Read Online The Lodger by Marie Belloc Lowndes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie Belloc Lowndes
Tags: Literature
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should think there will be! How many of our men
d'you think there'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
Bunting shook his head. "I don't know," he said
helplessly.
"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an
encouraging voice."
"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting.
"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!"
incredulously.
"Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his
monkey up!" Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat
pocket. "Just listen to this:
"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they
have no clue to the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we
cannot feel any surprise at the information that a popular attack
has been organised on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan
Police. There is even talk of an indignation mass meeting.'
"What d'you think of that? That's not a pleasant
thing for a gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't
catch him, now doesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
"I don't think it's queer at all," said young
Chandler crossly. "Now you just listen again! Here's a bit of the
truth for once - in a newspaper." And slowly he read out:
"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a
game of blind man's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied
and his eyes bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer
through the slums of a great city."'
"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting. "Your hands
aren't tied, and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr.
Bunting. We haven't got the same facilities - no, not a quarter of
them - that the French 'tecs have."
And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke:
"What was that word, Joe - 'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit
you read out."
"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
"Then do they think there's more than one of them?"
she said, and a look of relief came over her thin face.
"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said
Chandler. "They say it can't be the work of one man."
"What do you think, Joe?"
"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think. I'm
fair puzzled."
He got up. "Don't you come to the door. I'll shut it
all right. So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps." As he had done the
other evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door.
"Any news of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
"Yes; she's coming to-morrow," said her father.
"They've got scarlet fever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks she'd
better clear out."
The husband and wife went to bed early that night,
but Mrs. Bunting found she could not sleep. She lay wide awake,
hearing the hours, the half-hours, the quarters chime out from the
belfry of the old church close by.
And then, just as she was dozing off - it must have
been about one o'clock - she heard the sound she had half
unconsciously been expecting to hear, that of the lodger's stealthy
footsteps coming down the stairs just outside her room.
He crept along the passage and let himself out very,
very quietly.
But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did
not hear him come in again, for she soon fell into a heavy
sleep.
Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next
morning; odder still, it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of
bed, and going out into the passage, picked up the newspaper which
had just been pushed through the letter-box.
But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go
back at once into her bedroom. Instead she lit the gas in the
passage, and leaning up against the wall to steady herself, for she
was trembling with cold and fatigue, she opened the paper.
Yes, there was the heading she sought:
The AVENGER Murders"
But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that
followed:
"Up to the time of going to press there is little
new to report concerning the
d'you think there'll be on night duty to-night, Mr. Bunting?"
Bunting shook his head. "I don't know," he said
helplessly.
"I mean extra," suggested Chandler, in an
encouraging voice."
"A thousand?" ventured Bunting.
"Five thousand, Mr. Bunting.
"Never!" exclaimed Bunting, amazed.
And even Mrs. Bunting echoed "Never!"
incredulously.
"Yes, that there will. You see, the Boss has got his
monkey up!" Chandler drew a folded-up newspaper out of his coat
pocket. "Just listen to this:
"'The police have reluctantly to admit that they
have no clue to the perpetrators of these horrible crimes, and we
cannot feel any surprise at the information that a popular attack
has been organised on the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan
Police. There is even talk of an indignation mass meeting.'
"What d'you think of that? That's not a pleasant
thing for a gentleman as is doing his best to read, eh?"
"Well, it does seem queer that the police can't
catch him, now doesn't it?" said Bunting argumentatively.
"I don't think it's queer at all," said young
Chandler crossly. "Now you just listen again! Here's a bit of the
truth for once - in a newspaper." And slowly he read out:
"'The detection of crime in London now resembles a
game of blind man's buff, in which the detective has his hands tied
and his eyes bandaged. Thus is he turned loose to hunt the murderer
through the slums of a great city."'
"Whatever does that mean?" said Bunting. "Your hands
aren't tied, and your eyes aren't bandaged, Joe?"
"It's metaphorical-like that it's intended, Mr.
Bunting. We haven't got the same facilities - no, not a quarter of
them - that the French 'tecs have."
And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting spoke:
"What was that word, Joe - 'perpetrators'? I mean that first bit
you read out."
"Yes," he said, turning to her eagerly.
"Then do they think there's more than one of them?"
she said, and a look of relief came over her thin face.
"There's some of our chaps thinks it's a gang," said
Chandler. "They say it can't be the work of one man."
"What do you think, Joe?"
"Well, Mrs. Bunting, I don't know what to think. I'm
fair puzzled."
He got up. "Don't you come to the door. I'll shut it
all right. So long! See you to-morrow, perhaps." As he had done the
other evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's visitor stopped at the door.
"Any news of Miss Daisy?" he asked casually.
"Yes; she's coming to-morrow," said her father.
"They've got scarlet fever at her place. So Old Aunt thinks she'd
better clear out."
The husband and wife went to bed early that night,
but Mrs. Bunting found she could not sleep. She lay wide awake,
hearing the hours, the half-hours, the quarters chime out from the
belfry of the old church close by.
And then, just as she was dozing off - it must have
been about one o'clock - she heard the sound she had half
unconsciously been expecting to hear, that of the lodger's stealthy
footsteps coming down the stairs just outside her room.
He crept along the passage and let himself out very,
very quietly.
But though she tried to keep awake, Mrs. Bunting did
not hear him come in again, for she soon fell into a heavy
sleep.
Oddly enough, she was the first to wake the next
morning; odder still, it was she, not Bunting, who jumped out of
bed, and going out into the passage, picked up the newspaper which
had just been pushed through the letter-box.
But having picked it up, Mrs. Bunting did not go
back at once into her bedroom. Instead she lit the gas in the
passage, and leaning up against the wall to steady herself, for she
was trembling with cold and fatigue, she opened the paper.
Yes, there was the heading she sought:
The AVENGER Murders"
But, oh, how glad she was to see the words that
followed:
"Up to the time of going to press there is little
new to report concerning the
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