The only things she had to send out were Bunting's shirts.

Everything else she managed to do herself.
From the chest of drawers she now turned her attention to the dressing-table.
Mr.Sleuth did not take his money with him when he went out, he generally left it in one of the drawers below the old-fashioned looking-glass.

And now, in a perfunctory way, his landlady pulled out the little drawer, but she did not touch what was lying there; she only glanced at the heap of sovereigns and a few bits of silver.
The lodger had taken just enough money with him to buy the clothes he required.

He had consulted her as to how much they would cost, making no secret of why he was going out, and the fact had vaguely comforted Mrs.Bunting.
Now she lifted the toilet-cover, and even rolled up the carpet a little way, but no, there was nothing there, not so much as a scrap of paper.

And at last, when more or less giving up the search, as she came and went between the two rooms, leaving the connecting door wide open, her mind became full of uneasy speculation and wonder as to the lodger's past life.
Odd Mr.Sleuth must surely always have been, but odd in a sensible sort of way, having on the whole the same moral ideals of conduct as have other people of his class.