inous grey eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bunting. But I think I'll take your
advice. That is, I will stay quietly at home, I am never at a loss
to know what to do with myself so long as I can study the Book of
Books."

"Then you're not afraid about your eyes, sir?" said Mrs. Bunting
curiously. Somehow she was beginning to feel better. It comforted
her to be up here, talking to Mr. Sleuth, instead of thinking about
him downstairs. It seemed to banish the terror which filled her
soul--aye, and her body, too--at other times. When she was with
him Mr. Sleuth was so gentle, so reasonable, so--so grateful.

Poor kindly, solitary Mr. Sleuth! This kind of gentleman surely
wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a human being. Eccentric--so much
must be admitted. But Mrs. Bunting had seen a good deal of eccentric
folk, eccentric women rather than eccentric men, in her long career
as useful maid.

Being at ordinary times an exceptionally sensible, well-balanced
woman, she had never, in old days, allowed her mind to dwell on
certain things she had learnt as to the aberrations of which human
nature is capable--even well-born, well-nurtured, gentle human
nature--as exemplified in some of the households where she had
served. It would, indeed, be unfortunate if she now became morbid
or--or hysterical.

So it was in a sharp, cheerful voice, almost the voice in which she
had talked during the first few days of Mr. Sleuth's stay in her
house, that she exclaimed, "Well, sir, I'll be up again to clear
away in about half an hour. And if you'll forgive me for saying so,
I hope you will stay in and have a rest to-day. Nasty, muggy weather
--that's what it is! If there's any little thing you want, me or
Bunting can go out and get it."

******

It must have been about four o'clock when there came a ring at the
front door.

The three were sitting chatting together, for Daisy had washed up
--she really was saving her stepmother a good bit of trouble--and
the girl was now amusing her elders by a funny account of Old Aunt's
pernickety ways.

"Whoever can that be?" said Bunting, looking up. "It's too early
for Joe Chandler, surely."

"I'll go," said his wife, hurriedly jumping up from her chair.
"I'll go! We don't want no strangers in here."

And as she stepped down the short bit of passage she said to herself,
"A clue? What clue?"

But when she opened the front door a glad sigh of relief broke from
her. "Why, Joe? We never thought