ach Blue Anchor, the village of which Meg
Ross had told him. It was a pretty, peaceful place, set among wide
stretches of beach, extending for miles along the margin of the waters,
and the mellow summer twilight showed little white wreaths of foam
crawling lazily up on the sand in glittering curves that gleamed like
snow for a moment and then melted softly away into the deepening
darkness. He stopped at the first ale-house, a low-roofed, cottage-like
structure embowered in clambering flowers. It had a side entrance which
led into a big, rambling stableyard, and happening to glance that way he
perceived a vehicle standing there, which he at once recognised as the
large luxurious motor-car that had dashed past him at such a tearing
pace near Cleeve. The inn door was open, and the bar faced the road,
exhibiting a brave show of glittering brass taps, pewter tankards,
polished glasses and many-coloured bottles, all these things being
presided over by a buxom matron, who was not only an agreeable person to
look at in herself, but who was assisted by two pretty daughters. These
young women, wearing spotless white cuffs and aprons, dispensed the beer
to the customers, now and then relieving the monotony of this occupation
by carrying trays of bread and cheese and meat sandwiches round the wide
room of which the bar was a part, evidently bent on making the general
company stay as long as possible, if fascinating manners and smiling
eyes could work any detaining influence. Helmsley asked for a glass of
ale and a plate of bread and cheese, and on being supplied with these
refreshments, sat down at a small table in a corner well removed from
the light, where he could see without being seen. He did not intend to
inquire for a night's lodging yet. He wished first to ascertain for
himself the kind of people who frequented the place. The fear of
discovery always haunted him, and the sight of that costly motor-car
standing in the stableyard had caused him to feel a certain misgiving
lest any one of marked wealth or position should turn out to be its
owner. In such a case, the world being proverbially small, and rich men
being in the minority, it was just possible that he, David Helmsley,
even clad as he was in workman's clothes and partially disguised in
features by the growth of a beard, might be recognised. With this idea,
he kept himself well back in the shadow, listening attentively to the
scraps of desultory talk among the dozen or s