"Seems a long time since I've looked at a book.

The papers was so jolly interesting for a bit, but now there's nothing in 'em." His wife remained silent.

She knew what he meant.

A good many days had gone by since the last two Avenger murders, and the papers had very little to say about them that they hadn't said in different language a dozen times before.
She went into her bedroom and came back with a bit of plain sewing.
Mrs.Bunting was fond of sewing, and Bunting liked to see her so engaged.

Since Mr.Sleuth had come to be their lodger she had not had much time for that sort of work.
It was funny how quiet the house was without either Daisy, or--or the lodger, in it.
At last she let her needle remain idle, and the bit of cambric slipped down on her knee, while she listened, longingly, for Mr.
Sleuth's return home.
And as the minutes sped by she fell to wondering with a painful wonder if she would ever see her lodger again, for, from what she knew of Mr.Sleuth, Mrs.Bunting felt sure that if he got into any kind of--well, trouble outside, he would never betray where he had lived during the last few weeks.
No, in such a case the lodger would disappear in as sudden a way as he had come.