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"I'm going to ask that landlord a question or two. Come with me." He went up to the bar, Barleyfield following in close attendance, and gave the landlord a significant glance. "Can I have a word with you, in private?" he asked. The landlord looked his questioner over and promptly opened a flap in the counter. "Step inside, sir," he said, indicating a door in the rear. "Private room there, sir."
Barleyfield led him through this garden to a side-door, whence they passed into a roomy, low-ceilinged parlour which reminded Viner of old coaching prints he would scarcely have believed it possible that such a pre-Victorian room could be found in London. There were several men in it, and he nudged his companion's elbow. "Let us sit down in a quiet corner and have something to drink," he said.
"And no doubt conversed with the people he met there?" suggested Viner. "He was a friendly, sociable man, sir," said Barleyfield. "Yes, he was fond of a talk. But there was one man there that he seemed to associate with an elderly, superior gentleman whose name I don't know, though I'm familiar enough with his appearance. Him and Mr.
"Yes, that's the gentleman, sure enough! I've often wondered who he was pleasant, sociable sort, he was, poor fellow. Now I come to think of it I remember him being in here that night last time, of course, he was ever in. He was talking to that gentleman who's just gone; in fact, they left together." "They left together, did they!" exclaimed Viner with a sharp glance at Barleyfield. "Ah!
"Oh, there'll be a sudden flash of light on it, sir, all of a sudden," replied Barleyfield. "And then it'll be as clear as noonday." "I don't know where it's coming from!" muttered Viner. "I don't even see a rift in the clouds yet." He had been at work for an hour or two with Miss Wickham and Mr.
"Murdered!" whispered Barleyfield, with a grim smile. "Nothing wonderful in that, Mr. Viner. They haven't connected Mr. Ashton with the man they're mentioning that's all." "And yet Ashton's portrait has been in the papers!" exclaimed Viner. "It amazes me!" "Aye, just so, sir," said Barleyfield. "But a hundred yards in London takes you into another world, Mr. Viner.
Viner!" said Miss Wickham, "I'm so sorry to send for you so hurriedly, but Mr. Barleyfield came to tell us that he could give some information about Mr. Ashton, and as Mr. Pawle isn't available, and I don't like to send for a police-inspector, I thought that you, perhaps " "To be sure!" said Viner. "What is it, Mr. Barleyfield?" Mr.
"I just want to take a look at this place and its frequenters." Barleyfield led him to a nook near the chimney-corner and beckoned to an aproned boy who hung about with a tray under his arm. But before Viner could give an order, his companion touched his arm and motioned towards the door. "Here's the gentleman Mr. Ashton used to talk to!" he whispered. "The tall man just coming in."
"I promised to bring him a specimen of some cigars I bought lately," he said, laying an envelope on the counter. "I can't stop tonight. If he should come in, will you give him that he'll know what it is." "Good heavens!" muttered Viner, as he turned in surprise to Barleyfield. "These men evidently don't know that the man they're talking about is "
Killenhall and Miss Wickham looked at each other wonderingly. "Where is that? It sounds like the name of some village tavern." "Ah, but you don't know this part of London as I do, sir!" said Barleyfield, with a knowing smile. "If you did, you'd know the Grey Mare well enough it's an institution.
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