The Safety Pin by J.S. Fletcher

Simmons, after a two hundred and fifty miles' journey, found himself and his modest kitbag in Nonnansholt at six o'clock on the following afternoon. He had never been in the North of England before, and his surroundings struck him, accustomed as he was to the South, as being gray and gloomy. But as he wandered through the old market square, looking about him for accommodation, his sharp eye spotted what seemed to be quite an up-to-date hotel, The Bear, and he promptly stepped aside, booked a room, and ordered dinner. Simmons had plenty of ready money in his pocket, and, knowing that whatever he laid out would be returned to him, through Shelmore, out of Sir Reville Childerstone's amply supplied coffers, he was determined to do himself well. If you are spending your own money, said Simmons, be frugal; if somebody else's, be lavish. This is a principal on which all officials are brought up, from big-wigs in Whitehall to the servants of obscure town corporations.

He was halfway through his dinner in the coffee room of The Bear when a waiter ushered in a smart, alert looking young gentleman of his own age, whose eyes were full of polite enquiry. The waiter indicated Simmons, who had written his name and address with a flourish in the register downstairs, and the young gentleman, doffing his somewhat rakish hat, came forward, smiling widely.