Everything was ready for Mr.Sleuth's supper, for she had made all her preparations before going out so as not to have to hurry back before it suited her to do so.
Leaning the tray for a moment on the top of the banisters, she listened.

Even in that nice warm drawing-room, and with a good fire, how cold the lodger must feel sitting studying at the table! But unwonted sounds were coming through the door.

Mr.Sleuth was moving restlessly about the room, not sitting reading, as was his wont at this time of the evening.
She knocked, and then waited a moment.
There came the sound of a sharp click, that of the key turning in the lock of the chiffonnier cupboard--or so Mr.Sleuth's landlady could have sworn.
There was a pause--she knocked again.
"Come in," said Mr.Sleuth loudly, and she opened the door and carried in the tray.
"You are a little earlier than usual, are you not Mrs.Bunting ?" he said, with a touch of irritation in his voice.
"I don't think so, sir, but I've been out.

Perhaps I lost count of the time.

I thought you'd like your breakfast early, as you had dinner rather sooner than usual." "Breakfast?
Did you say breakfast, Mrs.Bunting ?" "I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure! I meant supper." He looked at her fixedly.