CHAPTER XI
MRS. BINDLE TAKES A CHILL
I
"Your dinner's in the large black saucepan and the potatoes in the blue one. Empty the stewed steak into the yellow pie-dish and the potatoes into the blue vegetable dish and pour water into the saucepans afterwards I've gone to bed—I am feeling ill.
"E. B.
"Don't forget to put water into the empty saucepans or they will burn."
Bindle glanced across at the stove as if to verify Mrs. Bindle's statement, then, with lined forehead, stood gazing at the table, neatly laid for one.
"I never known Lizzie give in before," he muttered, and he walked over to the sink and proceeded to have his evening "rinse," an affair involving a considerable expenditure of soap and much blowing and splashing.
Having wiped his face and hands upon the roller-towel, he walked softly across the kitchen, opened the door, listened, stepped out into the passage and, finally, proceeded to tiptoe upstairs.
Outside the bedroom door he paused and listened again, his ear pressed against the panel. There was no sound.