do, and staring into the fire, his hands on his knees.

Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn. Somehow, a
great rush of pity, as well as of horror, came over Mrs. Bunting's
heart. He was such a--a--she searched for a word in her mind, but
could only find the word "gentle"--he was such a nice, gentle
gentleman, was Mr. Sleuth. Lately he had again taken to leaving his
money about, as he had done the first day or two, and with some
concern his landlady had seen that the store had diminished a good
deal. A very simple calculation had made her realise that almost the
whole of that missing money had come her way, or, at any rate, had
passed through her hands.

Mr. Sleuth never stinted himself as to food, or stinted them, his
landlord and his landlady, as to what he had said he would pay.
And Mrs. Bunting's conscience pricked her a little, for he hardly
ever used that room upstairs--that room for which he had paid extra
so generously. If Bunting got another job or two through that nasty
man in Baker Street,--and now that the ice had been broken between
them it was very probable that he would do so, for he was a very
well-trained, experienced waiter--then she thought she would tell
Mr. Sleuth that she no longer wanted him to pay as much as he was
now doing.

She looked anxiously, deprecatingly, at his long, bent back.

"Good-night, sir," she said at last.

Mr. Sleuth turned round. His face looked sad and worn.

"I hope you'll sleep well, sir."

"Yes, I'm sure I shall sleep well. But perhaps I shall take a
little turn first. Such is my way, Mrs. Bunting; after I have been
studying all day I require a little exercise."

"Oh, I wouldn't go out to-night," she said deprecatingly. "'Tisn't
fit for anyone to be out in the bitter cold."

"And yet--and yet"--he looked at her attentively--"there will
probably be many people out in the streets to-night."

"A many more than usual, I fear, sir."

"Indeed?" said Mr. Sleuth quickly. "Is it not a strange thing,
Mrs. Bunting, that people who have all day in which to amuse
themselves should carry their revels far into the night?"

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of revellers, sir; I was thinking"--she
hesitated, then, with a gasping effort Mrs. Bunting brought out the
words, "of the police."

"The police?" He put up his right hand and stroked his chin two or
three times with a nervous gesture. "But what is man--what is man's
puny power or strength against that of God,