“Well, I don’t see anything so out of the way in that,” she said hastily, “’specially if he don’t feel well.  I’ll take it up to him.”

And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows, Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to her as a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she had lived for several years.

“He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper,” said Bunting; and, then, “Ellen?  He’s a queer-looking cove—­not like any gentleman I ever had to do with.”

“He is a gentleman,” said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.

“Oh, yes, that’s all right.”  But still he looked at her doubtfully.  “I asked him if he’d like me to just put away his clothes.  But, Ellen, he said he hadn’t got any clothes!”

“No more he hasn’t;” she spoke quickly, defensively.  “He had the misfortune to lose his luggage.  He’s one dishonest folk ’ud take advantage of.”

“Yes, one can see that with half an eye,” Bunting agreed.

And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Bunting put down on a little bit of paper the things she wanted her husband to go out and buy for her.  She handed him the list, together with a sovereign.  “Be as quick as you can,” she said, “for I feel a bit hungry.  I’ll be going down now to see about Mr. Sleuth’s supper.  He only wants a glass of milk and two eggs.  I’m glad I’ve never fallen to bad eggs!”

“Sleuth,” echoed Bunting, staring at her.  “What a queer name!  How d’you spell it—­S-l-u-t-h?”

“No,” she shot out, “S-l-e—­u—­t—­h.”

“Oh,” he said doubtfully.

“He said, ‘Think of a hound and you’ll never forget my name,’” and Mrs. Bunting smiled.

When he got to the door, Bunting turned round:  “We’ll now be able to pay young Chandler back some o’ that thirty shillings.  I am glad.”  She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.

And then each went about his and her business—­Bunting out into the drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.

The lodger’s tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and daintily arranged.  Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.

Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly remembered Mr. Sleuth’s request for a Bible.  Putting the tray down in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book; but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it was worth while to make two journeys.  But, no, she thought she could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.

But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth’s landlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped the tray.  She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy thud to the ground.

The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the early Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud, with their faces to the wall!