The Lodger (3 page)

  And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed
that he held a narrow bag in his left hand. It was quite a new bag,
made of strong brown leather.

  "I am looking for some quiet rooms," he said; then
he repeated the words, "quiet rooms," in a dreamy, absent way, and
as he uttered them he looked nervously round him.

  Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had
been carefully furnished, and was very clean.

  There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the
stranger's weary feet fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red
drugget, which matched in colour the flock-paper on the walls.

  A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a
superior lodging-house keeper.

  "You'd find my rooms quite quiet, sir," she said
gently. "And just now I have four to let. The house is empty, save
for my husband and me, sir."

  Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice. It
seemed too good to be true, this sudden coming of a possible
lodger, and of a lodger who spoke in the pleasant, courteous way
and voice which recalled to the poor Woman her happy, far-off days
of youth and of security.

  "That sounds very suitable," he said. "Four rooms?
Well, perhaps I ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should
like to see all four before I make my choice."

  How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that
Bunting had lit the gas! But for that circumstance this gentleman
would have passed them by.

  She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting
in her agitation that the front door was still open; and it was the
stranger whom she already in her mind described as "the lodger,"
who turned and rather quickly walked down the passage and shut
it.

  "Oh, thank you, sir!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry you
should have had the trouble."

  For a moment their eyes met. "It's not safe to leave
a front door open in London," he said, rather sharply. "I hope you
do not often do that. It would be so easy for anyone to slip
in."

  Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had
still spoken courteously, but he was evidently very much put
out.

  "I assure you, sir, I never lave my front door
open," she answered hastily. "You needn't be at all afraid of
that!"

  And then, through the closed door of the
sitting-room, came the sound of Bunting coughing - it was just a
little, hard cough, but Mrs. Bunting's future lodger started
violently.

  "Who's that?" he said, putting out a hand and
clutching her arm. "Whatever was that?"

  "Only my husband, sir. He went out to buy a paper a
few minutes ago, and the cold just caught him, I suppose."

  "Your husband - ?" he looked at her intently,
suspiciously. "What - what, may I ask, is your husband's
occupation?"

  Mrs. Bunting drew herself up. The question as to
Bunting's occupation was no one's business but theirs. Still, it
wouldn't do for her to show offence. "He goes out waiting," she s4d
stiffly. "He was a gentleman's servant, sir. He could, of course,
valet you should you require him to do so."

  And then she turned and led the way up the steep,
narrow staircase.

  At the top of the first flight of stairs was what
Mrs. Bunting, to herself, called the drawing-room floor. It
consisted of a sitting-room in front, and a bedroom behind. She
opened the door of the sitting-room and quickly lit the
chandelier.

  This, front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps
a little over-encumbered with furniture. Covering the floor was a
green carpet simulating moss; four chairs were placed round the
table which occupied the exact middle of the apartment, and in the
corner, opposite the door giving on to the landing, was a roomy,
old-fashioned chiffonnier.

  On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight
engravings, portraits of early Victorian belles, clad in lace and
tarletan ball dresses, clipped from an old Book of Beauty. Mrs.
Bunting was very fond of these pictures; she thought they gave the
drawing-room a note of elegance and refinement.

  As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad,
glad indeed, that she had summoned up sufficient energy, two days
ago, to give the room a thorough turn-out.

  It had remained for a long time in the state in
which it had been left by its last dishonest, dirty occupants when
they had been scared into going away by Bunting's rough threats of
the police. But now it was in apple-pie order, with one paramount
exception, of which Mrs. Bunting was painfully aware. There were no
white curtains to the windows, but that omission could soon be
remedied if this gentleman really took the lodgings.

  But what was this - ? The stranger was looking round
him rather dubiously. "This is rather - rather too grand for me,"
he said at last "I should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er -
"

  " - Bunting," she said softly. "Bunting, sir."

  And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again
came down and settled on her sad, burdened heart. Perhaps she had
been mistaken, after all - or rather, she had not been mistaken in
one sense, but perhaps this gentleman was a poor gentleman - too
poor, that is, to afford the rent of more than one room, say eight
or ten shillings a week; eight or ten shlllings a week would be
very little use to her and Bunting, though better than nothing at
all.

  "Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?"

  "No," he said, "no. I think I should like to see
what you have farther up the house, Mrs. - ," and then, as if
making a prodigious mental effort, he brought out her name,
"Bunting," with a kind of gasp.

  "The two top rooms were, of course, immediately
above the drawing-room floor. But they looked poor and mean, owing
to the fact that they were bare of any kind of ornament. Very
little trouble had been taken over their arrangement; in fact, they
bad been left in much the same condition as that in which the
Buntings had found them.

  For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a
nice, genteel sitting-room out of an apartment of which the
principal features are a sink and a big gas stove. The gas stove,
of an obsolete pattern, was fed by a tiresome, shilling-in-the-slot
arrangement. It had been the property of the people from whom the
Buntings had taken over the lease of the house, who, knowing it to
be of no monetary value, had thrown it in among the humble fittings
they had left behind.

  What furniture there was in the room was substantial
and clean, as everything belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be,
but it was a bare, uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady
now felt sorry that she had done nothing to make it appear more
attractive.

  To her surprise, however, her companion's dark,
sensitive, hatchet-shaped face became irradiated with satisfaction.
"Capital! Capital!" he exclaimed, for the first time putting down
the bag he held at his feet, and rubbing his long, thin hands
together with a quick, nervous movement.

  "This is just what I have been looking for." He
walked with long, eager strides towards the gas stove. "First-rate
- quite first-rate! Exactly what I wanted to find! You must
understand, Mrs. - er - Bunting, that I am a man of science. I
make, that is, all sorts of experiments, and I often require the -
ah, well, the presence of great heat."

