"'E's sort of engaged, mum," temporised Bindle, "'avin' breakfast. I'll tell 'im you're 'ere. I'll break it gently to 'im. You know, mum, joy sometimes kills, an' 'e don't look strong."
Without a word Mrs. Stiffson wheeled round and, ignoring the lift, marched for the stairs. As he followed, Bindle remembered with satisfaction that he had omitted to close the outer door of Number Six.
Straight up the stairs, like "never-ending Time," marched Mrs. Stiffson. She did not hurry, she did not pause, she climbed evenly, mechanically, a model wife seeking her mate.
Any doubts that Bindle may have had as to Mrs. Stiffson's ability to find the husband she sought were set at rest by the shrill pipings of Oscar. Even a trained detective could not have overlooked so obvious a clue.
Along the corridor, straight for Number Six moved Mrs. Stiffson, Bindle in close attendance, fearful lest he should lose the dramatic intensity of the arrival of "the wronged wife."
Unconscious that Nemesis was marching upon him, Mr. Stiffson, stimulated by the coffee, bacon and eggs, and the gay insouciance of Cissie Boye, was finding the situation losing much of its terror for him.
No man for long could remain indifferent to the charming personality of Cissie Boye. Her bright chatter and good looks, her innocence, strangely blended with worldly wisdom, her daring garb; all combined to divert Mr. Stiffson's mind from the thoughts of his wife, apart from which the clock pointed to five minutes past nine, and Mrs. Stiffson was as punctual as fate.
Had he possessed the intuition of a mongoose, Mr. Stiffson would have known that there was a snake in his grass.
Instinct guiding her steps, Mrs. Stiffson entered the flat. Instead of turning to the right, in the direction of the bedroom in which Oscar was overdoing the thanksgiving business for bird-seed and water, she wheeled to the left and threw open the sitting-room door.
From under Mrs. Stiffson's right arm Bindle saw the tableau. Mr. Stiffson, who was facing the door, was in the act of raising his coffee-cup to smiling lips. Cissie Boye, sitting at right angles on his left, was leaning back in her chair clapping her hands.