The Lodger | Page 6

he did how to deal with
difficult or obtrusive callers. Still, somehow, she would have liked him
to go to-night. But Bunting sat on, absorbed in his newspaper; all he
did at the sound of the bedroom door opening was to look up and say,
"Didn't you hear a knock?"
Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
Slowly she opened the front door.
On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stood the
long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an
old-fashioned top hat. He waited for a few seconds blinking at her,
perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage. Mrs. Bunting's
trained perception told her at once that this man, odd as he looked, was
a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class with whom her former
employment had brought her in contact.
"Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?" he asked, and there was
something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
"Yes, sir," she said uncertainly--it was a long, long time since anyone
had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they could think of
taking into their respectable house.
Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger walked
past her, and so into the hall.
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 leave 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 said 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