uld like to make a few investigations on my own account.
That is why I have come over this afternoon. I have left my car and my
luggage at Durrington, where I have been staying, thinking you might
find it easier to put me up without them. I presume you can accommodate
me, Benson?"

"Well, sir, you know the place is rough and I haven't much to offer you.
But if you do not mind that----"

"Not in the least. You need not go to any trouble on my account."

"Then, sir, I shall be pleased to do what I can to make you comfortable.
Will you step inside? This way, sir--I must ask Ann about your room
before I can take you upstairs."

The innkeeper opened the door of the bar parlour, and asked Colwyn to
excuse him while he consulted the servant. He returned in a few minutes
with Ann lumbering in his wake. The stout countrywoman bobbed at the
sight of the detective, and proceeded to explain in apologetic tones,
with sundry catches of the breath and jelly-like movements of her fat
frame, that she was sorry being caught unawares, and not expecting
visitors, but the fact was that Mr. Colwyn couldn't have the room he
slept in before, because she had given it a good turn out that day, and
everything was upside down, to say nothing of it being as damp as damp
could be. There was only poor Mr. Glenthorpe's room--of course, that
wouldn't do--and the room next, which the poor young gentleman had
slept in. Would Mr. Colwyn mind having that room? If he didn't mind, she
could make it quite comfortable, and would have clean sheets aired in
front of the kitchen fire in no time.

Colwyn felt that he had reason to congratulate himself that he had been
asked to occupy the very room which he desired to examine closely. The
lucky accident of turning out the other room would save him a midnight
prowl from the one room to the other, with the possible risk of
detection. He told Ann that the room Mr. Penreath had slept in would do
very well, and assured her that she was not to bother on his account.
But Ann was determined to worry, and her mind was no sooner relieved
about the bedroom than she propounded the problem of dinner. She had
been taken unawares in that direction also. There was nothing in the
house but a little cold mutton, and some hare soup left over from the
previous day. If she warmed up a plateful of soup--it was lovely soup,
and had set into a perfect jelly--and made rissoles of the mutton, and
sent them to table with some vegetables