Free Fool Errant by Patricia Wentworth

‘Miller he may call himself, but it’s my belief he’s one of those there Russian Bolshevists.’ Mr. Bolshy Miller is what I’d like to call him to his face—only with red hair you got to be careful—especially when they’re foreign and used to knives and all manner of nasty horrors. Why, only last week Ella and me went to the pictures, and there was a pore girl that was carried off by a Bolshevist and served something crool. And I says to Ella then, ‘Money or no money, and rent or no rent, I don’t keep that there Miller a day longer than what I can help.’”
    Hugo found it quite pleasant to be in his old room again. He wondered if he had done any good by going to Mr. Smith. There was a certain relief in having spoken of the things which had been troubling him—a certain sense of having shifted some part of a growing burden of responsibility. He slept without dreams and woke refreshed.
    In the morning Mrs. Miles knocked at the door.
    He said, “Come in,” and she brought hot water into the room and then shut the door. Her round face was red with anger.
    â€œThat there Miller!” she began.
    â€œI say, what’s the matter?”
    â€œI’ve always been one to mind my own business, and as I says to Ella, ‘A busybody nor a interferer is what I never was and never will be.’ But when I sees my duty, I sees it—and a duty I feel it to be.”
    Hugo’s head went round a little. That the duty was in some way connected with himself was to be discerned from the manner in which Mrs. Miles was looking at him.
    â€œAnd my advice is—not as you’re asking it; and p’r’aps I’d do better not to give none, but seeing as I feels it a duty, I will. For, as I says to Ella, ‘Who’s a-going to warn him if I don’t? Tell me that, Ella,’ I says. And she hadn’t a word to say.”
    Hugo did not think that Ella very often got a chance of saying a word. He laughed, and said,
    â€œWhat do you want to warn me about, Mrs. Miles?”
    â€œIt’s not a case of wanting to,” said Mrs. Miles darkly; “it’s a case of feeling it a duty—and what I feels to be a duty I’ll do, if it costs me a neffort, or if it don’t cost me a neffort.” She was still very red in the face.
    Hugo put on an ingratiating smile.
    â€œI s-say, Mrs. Miles, w-would you mind warning me before my sh-sh-shaving water gets cold?”
    â€œAnd what you wants to shave for, the Lord knows!” said Mrs. Miles.
    Hugo blushed.
    â€œI s-say, d-do warn me, and let me get up. I w-w-want to get up—I really do.”
    â€œYou may take it light, Mr. Ross, but it’s my bounden belief that that there Miller isn’t up to no good.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Mrs. Miles snorted.
    â€œWhat’s the good of asking me why? Because he’s a creeping, crawling ferret, and a foreign Bolshevist Russian, if he do call himself Miller—that’s why.”
    She leaned forward and went on in scornful tones, “And if he isn’t, what’s he want asking questions like he does—‘Where’s Mr. Ross gone?’ and, ‘What kind of a job has Mr. Ross got?’ and, ‘When’s he going out?’ and, ‘When’s he coming home?’ and, ‘Did he pay his rent?’ and, ‘How much money did he have?’ and, ‘Wasn’t he very hard up?’ There! I don’t rightly know how I kep’ myself. I says to Ella, ‘Ella,’ I says, ‘I thought I should ha’ burst!’ And Ella says, ‘Oh, lor, Aunt! Don’t say such horful things!’ And I says, ‘I do say it, and I won’t go from it. And what’s more, I shall tell Mr. Ross.’”
    â€œWell,” said Hugo, “you’ve told me.”
    Mrs. Miles looked at him with a pitying eye and shook her head.
    â€œAh! There’s more to come,” she