Somehow—she could not have told you why, she would not willingly have told herself—she had expected to see Mr. Sleuth looking different. But no, he appeared to be exactly the same—in fact, as he glanced up at her a pleasanter smile than usual lighted up his thin, pallid face.
“Well, Mrs. Bunting,” he said genially, “I overslept myself this morning, but I feel all the better for the rest.”
“I’m glad of that, sir,” she answered, in a low voice. “One of the ladies I once lived with used to say, ‘Rest is an old-fashioned remedy, but it’s the best remedy of all.’”
Mr. Sleuth himself removed the Bible and Cruden’s Concordance off the table out of her way, and then he stood watching his landlady laying the cloth.
Suddenly he spoke again. He was not often so talkative in the morning. “I think, Mrs. Bunting, that there was someone with you outside the door just now?”
“Yes, sir. Bunting helped me up with the tray.”
“I’m afraid I give you a good deal of trouble,” he said hesitatingly.
But she answered quickly, “Oh, no, sir! Not at all, sir! I was only saying yesterday that we’ve never had a lodger that gave us as little trouble as you do, sir.”
“I’m glad of that. I am aware that my habits are somewhat peculiar.”
He looked at her fixedly, as if expecting her to give some sort of denial to this observation. But Mrs. Bunting was an honest and truthful woman. It never occurred to her to question his statement. Mr. Sleuth’s habits were somewhat peculiar. Take that going out at night, or rather in the early morning, for instance? So she remained silent.