With a start she became aware that this was so, and she frowned, vexed with herself.

That came of not attending to one's work.
Mr.Sleuth was evidently about to do what he had never yet done.
He was coming down into the kitchen.
Nearer and nearer came the thudding sounds, treading heavily on the kitchen stairs, and Mrs.Bunting's heart began to beat as if in response.

She put out the flame of the gas-ring, unheedful of the fact that the cheese would stiffen and spoil in the cold air.
Then she turned and faced the door.
There came a fumbling at the handle, and a moment later the door opened, and revealed, as she had at once known and feared it would do, the lodger.
Mr.Sleuth looked even odder than usual.

He was clad in a plaid dressing-gown, which she had never seen him wear before, though she knew that he had purchased it not long after his arrival.

In his hand was a lighted candle.
When he saw the kitchen all lighted up, and the woman standing in it, the lodger looked inexplicably taken aback, almost aghast.
"Yes, sir?
What can I do for you, sir?
I hope you didn't ring, sir ?" Mrs.Bunting held her ground in front of the stove.