"Yes, through the coffee-room." Peter opened a door which led into a dark little passage, with kitchens giving on to it. At the end of the passage was the coffee-room, and they walked through this to the frosted glass door that opened into the taproom itself.
There was no one but Spindle in the taproom when they entered, but they had hardly given their orders when Wilkes came in from his private sanctum, and bade them a cheery good morning.
"Hullo, Wilkes! Just up?" Peter twitted him.
The landlord smiled good humouredly. "Now, sir, now! You will have your joke. Two half-cans was it? Come on, Spindle, look alive! There you are, sir!" He seized the tankards from his henchman, and planked them down in front of his guests.
"Very quiet this morning, aren't you?" Charles said.
"Well, we're only just open, sir. They'll start coming in presently. I see you've been fishing. Bad weather for it today."
"Rotten. No luck at all." Charles took a draught of beer. "How's business with you?"
"So-so, sir, so-so. We get a fair sprinkling of car people in to lunch, but there's not many as stays the night."
"I see Mr. Strange is still here."
"Yes, sir, he's here. And there's Miss Crowslay and Miss Williams, down for their usual fortnight, and Mr. Ffolliot. Artists, sir, great place for artists and such-like, this is."