the lodger- 第2部分

As　the　shouts　came　through　the　closed　windows　and　the　thick　damask　curtains；　Bunting　felt　a　sudden　sense　of　mind　hunger　fall　upon　him。

It　was　a　shame　…　a　damned　shame　…　that　he　shouldn't　know　what　was　happening　in　the　world　outside！　　Only　criminals　are　kept　from　hearing　news　　of　what　is　going　on　beyond　their　prison　walls。　　And　those　shouts；　those　hoarse；　sharp　cries　must　portend　that　something　really　exciting　had　happened；　something　warranted　to　make　a　man　forget　for　the　moment　his　own　intimate；　gnawing　troubles。

He　got　up；　and　going　towards　the　nearest　window　strained　his　eats　to　listen。　　There　fell　on　them；　emerging　now　and　again　from　the　confused　babe1　of　hoarse　shouts；　the　one　clear　word　〃Murder！〃

Slowly　Bunting's　brain　pieced　the　loud；　indistinct　cries　into　some　sort　of　connected　order。　　Yes；　that　was　it　…　〃Horrible　Murder！　Murder　at　St。　Pancras！〃　　Bunting　remembered　vaguely　another　murder　which　had　been　committed　near　St。　Pancras　…　that　of　an　old　lady　by　her　servant…maid。　　It　had　happened　a　great　many　years　ago；　but　was　still　vividly　remembered；　as　of　special　and　natural　interest；　among　the　class　to　which　he　had　belonged。

The　newsboys　…　for　there　were　more　than　one　of　them；　a　rather　unusual　thing　in　the　Marylebone　Road　…　were　coming　nearer　and　nearer；　now　they　had　adopted　another　cry；　but　he　could　not　quite　catch　what　they　were　crying。　　They　were　still　shouting　hoarsely；　excitedly；　but　he　could　only　hear　a　word　or　two　now　and　then。　　Suddenly　〃The　Avenger！　The　Avenger　at　his　work　again！〃　broke　on　his　ear。

During　the　last　fortnight　four　very　curious　and　brutal　murders　had　been　committed　in　London　and　within　a　comparatively　small　area。

The　first　had　aroused　no　special　interest　…　even　the　second　had　only　been　awarded；　in　the　paper　Bunting　was　still　then　taking　in；　quite　a　small　paragraph。

Then　had　come　the　third　…　and　with　that　a　wave　of　keen　excitement；　for　pinned　to　the　dress　of　the　victim　…　a　drunken　woman　…　had　been　found　a　three…cornered　piece　of　paper；　on　which　was　written；　in　red　ink；　and　in　printed　characters；　the　words；

〃THE　AVENGER〃

It　was　then　realised；　not　only　by　those　whose　business　it　is　to　investigate　such　terrible　happenings；　but　also　by　the　vast　world　of　men　and　women　who　take　an　intelligent　interest　in　such　sinister　mysteries；　that　the　same　miscreant　had　committed　all　three　crimes；　and　before　that　extraordinary　fact　had　had　time　to　soak　well　into　the　public　mind　there　took　place　yet　another　murder；　and　again　the　murderer　had　been　to　special　pains　to　make　it　clear　that　some　obscure　and　terrible　lust　for　vengeance　possessed　him。

Now　everyone　was　talking　of　The　Avenger　and　his　crimes！　　Even　the　man　who　left　their　ha'porth　of　milk　at　the　door　each　morning　had　spoken　to　Bunting　about　them　that　very　day。

******

Bunting　came　back　to　the　fire　and　looked　down　at　his　wife　with　mild　excitement。　　Then；　seeing　her　pale；　apathetic　face；　her　look　of　weary；　mournful　absorption；　a　wave　of　irritation　swept　through　him。　He　felt　he　could　have　shaken　her！

Ellen　had　hardly　taken　the　trouble　to　listen　when　he；　Bunting；　had　come　back　to　bed　that　morning；　and　told　her　what　the　milkman　had　said。　　In　fact；　she　had　been　quite　nasty　about　it；　intimating　that　she　didn't　like　hearing　about　such　horrid　things。

