ung himself down on the horse-hair couch and tried to
doze, but his mind was too restless and excited. Finally he rose, and
paced up and down the empty room. Suddenly he was aware of a great
rubicund face which surveyed him from round the angle of the door. Its
owner, seeing that he was observed, pushed forward into the room.

"I beg pardon, sir," said he, "but surely I have the honour of talking
to Mr. Thomas Spring?"

"At your service," said the young man.

"Bless me! I am vastly honoured to have you under my roof! Cordery is
my name, sir, landlord of this old-fashioned inn. I thought that my eyes
could not deceive me. I am a patron of the ring, sir, in my own humble
way, and was present at Moulsey in September last, when you beat Jack
Stringer of Rawcliffe. A very fine fight, sir, and very handsomely
fought, if I may make bold to say so. I have a right to an opinion, sir,
for there's never been a fight for many a year in Kent or Sussex that
you wouldn't find Joe Cordery at the ring-side. Ask Mr. Gregson at the
Chop-house in Holborn and he'll tell you about old Joe Cordery. By the
way, Mr. Spring, I suppose it is not business that has brought you down
into these parts? Any one can see with half an eye that you are trained
to a hair. I'd take it very kindly if you would give me the office."

It crossed Spring's mind that if he were frank with the landlord it was
more than likely that he would receive more information than he could
give. He was a man of his word, however, and he remembered his promise
to his employer.

"Just a quiet day in the country, Mr. Cordery. That's all."

"Dear me! I had hoped there was a mill in the wind. I've a nose for
these things, Mr. Spring, and I thought I had a whiff of it. But, of
course, you should know best. Perhaps you will drive round with me this
afternoon and view the hop-gardens--just the right time of year, sir."

Tom Spring was not very skilful in deception, and his stammering excuses
may not have been very convincing to the landlord, or finally persuaded
him that his original supposition was wrong. In the midst of the
conversation, however, the waiter entered with the news that a phaeton
was waiting at the door. The innkeeper's eyes shone with suspicion and
eagerness.

"I thought you said you knew no one in these parts, Mr. Spring?"

"Just one kind friend, Mr. Cordery, and he has sent his gig for me. It's
likely that I will take the night coach to town. But I'll look i