Mr. Stapleton looked gravely at his visitor, and said, as he rubbed his chin:
“I don’t think we could let the house for the purposes of exhibition.”
“Good God!” cried the gentleman, “I should hope not. It would be making a trade of murder!”
“My sentiments exactly,” acquiesced Mr. Stapleton, “only you express them so much more forcibly.” At the same time, he began to regard the gentleman as a very queer customer indeed, and to wonder why he was so long in coming to the point. Had he been aware of the gentleman’s inward agitation and anxiety, and of what depended upon the result of this application, his wonder would have been lessened, and he might have raised the rent instead of lowering it.
“May I ask what are your conditions?”
“The first and most important,” replied the gentleman, “is secresy. I wish no one to know that I have taken the house; I wish no one to know that it is let. The board will remain up; the house will remain as it is. All that I shall require of you is the key of the street-door. These conditions complied with, I will pay you six months’ rent in advance, and I will make myself responsible for another six months. It is more than probable—nay, it is almost certain—that before three months are over I shall hand you back the key, with the rent for the additional six months. As a matter of bargain, it is not a bad one for you.”
“I admit it,” said Mr. Stapleton; “what I have to consider, on the other hand, is whether it is a good thing for the house.”
“Do you think you can do better?”
“I do not think I could; yours is the first application I have had since the murder was committed. You shudder, sir! It is enough to make one. If I had not been an agent for the estate, nothing would have induced me to undertake the letting of such a house. What am I to say in case another person, seeing the board still up, applies to me for the particulars?”
“Say that, although the board remains, you have decided not to let the house for two or three months. No one can compel you to let it.”