Mr. Tew beckoned the waiter.
"Ham and eggs and a cup of strong coffee; and let me have them as quick as possible. I must be on the road again in half an hour."
"'Am-an'-eggs--yessir--have 'em in a jiffy. Going far, sir, to-night, may I ask?"
"Only as far as Arkrigg."
"A dozen long miles, sir, and as nasty a bit o' road as any in the county, being nearly all up-hill and windin' in an' out among the moors--let alone its bein' such a favorite road with Captain Nightshade." Then, insinuatingly: "Better stay where you are, sir. Could put you up very comfortable. His Grace of Malvern stayed with us a night last month, and before goin' away he says, says he----"
"No, no," broke in Mr. Tew good-naturedly--waiters in our great-grandfathers' days were often privileged mortals--"it's not a bit of use your trying to tempt me. Home to-night I must get--highly important; and as for Captain Nightshade, he flies at higher game than the likes of me. If he were to strip me to the shirt, all I have would hardly fetch him the price of a decent dinner and a bottle of wine. So now for my ham and eggs."
Not a word of all this had escaped John Dyce, but his stolid face was absolutely devoid of expression. He had changed his position to the settle near the chimney-corner, and was sitting with one hand buried deep in his breeches pocket, while the other held his long pipe, his gaze meanwhile being contemplatively fixed on a corner of the well-smoked ceiling.
He had already paid his "shot," and he now put down his pipe, stood up, yawned, stretched himself, and then, after clapping his hat on his head, strode slowly out of the room. Passing the bar, now empty of customers, through the inner window of which he could see the plump landlady busy with her knitting-needles, he paused for a few moments at the top of the flight of broad shallow steps which led up to the front door. Like so many similar establishments in those days, the King's Arms Hotel formed three sides of a quadrangle, with the windows facing into it, the fourth side consisting of an open gateway large enough for a coach-and-four to be driven through with ease, having shops on either side, the windows of which fronted on the main street.
As John Dyce stood on the topmost step he looked to right and he looked to left. For a small provincial town the hour was growing late. In the inn yard no one was about. A light shone dimly through the stable window, and in one corner Mr. Tew's chaise, with two or three other vehicles, made a confused heap, dimly discernible. Half an hour later, with the arrival of the Comet, bound for Edinburgh, the whole place would wake up, as at the stroke of an enchanter's wand, to a brief spasm of feverish energy and excitement. Meanwhile somnolence reigned.
John Dyce, whistling under his breath, descended the steps and picked his way slowly in the direction of the stable, presumably in search of the ostler; but it was not till a full quarter of an hour later that he rode out of the inn yard, and, having crossed the market-place, took the road which led due north out of the town. The clock of the old church chimed the half-hour past ten as he left it behind. A crescent moon was sailing in a clear sky.