What it meant of course, was that the lodger had rubber soles on his shoes.
Now Bunting had never had a pair of rubber-soled shoes sent down to him to clean.

He had always supposed the lodger had only one pair of outdoor boots.
The two men--the pursued and the pursuer--at last turned into the Marylebone Road; they were now within a few hundred yards of home.
Plucking up courage, Bunting called out, his voice echoing freshly on the still air: "Mr.Sleuth, sir?
Mr.Sleuth!" The lodger stopped and turned round.
He had been walking so quickly, and he was in so poor a physical condition, that the sweat was pouring down his face.
"Ah! So it's you, Mr.Bunting?
I heard footsteps behind me, and I hurried on.

I wish I'd known that it was you; there are so many queer characters about at night in London." "Not on a night like this, sir.

Only honest folk who have business out of doors would be out such a night as this.

It is cold, sir!" And then into Bunting's slow and honest mind there suddenly crept the query as to what on earth Mr.Sleuth's own business out could be on this bitter night.
"Cold ?" the lodger repeated; he was panting a little, and his words came out sharp and quick through his thin lips.