"The bird, you know," continued Mr. Stiffson, answering Bindle's unuttered question. "You—you don't think it will be unhygienic for him to sleep with me?"
"Sure of it, sir," replied Bindle, entirely at a loss as to Mr. Stiffson's meaning.
Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief and bade Bindle good night, with a final exhortation as to waking him at eight. "You know," he added, "I always sleep through air-raids."
Mr. Stiffson's bugbear in life was lest he should over-sleep. He seldom failed to wake of his own accord; but, constitutionally lacking in self-reliance, he felt that at any moment he might commit the unpardonable sin of over-sleeping.
Bindle returned to his room to await the arrival of Miss Cissie Boye.
It was nearly midnight when his alert ear caught the sound of a taxi drawing up outside. As he opened the outer door, Miss Cissie Boye appeared at the top of the stone-steps.
Bindle caught a glimpse of a dainty little creature in a long travelling coat with fur at the collar, cuffs and round the bottom, a small travelling hat and a thick veil.
"Oh, can you help with my luggage?" she cried.
"Right-o, miss! You go in there and sit by the fire. We'll 'ave things right in a jiffy;" and Bindle proceeded to tackle Miss Boye's luggage, which consisted of a large dress-basket, a suit-case and a bundle of rugs and umbrellas. When these had been placed in the hall, and the taxi-man paid, Bindle went into his lodge.
Miss Boye was sitting before the fire, her coat thrown open and her veil thrown back. Between her dainty fingers she held a cigarette.