold.  “But there’s ten sovereigns here,” he said suddenly.

“Yes, the gentleman said I’d have to buy some things for him to-morrow.  And, oh, Bunting, he’s so well spoken, I really felt that—­I really felt that—­” and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a step or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron over her face burst into gasping sobs.

Bunting patted her back timidly.  “Ellen?” he said, much moved by her agitation, “Ellen?  Don’t take on so, my dear—­”

“I won’t,” she sobbed, “I—­I won’t!  I’m a fool—­I know I am!  But, oh, I didn’t think we was ever going to have any luck again!”

And then she told him—­or rather tried to tell him—­what the lodger was like.  Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thing she did impress on her husband’s mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth was eccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric—­that is, in a harmless way—­and that he must be humoured.

“He says he doesn’t want to be waited on much,” she said at last wiping her eyes, “but I can see he will want a good bit of looking after, all the same, poor gentleman.”

And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar sound of a loud ring.  It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulled again and again.

Bunting looked at his wife eagerly.  “I think I’d better go up, eh, Ellen?” he said.  He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger.  For the matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing something again.

“Yes,” she answered, “you go up!  Don’t keep him waiting!  I wonder what it is he wants?  I said I’d let him know when his supper was ready.”

A moment later Bunting came down again.  There was an odd smile on his face.  “Whatever d’you think he wanted?” he whispered mysteriously.  And as she said nothing, he went on, “He’s asked me for the loan of a Bible!”