"Good-evening, Mr. Bartrell," said the Inspector. "May we come in for a moment on business?"
"Certainly, Mr. Inspector," said the landlord, who evidently knew my companion. "But isn't this rather late for a call. I hope there is nothing the matter?"
"Nothing much," returned the Inspector: "only we want to make a few inquiries about a man who was here to-night, and for whom we are looking."
"If that is so I'm afraid I must call my barman. I was not in the bar this evening. If you'll excuse me I'll go and bring him down. In the meantime make yourselves comfortable."
He left us to kick our heels in the hall while he went upstairs again. In about ten minutes, and just as my all-consuming impatience was well-nigh getting the better of me, he returned, bringing with him the sleepy barman.
"These gentlemen want some information about a man who was here to-night," the landlord said by way of introduction. "Perhaps you can give it?"
"What was he like, sir?" asked the barman of the Inspector. The latter, however, turned to me.
"Tall, slim, with a sallow complexion," I said, "black hair and very dark restless eyes. He came in here with the Hon. Sylvester Wetherell's coachman."
The man seemed to recollect him at once.
"I remember him," he said. "They sat in No. 5 down the passage there, and the man you mention ordered a nobbler of rum and a whisky."