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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Not a word about them," said the detective. The purveyor of cigars and news was positively awe-stricken. He was aware of Steingall's repute as the "man with the microscopic eye," and he fully expected that the "sleuth's" penetrating organ had already discerned the word "murderer" branded on Curtis's shirt front.
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. Mr. Sleuth got up.
But his aunt had been very much annoyed in fact, she had made him turn the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there he just had to put up with what he called "those half-human monsters." Mrs. Bunting, sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth's odd behaviour over, was glad to recall that funny incident of her long-gone youth.
She remembered suddenly that she had told Bunting about the disappearance of Mr. Sleuth's bag. And then a feeling of intense thankfulness came over her; not a single reporter at the long, ink-stained table had put down that last remark of Mr. Cannot. In fact, not one of them had heard it. Again the last witness put up his hand to command attention. And then silence did fall on the court.
"Kindly put the paper down on the table," came Mr. Sleuth's muffled voice from the upper landing. She did so. "Yes, sir. And Bunting don't want the paper back again, sir. He says he's read it." And then she hurried out of the room.
But Bunting only woke to the fact when the front door shut to. "That's never Mr. Sleuth going out?" He turned on his wife, startled. "Why, the poor gentleman'll come to harm that he will! One has to be wide awake on an evening like this. I hope he hasn't taken any of his money out with him." "'Tisn't the first time Mr. Sleuth's been out in a fog," said Mrs. Bunting sombrely.
"It'll do her good to have a bit of work to do for once in her life." And with that ungraciously worded permission Bunting had to content himself. Quietly the rest of that eventful day sped by. When dusk fell Mr. Sleuth's landlady heard him go upstairs to the top floor. She remembered that this was the signal for her to go and do his room.
Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman. Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly remembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible. 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.
Psmith's brain was working rapidly as he went downstairs. What exactly was at the back of the sleuth's mind, prompting these maneuvers, he did not know. But that there was something, and that that something was directed in a hostile manner against Mike, probably in connection with last night's wild happenings, he was certain.
And when she came into her kitchen the stepmother's heart became very soft, for Daisy had got everything beautifully ready. In fact, there was nothing to do but to boil Mr. Sleuth's two eggs. Feeling suddenly more cheerful than she had felt of late, Mrs. Bunting took the tray upstairs. "As it was rather late, I didn't wait for you to ring, sir," she said. "Quite right, Mrs. Bunting quite right!
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