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No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way as he had come. And Bunting would never suspect, would never know, until, perhaps - God, what a horrible thought - a picture published in some newspaper might bring a certain dreadful fact to Bunting's knowledge.
But if that happened - if that unthinkably awful thing came to pass, she made up her mind, here and now, never to say anything. She also would pretend to be amazed, shocked, unutterably horrified at the astounding revelation. here he is at last, and I'm glad of it, Ellen. 'Tain't a night you would wish a dog to be out in."
Bunting's voice was full of relief, but he did not turn round and look at his wife as he spoke; instead, he continued to read the evening paper he held in his hand.
He was still close to the fire, sitting back comfortably in his nice arm-chair. He looked very well - well and ruddy. Mrs. Bunting stared across at him with a touch of sharp envy, nay, more, of resentment. And this was very curious, for she was, in her own dry way, very fond of Bunting.
"You needn't feel so nervous about him; Mr. Sleuth can look out for himself all right."
Bunting laid the paper he had been reading down on his knee. "I can't think why he wanted to go out in such weather," he said impatiently.