Already Mrs. Bunting had noticed that it was not the same waistcoat Mr. Sleuth had been wearing the day before.
"Mrs. Bunting, may I ask you to come here?"
And after a moment of hesitation his landlady obeyed him.
"Will you please accept this little gift for the use you kindly allowed me to make of your kitchen last night?" he said quietly. "I tried to make as little mess as I could, Mrs. Bunting, but—well, the truth is I was carrying out a very elaborate experiment"
Mrs. Bunting held out her hand, she hesitated, and then she took the coin. The fingers which for a moment brushed lightly against her palm were icy cold—cold and clammy. Mr. Sleuth was evidently not well.
As she walked down the stairs, the winter sun, a scarlet ball hanging in the smoky sky, glinted in on Mr. Sleuth’s landlady, and threw blood-red gleams, or so it seemed to her, on to the piece of gold she was holding in her hand.
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
The day went by, as other days had gone by in that quiet household, but, of course, there was far greater animation outside the little house than was usually the case.
Perhaps because the sun was shining for the first time for some days, the whole of London seemed to be making holiday in that part of the town.
When Bunting at last came back, his wife listened silently while he told her of the extraordinary excitement reigning everywhere. And then, after he had been talking a long while, she suddenly shot a strange look at him.
