The Lodger [65]
ain't no good at this sort of work. Don't you worry about me. I feel as if I'd enjoy doing an extra bit of cleaning to-day. I don't like to feel as anyone could come in and see my place dirty."
"No fear of that!" Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck him. "Ain't you afraid of waking the lodger?" he called out.
"Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night," she answered quickly. "As it is, I study him over-much; it's a long, long time since I've done this staircase down."
All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left the sitting-room door wide open.
That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn't like to get up and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn't read with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had never known Ellen make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he looked up and frowned rather crossly.
There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that. Ellen was standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
"Come in," he said, "do! Ain't you finished yet?"
"I was only resting a minute," she said. "You don't tell me nothing. I'd like to know if there's anything - I mean anything new - in the paper this morning."
She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting suddenly uneasy. "Come in - do!" he repeated sharply. "You've done quite enough - and before breakfast, too. 'Tain't necessary. Come in and shut that door."
He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
She came in, and did what she had never done before - brought the broom with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
Then she sat down.
"I think I'll make breakfast up here," she said. "I - I feel cold, Bunting." And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
He got up. "All right. I'll go down and bring the eggs up. Don't you worry. For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if you like."
"No," she said obstinately. "I'd rather do my own work. You just bring them up here - that'll be all right. To-morrow morning we'll have Daisy to help see to things."
"Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair," he suggested kindly. "You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen. I never see'd such a woman!"
And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room with languid steps.
He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took two steps towards her.
"I'll show you the most interesting bit" he said eagerly. "It's the piece headed, 'Our Special Investigator.' You see, they've started a special investigator of their own, and he's got hold of a lot of little facts the police seem to have overlooked. The man who writes all that - I mean the Special Investigator - was a famous 'tec in his time, and he's just come back out of his retirement o' purpose to do this bit of work for the paper. You read what he says - I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he ends by getting that reward! One can see he just loves the work of tracking people down."
"There's nothing to be proud of in such a job," said his wife listlessly.
"He'll have something to be proud of if he catches The Avenger!" cried Bunting. He was too keen about this affair to be put off by Ellen's contradictory remarks. "You just notice that bit about the rubber soles. Now, no one's thought o' that. I'll just tell Chandler - he don't seem to me to be half awake, that young man don't."
"He's quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him! How about those eggs, Bunting? I feel quite ready for my breakfast even if you don't - "
Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly described to himself as "Ellen's snarling voice.
He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled. There was something queer about her, and he couldn't make it out. He didn't
"No fear of that!" Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck him. "Ain't you afraid of waking the lodger?" he called out.
"Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night," she answered quickly. "As it is, I study him over-much; it's a long, long time since I've done this staircase down."
All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left the sitting-room door wide open.
That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn't like to get up and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn't read with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had never known Ellen make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he looked up and frowned rather crossly.
There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that. Ellen was standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.
"Come in," he said, "do! Ain't you finished yet?"
"I was only resting a minute," she said. "You don't tell me nothing. I'd like to know if there's anything - I mean anything new - in the paper this morning."
She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting suddenly uneasy. "Come in - do!" he repeated sharply. "You've done quite enough - and before breakfast, too. 'Tain't necessary. Come in and shut that door."
He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.
She came in, and did what she had never done before - brought the broom with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.
Then she sat down.
"I think I'll make breakfast up here," she said. "I - I feel cold, Bunting." And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of perspiration were glistening on her forehead.
He got up. "All right. I'll go down and bring the eggs up. Don't you worry. For the matter of that, I can cook them downstairs if you like."
"No," she said obstinately. "I'd rather do my own work. You just bring them up here - that'll be all right. To-morrow morning we'll have Daisy to help see to things."
"Come over here and sit down comfortable in my chair," he suggested kindly. "You never do take any bit of rest, Ellen. I never see'd such a woman!"
And again she got up and meekly obeyed him, walking across the room with languid steps.
He watched her, anxiously, uncomfortably.
She took up the newspaper he had just laid down, and Bunting took two steps towards her.
"I'll show you the most interesting bit" he said eagerly. "It's the piece headed, 'Our Special Investigator.' You see, they've started a special investigator of their own, and he's got hold of a lot of little facts the police seem to have overlooked. The man who writes all that - I mean the Special Investigator - was a famous 'tec in his time, and he's just come back out of his retirement o' purpose to do this bit of work for the paper. You read what he says - I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he ends by getting that reward! One can see he just loves the work of tracking people down."
"There's nothing to be proud of in such a job," said his wife listlessly.
"He'll have something to be proud of if he catches The Avenger!" cried Bunting. He was too keen about this affair to be put off by Ellen's contradictory remarks. "You just notice that bit about the rubber soles. Now, no one's thought o' that. I'll just tell Chandler - he don't seem to me to be half awake, that young man don't."
"He's quite wide awake enough without you saying things to him! How about those eggs, Bunting? I feel quite ready for my breakfast even if you don't - "
Mrs. Bunting now spoke in what her husband sometimes secretly described to himself as "Ellen's snarling voice.
He turned away and left the room, feeling oddly troubled. There was something queer about her, and he couldn't make it out. He didn't