Robin checked his horse before a man whose face seemed kindly, and who saluted courteously the fine gentleman who looked about with such an air.
"My horse is dead-spent," he said curtly. "Is there an inn here where my man and I can find lodging?"
The man shook his head, looking at the horse compassionately. He had the air of a groom about him.
"I fear not, sir, not within five miles; at least, not with a room to spare."
"This is Chartley, is it not?" asked the priest, noticing that the next man, too, was listening.
"Aye, sir."
"Can you tell me if my friend Mr. Bourgoign lodges in the house, or without the gates?"
"Mr. Bourgoign, sir? A friend of yours?"
"I hope so," said Robin, smiling, and keeping at least within the letter of truth.
The man mused a moment.