"Silly ass!" Peter said. "You can console yourself with the thought that it would take more than a ghost to upset the redoubtable Mrs. Bowers. Allow me to tell you that we are now approaching the Bell Inn. Genuine fourteenth century — in parts."
The car had emerged from the tree-shadowed lane into the outskirts of the village, which stretched aimlessly along one narrow main street. The Bell Inn, a picturesque and rambling old hostelry built round a courtyard, was one of the first buildings on the street. Peter Fortescue ran the car up to the door and switched off the engine. "Opening time," he grinned. "Take heart, Chas, I can vouch for the beer."
They entered into a long, low-pitched taproom, with a beamed ceiling, and little latticed windows that gave on to the street. Oak settles formed various secluded nooks in the room, and behind the bar stood a landlord of such comfortable proportions and such benevolent mien that he might well have stepped from the pages of Dickens.
Leaning against the bar, and apparently engaging Mr. Wilkes in desultory conversation, was his very antithesis, a thin, wiry little man, with a very sharp face and pale eyes that darted from object to object with a quickness that gave a disagreeable impression of shiftiness. He glanced at Peter as Peter crossed the threshold, and at once looked away again.
"Evening, Wilkes," Peter said. "I've brought my brother-in-law along to try that draught bitter of yours."
Mr. Wilkes beamed upon them both. "Very glad to see any friend of yours here, sir. Two half-cans, sir? You shall have it." He took down a couple of pewter tankards from a shelf behind him, and drew two half-pints of frothing beer. Having supplied his patrons with this, he wiped clown the bar with a mechanical action, and said affably: "And how are you getting on up at the Priory, sir, if I may ask?"
"All right, thanks. We haven't seen your ghost yet. Wlicn does he usually show up?"
The smile faded. Mr. Wilkes looked at Peter rather queerly, and said in an altered voice: "I wouldn't joke about it, sir, not if I was you."
Charles emerged from his tankard. "Has my man Bowers been in here at all?" he demanded.
The landlord looked surprised; the small stranger, who had edged away a little when the newcomers first entered, shot a quick look at Charles.