  He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a
little, towards the stove. "This, too, will be useful - exceedingly
useful, to me," and he touched the edge of the stone sink with a
lingering, caressing touch.

  He threw his head back and passed his hand over his
high, bare forehead; then, moving towards a chair, he sat down -
wearily. "I'm tired," he muttered in a low voice, "tired - tired!
I've been walking about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find
nothing to sit down upon. They do not put benches for tired men in
the London streets. They do so on the Continent. In some ways they
are far more humane on the Continent than they are in England, Mrs.
Bunting."

  "Indeed, sir," she said civilly; and then, after a
nervous glance, she asked the question of which the answer would
mean so much to her, "Then you mean to take my rooms, sir?"

  "This room, certainly," he said, looking round.
"This room is exactly what I have been looking for, and longing
for, the last few days;" and then hastily he added, "I mean this
kind of place is what I have always wanted to possess, Mrs.
Bunting. You would be surprised if you knew how difficult it is to
get anything of the sort. But now my weary search has ended, and
that is a relief - a very, very great relief to me!"

  He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy,
abstracted air. And then, "Where's my bag?" he asked suddenly, and
there came a note of sharp, angry fear in his voice. He glared at
the quiet woman standing before him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting
felt a tremor of fright shoot through her. It seemed a pity that
Bunting was so far away, right down the house.

  But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has
always been a perquisite, as it were the special luxury, of the
well-born and of the well-educated. Scholars, as she well knew, are
never quite like other people, and her new lodger was undoubtedly a
scholar. "Surely I had a bag when I came in?" he said in a scared,
troubled voice.

  "Here it is, sir," she said soothingly, and,
stooping, picked it up and handed it to him. And as she did so she
noticed that the bag was not at all heavy; it was evidently by no
means full.

  He took it eagerly from her. "I beg your pardon," he
muttered. "But there is something in that bag which is very
precious to me - something I procured with infinite difficulty, and
which I could never get again without running into great danger,
Mrs. Bunting. That must be the excuse for my late agitation."

  "About terms, sir?" she said a little timidly,
returning to the subject which meant so much, so very much to
her.

  "About terms?" he echoed. And then there came a
pause. "My name is Sleuth," he said suddenly, - "S-l-e-u-t-h. Think
of a hound, Mrs. Bunting, and you'll never forget my name. I could
provide you with a reference - " (he gave her what she described to
herself as a funny, sideways look), "but I should prefer you to
dispense with that, if you don't mind. I am quite willing to pay
you - we1l, shall we say a month in advance?"

  A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting's cheeks. She
felt sick with relief - nay,'with a joy which was almost pain. She
had not known till that moment how hungry she was - how eager for-a
good meal. "That would be all right, sir," she murmured.

  "And what are you going to charge me?" There had
come a kindly, almost a friendly note into his voice. "With
attendance, mind! I shall expect you to give me attendance, and I
need hardly ask if you can cook, Mrs. Bunting?"

  "Oh, yes, sir," she said. "I am a plain cook. What
would you say to twenty-five shillings a week, sir?" She looked at
him deprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on
falteringly, "You see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would
have the best of attendance and careful cooking - and my husband,
sir - he would be pleased to valet you."

  "I shouldn't want anything of that sort done for
me," said Mr. Sleuth hastily. "I prefer looking after my own
clothes. I am used to waiting on myself. But, Mrs. Bunting, I have
a great dislike to sharing lodgings - "

  She interrupted eagerly, "I could let you have the
use of the two floors for the same price - that is, until we get
another lodger. I shouldn't like you to sleep in the back room up
here, sir. It's such a poor little room. You could do as you say,
sir - do your work and your experiments up here, and then have your
meals in the drawing-room."

  "Yes," he said hesitatingly, "that sounds a good
plan. And if I offered you two pounds, or two guineas? Might I then
rely on your not taking another lodger?"

  "Yes," she said quietly. "I'd be very glad only to
have you to wait on, sir."

  "I suppose you have a key to the door of this room,
Mrs. Bunting? I don't like to be disturbed while I'm working."

  He waited a moment, and then said again, rather
urgently, "I suppose you have a key to this door, Mrs.
Bunting?"

  "Oh, yes, sir, there's a key - a very nice little
key. The people who lived here before had a new kind of lock put on
to the door." She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him
that a round disk had been fitted above the old keyhole.

  He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent
a little, as if absorbed in thought, "Forty-two shillings a week?
Yes, that will suit me perfectly. And I'll begin now by paying my
first month's rent in advance. Now, four times forty-two shillings
is" - he jerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for
the first time he smiled, a queer, wry smile - "why, just eight
pounds eight shillings, Mrs. Bunting!"

  He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of
his long cape-like coat and took out a handful of sovereigns. Then
he began putting these down in a row on the bare wooden table which
stood in the centre of the room. "Here's five - six - seven - eight
- nine - ten pounds. You'd better keep the odd change, Mrs.
Bunting, for I shall want you to do some shopping for me to-morrow
morning. I met with a misfortune to-day." But the new lodger did
not speak as if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on his
spirits.

  "Indeed, sir. I'm sorry to hear that." Mrs.
Bunting's heart was going thump - thump - thump. She felt
extraordinarily moved, dizzy with relief and joy.

  "Yes, a very great misfortune! I lost my luggage,
the few things I managed to bring away with me." His voice dropped
suddenly. "I shouldn't have said that," he muttered. "I was a fool
to say that!" Then, more loudly, "Someone said to me, 'You can't go
into a lodging-house without any luggage. They wouldn't take you
in.' But you have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I'm grateful for -
for the kind way you have met me - " He looked at her feelingly,
appealingly, and Mrs. Bunting was touched. She was beginning to
feel very kindly towards her new lodger.