How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit the
gas! But for that circumstance this gentleman would have passed
them by.

She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitation
that the front door was still open; and it was the stranger whom
she already in her mind described as "the lodger," who turned and
rather quickly walked down the passage and shut it.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry you should have
had the trouble."

For a moment their eyes met. "It's not safe to leave a front door
open in London," he said, rather sharply. "I hope you do not often
do that. It would be so easy for anyone to slip in."

Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had still spoken
courteously, but he was evidently very much put out.

"I assure you, sir, I never leave my front door open," she answered
hastily. "You needn't be at all afraid of that!"

And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came the
sound of Bunting coughing--it was just a little, hard cough, but
Mrs. Bunting's future lodger started violently.

"Who's that?" he said, putting out a hand and clutching her arm.
"Whatever was that?"