"P'raps she's taken up with another cove, sir," suggested Bindle sympathetically. "You never knows where you are with women."

The maid from Number Fifteen giggled.

Number Twelve explained in a weary tone that Fluffles was a Pekinese spaniel.

"A dog, you say, sir," cried Bindle, "why didn't you say so before? I might 'ave advertised for--well, well, I'll keep a look out."

"Wot's that?" he enquired of the maid from Number Eight. "No coal?

Can't fetch coal up after six o'clock. That's the rules," he added with decision.

"But we must have some, we can't go to bed without coal," snapped the girl, an undersized, shrewish little creature.

"Well, Queenie," responded Bindle imperturbably, "you'll 'ave to take some firewood to bed with you, if you wants company; coal you don't get to-night. Wot about a log?"

"My name's not 'Queenie,'" snapped the girl.

"Ain't it now," remarked Bindle; "shows your father and mother 'adn't an eye for the right thing, don't it?"

"I tell you we must have coal," persisted the girl.

"Now look 'ere, Queenie, my dear, a gal as wants to take coal to bed with 'er ain't--well, she ain't respectable. Now orf you goes like a good gal."

"It's in case of raids, you saucy 'ound!" screeched "Queenie." "I'll get even with you yet, you red-nosed little bounder! I'll pay you!"

"Funny where they learns it all," remarked Bindle to Number Eleven, a quiet little old lady who wanted a postage stamp.

The little lady smiled.

"She won't be wantin' coal in the next world if she goes on like that, will she, mum?" said Bindle as he handed her the stamp.

"Her mistress has a weak heart," ventured Number Eleven, "and during the raids she shivers so----"

"Now ain't that jest like a woman, beggin' your pardon, mum. Why didn't Queenie say that instead of showin' 'ow bad she's been brought up? Right-o! I'll take her up some coal."

Ten minutes later Bindle surprised "Queenie" by appearing at the door of Number Eight with a pailful of coal. She stared at him in surprise.

Bindle grinned.

"'Ere you are, Queenie," he said cheerfully. "Now you'll be able to go to sleep with a bit in each 'and, an' maybe there'll be a bit over to put in your mouth."

"Look 'ere, don't you go callin' me 'Queenie'; that ain't my name, so there," and the girl banged the door in his face.

"She'll grow up jest like Mrs. B.," murmured Bindle, as he slowly descended the stairs, "an' p'raps she can't even cook. I wonder if she's religious. Sort o' zoo this 'ere little 'ole. Shouldn't be surprised if things was to 'appen before Ole Charlie gets 'ome again!"

and Bindle returned to his lodge, where, removing his boots and throwing off his coat, he lay down on the couch that served as a bed for the porter at Fulham Square Mansions.

During the next two days Bindle discovered that his duties were endless. Everybody seemed to want something, or have some complaint to make. He was expected to be always at his post, night and day, and if he were not, he was threatened with a possible complaint to the Secretary of the Company to which the flats belonged.

Bindle's fertile brain, however, was not long in devising a means of relieving the monotony without compromising "pore Ole Charlie." He sent home for his special constable's uniform, although he had obtained a fortnight's leave on account of his work. Henceforth, whenever he required relaxation, he donned his official garb, which he found a sure defence against all complaints.

"Well, Queenie," he remarked one evening to the maid at Number Eight, "I'm orf to catch the robbers wot might carry you away."

"I can see you catchin' a man," snorted the girl scornfully.

"Sorry I can't return the compliment, little love-bird," retorted Bindle. "S'long!"

"Queenie" had found her match.

II

"You--er--have a furnished--er--flat to let."

Bindle looked up from the paper he was reading.

A timid, mouse-like little man with side-whiskers and a deprecating manner stood on the threshold.

"Come in, sir," said Bindle heartily; "but I'm afraid it's let."

"But the board's up," replied the applicant.

Bindle rose, walked to the outer door, and there saw the notice-board announcing that a furnished-flat was to let.

"Funny me not noticin' that," he murmured to himself, as he returned to the porter's lodge.

"Was you wantin' it for long, sir?" he enquired.

"A month, I think," was the reply; "but three weeks----"

"I'm sorry, sir," began Bindle, then he smacked his leg with such suddenness that the stranger started back in alarm, his soft felt hat falling from his head and hanging behind him attached to a hat-guard.

"Now isn't that jest like me!" cried Bindle, his face wreathed in smiles.

The stranger eyed Bindle nervously, as he fumbled to retrieve his lost head-gear, looking like a dog endeavouring to ascertain if he still possessed a tail.

"I was thinkin' of the other one," said Bindle. "Yes; there's Number Six to let from next Monday."

"What is the rent?" enquired the caller.

Bindle, who had no idea of the rent of furnished flats, decided to temporise. "I'll go and ask, sir," he said. "Wot was you exactly wantin', an' about wot figure?"

"Well, a bedroom, bath-room, sitting-room, kitchen and attendance, would do," was the reply. "I do not want to pay more than three and a half guineas a week."

"Now ain't that funny!" cried Bindle, and without waiting to explain what was funny, he picked up the key of Number Six from his desk. "Now you jest come with me, sir, an' I'll show you the very place you're wantin'."

Number Six consisted of two bedrooms, a sitting-room, bath-room and kitchen. Charlie Hart had taken Bindle over it, explaining that Miss Cissie Boye, who was entering into occupation on the following Monday, would use only the smaller bedroom with the single bed, therefore the double-bedded room was to remain locked.

The applicant, who introduced himself as Mr. Jabez Stiffson, expressed himself as quite satisfied with all he saw, and agreed to enter into possession on the following Monday afternoon, at a rental of three and a half guineas a week. He appeared mildly surprised at Bindle waiving the question of references and a deposit; but agreed that the smaller bedroom should be kept locked, as containing the owner's personal possessions. Mrs. Stiffson, he explained, was staying with friends in the country, their own house being let; but she would join him on the Tuesday morning.

In the privacy of his own apartment, Bindle rubbed his hands with glee. "If this ain't goin' to be a little story for the Night Club,"

he murmured, "well, put me down as a Cuthbert."