“It’s a fine day,” said Mr. Sleuth, sitting down and unfolding his napkin.  “The fog has cleared.  I do not know if you will agree with me, Mrs. Bunting, but I always feel brighter when the sun is shining, as it is now, at any rate, trying to shine.”  He looked at her inquiringly, but Mrs. Bunting could not speak.  She only nodded.  However, that did not affect Mr. Sleuth adversely.

He had acquired a great liking and respect for this well-balanced, taciturn woman.  She was the first woman for whom he had experienced any such feeling for many years past.

He looked down at the still covered dish, and shook his head.  “I don’t feel as if I could eat very much to-day,” he said plaintively.  And then he suddenly took a half-sovereign out of his waistcoat pocket.

Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat Mr. Sleuth had been wearing the day before.

“Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?”

And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.

“Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly allowed me to make of your kitchen last night?” he said quietly.  “I tried to make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but—­ well, the truth is I was carrying out a very elaborate experiment.”

Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took the coin.  The fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against her palm were icy cold—­cold and clammy.  Mr. Sleuth was evidently not well.

As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball hanging in the smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth’s landlady, and threw blood-red gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of gold she was holding in her hand.

******

The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household, but, of course, there was far greater animation outside the little house than was usually the case.

Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some days, the whole of London seemed to be making holiday in that part of the town.

When Bunting at last came back, his wife listened silently while he told her of the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere.  And then, after he had been talking a long while, she suddenly shot a strange look at him.

“I suppose you went to see the place?” she said.

And guiltily he acknowledged that he had done so.

“Well?”

“Well, there wasn’t anything much to see—­not now.  But, oh, Ellen, the daring of him!  Why, Ellen, if the poor soul had had time to cry out—­which they don’t believe she had—­it’s impossible someone wouldn’t ’a heard her.  They say that if he goes on doing it like that—­in the afternoon, like—­he never will be caught.  He must have just got mixed up with all the other people within ten seconds of what he’d done!”

During the afternoon Bunting bought papers recklessly—­in fact, he must have spent the best part of six-pence.  But in spite of all the supposed and suggested clues, there was nothing—­nothing at all new to read, less, in fact than ever before.