Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly remembered Mr. Sleuth’s request for a Bible. Putting the tray down in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book; but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it was worth while to make two journeys. But, no, she thought she could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase. But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth’s landlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly dropped the tray. She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavy thud to the ground. The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of the early Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud, with their faces to the wall! For a moment she was really too surprised to speak. Putting the tray down on the table, she stooped and picked up the Book. It troubled her that the Book should have fallen to the ground; but really she hadn’t been able to help it—it was mercy that the tray hadn’t fallen, too. Mr. Sleuth got up. “I—I have taken the liberty to arrange the room as I should wish it to be,” he said awkwardly. “You see, Mrs.—er—Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these women’s eyes followed me about. It was a most unpleasant sensation, and gave me quite an eerie feeling.” The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of the table. She made no answer to her lodger’s remark, for the good reason that she did not know what to say. Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After what seemed a long pause, he spoke again. “I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting,” he spoke with some agitation. “As a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls about me for a long time.” And then, at last his landlady answered him, in a composed, soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear. “I quite understand, sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall take the pictures all down. We have plenty of space in our own rooms for them.” “Thank you—thank you very much.” Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved. “And I have brought you up my Bible, sir. I understood you wanted the loan of it?” Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousing himself, he said, “Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book. There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and of body too—” “Very true, sir.” And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what really looked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shut the door. She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there for Bunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as she did so there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident of her long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, had maided a dear old lady.