For just one moment she could not think why she felt so different —­and then she suddenly remembered.

How comfortable it was to know that upstairs, just over her head, lay, in the well-found bed she had bought with such satisfaction at an auction held in a Baker Street house, a lodger who was paying two guineas a week!  Something seemed to tell her that Mr. Sleuth would be “a permanency.”  In any case, it wouldn’t be her fault if he wasn’t.  As to his—­his queerness, well, there’s always something funny in everybody.  But after she had got up, and as the morning wore itself away, Mrs. Bunting grew a little anxious, for there came no sound at all from the new lodger’s rooms.  At twelve, however, the drawing-room bell rang.  Mrs. Bunting hurried upstairs.  She was painfully anxious to please and satisfy Mr. Sleuth.  His coming had only been in the nick of time to save them from terrible disaster.

She found her lodger up, and fully dressed.  He was sitting at the round table which occupied the middle of the sitting-room, and his landlady’s large Bible lay open before him.

As Mrs. Bunting came in, he looked up, and she was troubled to see how tired and worn he seemed.

“You did not happen,” he asked, “to have a Concordance, Mrs. Bunting?”

She shook her head; she had no idea what a Concordance could be, but she was quite sure that she had nothing of the sort about.

And then her new lodger proceeded to tell her what it was he desired her to buy for him.  She had supposed the bag he had brought with him to contain certain little necessaries of civilised life—­such articles, for instance, as a comb and brush, a set of razors, a toothbrush, to say nothing of a couple of nightshirts—­but no, that was evidently not so, for Mr. Sleuth required all these things to be bought now.

After having cooked him a nice breakfast Mrs. Bunting hurried out to purchase the things of which he was in urgent need.

How pleasant it was to feel that there was money in her purse again—­not only someone else’s money, but money she was now in the very act of earning so agreeably.

Mrs. Bunting first made her way to a little barber’s shop close by.  It was there she purchased the brush and comb and the razors.  It was a funny, rather smelly little place, and she hurried as much as she could, the more so that the foreigner who served her insisted on telling her some of the strange, peculiar details of this Avenger murder which had taken place forty-eight hours before, and in which Bunting took such a morbid interest.

The conversation upset Mrs. Bunting.  She didn’t want to think of anything painful or disagreeable on such a day as this.

Then she came back and showed the lodger her various purchases.  Mr. Sleuth was pleased with everything, and thanked her most courteously.  But when she suggested doing his bedroom he frowned, and looked quite put out.