It　was　a　curious　fact　that　though　Mrs。　Bunting　enjoyed　tales　of　pathos　and　sentiment；　and　would　listen　with　frigid　amusement　to　the　details　of　a　breach　of　promise　action；　she　shrank　from　stories　of　immorality　or　of　physical　violence。　　In　the　old；　happy　days；　when　they　could　afford　to　buy　a　paper；　aye；　and　more　than　one　paper　daily；　Bunting　had　often　had　to　choke　down　his　interest　in　some　exciting　〃case〃　or　〃mystery〃　which　was　affording　him　pleasant　mental　relaxation；　because　any　allusion　to　it　sharply　angered　Ellen。

But　now　he　was　at　once　too　dull　and　too　miserable　to　care　how　she　felt。

Walking　away　from　the　window　he　took　a　slow；　uncertain　step　towards　the　door；　when　there　he　turned　half　round；　and　there　came　over　his　close…shaven；　round　face　the　rather　sly；　pleading　look　with　which　a　child　about　to　do　something　naughty　glances　at　its　parent。

But　Mrs。　Bunting　remained　quite　still；　her　thin；　narrow　shoulders　just　showed　above　the　back　of　the　chair　on　which　she　was　sitting；　bolt　upright；　staring　before　her　as　if　into　vacancy。

Bunting　turned　round；　opened　the　door；　and　quickly　he　went　out　into　the　dark　hall　…　they　had　given　up　lighting　the　gas　there　some　time　ago　…　and　opened　the　front　door。

Walking　down　the　small　flagged　path　outside；　he　flung　open　the　iron　gate　which　gave　on　to　the　damp　pavement。　　But　there　he　hesitated。　The　coppers　in　his　pocket　seemed　to　have　shrunk　in　number；　and　he　remembered　ruefully　how　far　Ellen　could　make　even　four　pennies　go。

Then　a　boy　ran　up　to　him　with　a　sheaf　of　evening　papers；　and　Bunting；　being　sorely　tempted　…　fell。　　〃Give　me　a　Sun；〃　he　said　roughly；　〃Sun　or　Echo！'；

But　the　boy；　scarcely　stopping　to　take　breath；　shook　his　head。　　〃Only　penny　papers　left；〃　he　gasped。　〃What'll　yer　'ave；　sir？〃

With　an　eagerness　which　was　mingled　with　shame；　Bunting　drew　a　penny　out　of　his　pocket　and　took　a　paper　…　it　was　the　Evening　Standard　…　　from　the　boy's　hand。

Then；　very　slowly；　he　shut　the　gate　and　walked　back　through　the　raw；　cold　air；　up　the　flagged　path；　shivering　yet　full　of　eager；　joyful　anticipation。

Thanks　to　that　penny　he　had　just　spent　so　recklessly　he　would　pass　a　happy　hour；　taken；　for　once；　out　of　his　anxious；　despondent；　miserable　self。　　It　irritated　him　shrewdly　to　know　that　these　moments　of　respite　from　carking　care　would　not　be　shared　with　his　poor　wife；　with　careworn；　troubled　Ellen。

A　hot　wave　of　unease　almost　of　remorse；　swept　over　Bunting。　　Ellen　would　never　have　spent　that　penny　on　herself　…　he　knew　that　well　enough　…　and　if　it　hadn't　been　so　cold；　so　foggy；　so　…　so　drizzly；　he　would　have　gone　out　again　through　the　gate　and　stood　under　the　street　lamp　to　take　his　pleasure。　　He　dreaded　with　a　nervous　dread　the　glance　of　Ellen's　cold；　reproving　light…blue　eye。　　That　glance　would　tell　him　that　he　had　had　no　business　to　waste　a　penny　on　a　paper；　and　that　well　he　knew　it！

