he 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--well, shall
we say a month in advance?"

A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting's cheeks. She felt sick wit