“You, too? Good egg!” was the cry.
The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
“Where the deuce are you off to?” he demanded.
“To Steynholme—same as you, of course.”
“Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next few days, you’ll never know me again. I suppose you’ll be staying at the local inn—there’s only one of any repute in the place?”
“That’s so. I’ve got you. May I take it that you will reciprocate when the time comes?”
“Have I ever failed you?”
“No. We meet as strangers.”
Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest “writer up” in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both him and a shrewd news-editor.
The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each other. The big man registered as “Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina.” Peters ordered a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman. Mr. Franklin took more pains over the prospective meal.