The light was the joint product of a fire and a candle. Between the two, with his feet on the iron fender, sat Riderhood, pipe in mouth.
He looked up with a surly nod when his visitor came in. His visitor looked down with a surly nod. His outer clothing removed, the visitor then took a seat on the opposite side of the fire.
‘Not a smoker, I think?’ said Riderhood, pushing a bottle to him across the table.
‘No.’
They both lapsed into silence, with their eyes upon the fire.
‘You don’t need to be told I am here,’ said Bradley at length. ‘Who is to begin?’
‘I’ll begin,’ said Riderhood, ‘when I’ve smoked this here pipe out.’
He finished it with great deliberation, knocked out the ashes on the hob, and put it by.
‘I’ll begin,’ he then repeated, ‘Bradley Headstone, Master, if you wish it.’
‘Wish it? I wish to know what you want with me.’