The inn-keeper looked up, and something in the quiet eyes and weather-worn face awoke in Alastair a recollection. He had not seen the face before, but he had seen its like.
"You have a guest?" he said.
The man did not answer, and Alastair knew that no word or deed of his would compel an answer, if the man were unwilling.
"You have the sign," he said. "I, too, am of the Spoonbills. I seek Master Midwinter."
The inn-keeper straightened himself. "He shall be found," he said. "What message do I carry?"
"Say that he to whom he promised help on Otmoor now claims it. And stay, there are two weary cattle outside. Have them fed and stabled."
The man turned to go, but Alastair checked him.
"You have a guest?" he asked.
"He is now upstairs at food," was the answer given readily. "He feeds in his shirt, for he is all mucked and moiled with the roads."
"I have business with him, I and my friend. Let us be alone till Master Midwinter comes."