"Haven't I? And a jolly enough place it is, for all it looks so dull. Shall we go in, sir?"
They had not much choice about it, as it seemed to John Tincroft, for the inn porter had already pounced upon the travellers' luggage, and was bearing it off in triumph. Ten minutes later, and the two had taken possession of a private room, and were ordering bed-chambers, a dinner, a bottle of port, and a fire.
It was during the discussion of the third item in this catalogue that "mine host of the George" was invited to a confidential conference by the dapper lawyer's clerk, with whom he claimed a previous acquaintance, and who was not going to let the grass grow under their feet, he said.
The information obtained from the innkeeper was very limited. It consisted altogether in negatives. There was no such medical man in Saddlebrook as John Batts. Of this he was quite sure. He was equally sure that there was no practitioner of that name in the town. There might have been fifty years or more ago, he could not say from his own knowledge; nor was it likely that he could, he himself not having yet arrived at that age of maturity and wisdom. To tell the honest truth, there being no reason why he shouldn't, he wasn't a native of Saddlebrook, and hadn't lived in it over fifteen years; so it was not likely he should know much on the subject. Thus Mr. Bartrum protested.
"At any rate, you will take a glass of wine with us, Mr. Bartrum?" said Foster, who had constituted himself master of the ceremonies, and slipped into that position with professional ease.
Mr. Bartrum accepted the invitation, sealing himself at the table meanwhile. And as the port was really good, he made no wry faces over it.
The inquisition proceeded. Could Mr. Bartrum refer to any old inhabitant of the town likely to possess the requisite information?
Yes, to be sure: wasn't there old Freeman, the sexton, who was also town-crier, and had held those joint offices any time within the memory of man, so to speak, under correction? To say the least, as Mr. Bartrum had heard, he had held them over sixty years. He was an old fellow now, eighty-five or more, people said; but he was as strong as ever in the lungs.
"You should hear him cry out his 'Oh yes! Oh yes!'" said mine host, admiringly. "Why, he is to be heard from the market-place up to the top of the street as plain as plain can be. And sometimes he is parish clerk as well, when the proper one is away. And what do you think he did a few Sundays ago, when he was in the desk?"
Mr. Bartrum's hearers did not know, but would be happy to be informed.