He put up at a roadside inn, and secured the best bed in the establishment for Nell Fulford.
This done, he explored the neighbourhood, having for his companion the redoubtable Joe.
Near to the junction of three cross roads, there stood, at the time of which we are writing, a low-looking beershop bearing the sign of the “Travellers’ Rest.”
This place was a vagrants’ lodging-house, and as Mr. Wrench and his rustic companion came within sight of the house the detective regarded it with a considerable amount of interest.
After surveying it for some time he said to Joe Doughty—
“As far as the accommodation is concerned I don’t know that I can recommend it, but if you don’t mind taking up your quarters in it for one night it would be as well. Tramps, thieves, and vagabonds of all sorts are accustomed to pay nightly visits to the ‘Travellers’ Rest,’ as it is termed, and it is possible you may be able to pick up some information respecting the man of whom we are in search.
“If I thought that, I’d stop there this very night!” cried Joe.
“I wish you would.”
“Don’t ’ee say another word upon the matter, guv’ner—I’ll be one among ’em.”
“And you can see me in the morning at the ‘Dun Cow.’ I would join you, but the chances are that some of the tramps in the ‘Travellers’ Rest’ would know me, and that would be fatal to us. You are a stranger—keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut, and who knows but you may gain the hundred pounds reward?”