Suddenly　the　door　in　front　of　him　opened；　and　he　beard　a　familiar　voice　saying　crossly；　yet　anxiously；　〃What　on　earth　are　you　doing　out　there；　Bunting？　　Come　in　…　do！　　You'll　catch　your　death　of　cold！　I　don't　want　to　have　you　ill　on　my　hands　as　well　as　everything　else！〃　Mrs。　Bunting　rarely　uttered　so　many　words　at　once　nowadays。

He　walked　in　through　the　front　door　of　his　cheerless　house。　　〃I　went　out　to　get　a　paper；〃　he　said　sullenly。

After　all；　he　was　master。　　He　had　as　much　right　to　spend　the　money　as　she　had；　for　the　matter　of　that　the　money　on　which　they　were　now　both　living　had　been　lent；　nay；　pressed　on　him　…　not　on　Ellen　…　by　that　decent　young　chap；　Joe　Chandler。　　And　he；　Bunting；　had　done　all　he　could；　he　had　pawned　everything　he　could　pawn；　while　Ellen；　so　he　resentfully　noticed；　still　wore　her　wedding　ring。

He　stepped　past　her　heavily；　and　though　she　said　nothing；　he　knew　she　grudged　him　his　coming　joy。　　Then；　full　of　rage　with　her　and　contempt　for　himself；　and　giving　himself　the　luxury　of　a　mild；　a　very　mild；　oath　…　Ellen　had　very　early　made　it　clear　she　would　have　no　swearing　in　her　presence　…　he　lit　the　hall　gas　full…flare。

〃How　can　we　hope　to　get　lodgers　if　they　can't　even　see　the　card？〃　he　shouted　angrily。

And　there　was　truth　in　what　he　said；　for　now　that　he　had　lit　the　gas；　the　oblong　card；　though　not　the　word　〃Apartments〃　printed　on　it；　could　be　plainly　seen　out…lined　against　the　old…fashioned　fanlight　above　the　front　door。

Bunting　went　into　the　sitting…room；　silently　followed　by　his　wife；　and　then；　sitting　down　in　his　nice　arm…chair；　he　poked　the　little　banked…up　fire。　　It　was　the　first　time　Bunting　had　poked　the　fire　for　many　a　long　day；　and　this　exertion　of　marital　authority　made　him　feel　better。　　A　man　has　to　assert　himself　sometimes；　and　he；　Bunting；　had　not　asserted　himself　enough　lately。

A　little　colour　came　into　Mrs。　Bunting's　pale　face。　　She　was　not　used　to　be　flouted　in　this　way。　　For　Bunting；　when　not　thoroughly　upset；　was　the　mildest　of　men。

She　began　moving　about　the　room；　flicking　off　an　imperceptible　touch　of　dust　here；　straightening　a　piece　of　furniture　there。

But　her　hands　trembled　…　they　trembled　with　excitement；　with　self…pity；　with　anger。　　A　penny？　　It　was　dreadful　…　dreadful　to　have　to　worry　about　a　penny！　　But　they　had　come　to　the　point　when　one　has　to　worry　about　pennies。　　Strange　that　her　husband　didn't　realise　that。

Bunting　looked　round　once　or　twice；　he　would　have　liked　to　ask　Ellen　to　leave　off　fidgeting；　but　he　was　fond　of　peace；　and　perhaps；　by　now；　a　little　bit　ashamed　of　himself；　so　he　refrained　from　remark；　and　she　soon　gave　over　what　irritated　him　of　her　own　accord。

But　Mrs。　Bunting　did　not　come　and　sit　down　as　her　husband　would　have　liked　her　to　do。　　The　sight　of　him；　absorbed　in　his　paper　as　he　was；　irritated　her；　and　made　her　long　to　get　away　from　him。　　Opening　the　door　which　separated　the　sitting…room　from　the　bedroom　behind；　and　　…　shutting　out　the　aggravating　vision　of　Bunting　sitting　comfortably　by　the　now　brightly　burning　fire；　with　the　Evening　Standard　spread　out　before　him