ture published
in some newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting's
knowledge.

But if that happened--if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass,
she made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything. She also
would pretend to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the
astounding revelation.

CHAPTER XIV

"There he is at last, and I'm glad of it, Ellen. 'Tain't a night
you would wish a dog to be out in."

Bunting's voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and
look at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the
evening paper he held in his hand.

He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his
nice arm-chair. He looked very well--well and ruddy. Mrs. Bunting
stared across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of
resentment. And this was very curious, for she was, in her own dry
way, very fond of Bunting.

"You needn't feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for
himself all right."

Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. "I
can't think why he wanted to go out in such weather," he said
impatiently.

"Well, it's none of your business, Bunting, now, is it?"

"No, that's true enough. Still, 'twould be a very bad thing for us
if anything happened to him. This lodger's the first bit of luck
we've had for a terrible long time, Ellen."

Mrs. Bunting moved a little impatiently in her high chair. She
remained silent for a moment. What Bunting had said was too obvious
to be worth answering. Also she was listening, following in
imagination her lodger's quick, singularly quiet progress--
"stealthy" she called it to herself--through the fog-filled,
lamp-lit hall. Yes, now he was going up the staircase. What
was that Bunting was saying?

"It isn't safe for decent folk to be out in such weather--no, that
it ain't, not unless they have something to do that won't wait till
to-morrow." The speaker was looking straight into his wife's narrow,
colourless face. Bunting was an obstinate man, and liked to prove
himself right. "I've a good mind to speak to him about it, that
I have! He ought to be told that it isn't safe--not for the sort
of man he is--to be wandering about the streets at night. I read
you out the accidents in Lloyd's--shocking, they were, and all
brought about by the fog! And then, that horrid monster 'ull soon
be at his work again--"

"Monster?" repeated Mrs. Bunting absently.

She was trying to hea