that sovereign now seemed to Bunting of no more account than if
it had been a farthing he had picked up in the road outside.

Once more his wife spoke, and he gave so great a start that it shook
the bed.

"I suppose that you don't know that you've left the light burning in
the hall, wasting our good money?" she observed tartly.

He got up painfully and opened the door into the passage. It was as
she had said; the gas was flaring away, wasting their good money--or,
rather, Mr. Sleuth's good money. Since he had come to be their lodger
they had not had to touch their rent money.

Bunting turned out the light and groped his way back to the room, and
so to bed. Without speaking again to each other, both husband and
wife lay awake till dawn.

The next morning Mr. Sleuth's landlord awoke with a start; he felt
curiously heavy about the limbs, and tired about the eyes.

Drawing his watch from under his pillow, he saw that it was seven
o'clock. Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the
blind a little to one side. It was snowing heavily, and, as is the
way when it snows, even in London, everything was strangely,
curiously still. After he had dressed he went out into the passage.
As he had at once dreaded and hoped, their newspaper was already
lying on the mat. It was probably the sound of its being pushed
through the letter-box which had waked him from his unrestful
sleep.

He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then,
shutting the door behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper
wide open on the table, and bent over it.

As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression
of intense relief shone upon his stolid face. The item of news he
had felt certain would be printed in big type on the middle sheet
was not there.

CHAPTER XXII

Feeling amazingly light-hearted, almost light-headed, Bunting lit
the gas-ring to make his wife her morning cup of tea.

While he was doing it, he suddenly heard her call out:

"Bunting!" she cried weakly. "Bunting!" Quickly he hurried in
response to her call. "Yes," he said. "What is it, my dear? I
won't be a minute with your tea." And he smiled broadly, rather
foolishly.

She sat up and looked at him, a dazed expression on her face.

"What are you grinning at?" she asked suspiciously.

"I've had a wonderful piece of luck," he explained. "But you was
so cross last night that I simply didn't dare tell you about it."

"Well, tell