"A wot, miss?" enquired Bindle in astonishment.
"A man, I heard him splashing and I peeped in,—I only just peeped, you know, Mr. Porter,—and there was a funny little man in spectacles with whiskers. Isn't it lovely!" she cried, clapping her hands gleefully. "Where could he have come from?"
"Well, personally myself, I shouldn't call 'im lovely," muttered Bindle. "I s'pose it's only a matter o' taste."
"But where did he come from?" persisted Cissie Boye excitedly.
"'E must 'ave been left be'ind by the other tenant," said Bindle, grinning widely. "I must see into this. Now you'd better get back, miss. You mustn't go 'opping about like this, or I'll lose my job."
"Why! Don't I look nice?" asked Miss Boye archly, looking down at herself.
"That's jest it, miss," said Bindle. "If Number Seven or Number Eighteen was to see you like that, well, anythink might 'appen. Now we'll find out about this man wot you think 'as got into your bath."
Followed by Miss Boye, Bindle entered the outer door of Number Six. As he did so Mr. Stiffson emerged from the bathroom in a faded pink bath-robe and yellow felt slippers, with a towel over his shoulder and a sponge in his hand. He gave one startled glance past Bindle at Cissie Boye and, with a strange noise in his throat, turned and fled back to the bathroom, bolting the door behind him.
"Isn't he a scream!" gurgled Miss Boye. "Oh, what would Bobbie say?"
Like a decree of fate Bindle marched up to the bathroom door and knocked imperiously.