."

"Something else happened?" she said in a startled voice. Getting
up from her chair she came towards her husband: "What happened?
Who came?"

"Just a message for me, asking if I could go to-night to wait at a
young lady's birthday party. In Hanover Terrace it is. A waiter
--one of them nasty Swiss fellows as works for nothing--fell out
just at the last minute and so they had to send for me."

His honest face shone with triumph. The man who had taken over his
old friend's business in Baker Street had hitherto behaved very
badly to Bunting, and that though Bunting had been on the books for
ever so long, and had always given every satisfaction. But this new
man had never employed him--no, not once.

"I hope you didn't make yourself too cheap?" said his wife jealously.

"No, that I didn't! I hum'd and haw'd a lot; and I could see the
fellow was quite worried--in fact, at the end he offered me
half-a-crown more. So I graciously consented!"

Husband and wife laughed more merrily than they had done for a long
time.

"You won't mind being alone, here? I don't count the lodger--he's
no good--" Bunting looked at her anxiously. He was only prompted
to ask the question because lately Ellen had been so queer, so
unlike herself. Otherwise it never would have occurred to him that
she could be afraid of being alone in the house. She had often been
so in the days when he got more jobs.

She stared at him, a little suspiciously. "I be afraid?" she echoed.
"Certainly not. Why should I be? I've never been afraid before.
What d'you exactly mean by that, Bunting?"

"Oh, nothing. I only thought you might feel funny-like, all alone
on this ground floor. You was so upset yesterday when that young
fool Chandler came, dressed up, to the door."

"I shouldn't have been frightened if he'd just been an ordinary
stranger," she said shortly. "He said something silly to me--just
in keeping with his character-like, and it upset me. Besides, I
feel better now."

As she was sipping gratefully her cup of tea, there came a noise
outside, the shouts of newspaper-sellers.

"I'll just run out," said Bunting apologetically, "and see what
happened at that inquest to-day. Besides, they may have a clue
about the horrible affair last night. Chandler was full of it--
when he wasn't talking about Daisy and Margaret, that is. He's
on to-night, luckily not till twelve o'clock; plenty of time to
escort the two of 'em back after the play. Besides, he s