she now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her
husband to follow her upstairs.

Before doing so he went down the passage and put the chain on the
door. And about this they had a few sharp whispered words.

"You're never going to shut him out?" she expostulated angrily,
beneath her breath.

"I'm not going to leave Daisy down here with that man perhaps
walking in any minute."

"Mr. Sleuth won't hurt Daisy, bless you! Much more likely to hurt
me," and she gave a half sob.

Bunting stared at her. "What do you mean?" he said roughly.
"Come upstairs and tell me what you mean."

And then, in what had been the lodger's sitting-room, Mrs. Bunting
told her husband exactly what it was that had happened.

He listened in heavy silence.

"So you see," she said at last, "you see, Bunting, that 'twas me
that was right after all. The lodger was never responsible for
his actions. I never thought he was, for my part."

And Bunting stared at her ruminatingly. "Depends on what you call
responsible--" he began argumentatively.