the lodger's sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling of
hers was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on
her stepmother's face.

Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got
home it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been
taken.

"I don't suppose he'll be long before he comes home," said Bunting
heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. She
looked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that
there was something wrong--very wrong indeed.

The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisy
knew there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.

About six o'clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas in
Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance.
Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay
her Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly
as he had left them, when he had come downstairs and suggested that
ill-starred expedition to his landlord's daughter. She took a few
steps forward, listening the while anxiously for the familiar sound
of the click in the door which would tell her that the lodger had
come back, and then she went over to the window and looked out.

What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless,
friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very little
money on him!