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These matters arranged and dismissed from his thoughts, Blick, having had enough of business for that night, turned into the bar-parlour of the Sceptre, minded for a little relaxation before retiring to bed. He had been in there once or twice since taking up his quarters at the inn; usually there were two or three Markenmore men to be found round the fire, a farmer or two, the miller, the carpenter, the blacksmith, engaged in discussing the latest news of the village; Blick liked to hear them talk. But on this occasion the room was almost empty; there was in fact, nobody in it but a little, meek-and-mild looking man in a tweed knickerbocker suit, who sat thoughtful and solitary near the hearth, and turned an unusually large pair of spectacles on the detective with a sort of apologetic look. He moved his chair back a little, as if to invite Blick to the cheery blaze.
"Thank you," said Blick. He dropped into a chair facing the stranger and drew out his pipe and tobacco. "A bit of fire's quite welcome, though we're nearly in May," he opened.