One of the men in the corner looked up. "You've not far to go," he observed. "Straight on through the town and then down the hill to the left. Maybe a matter of a mile and a half. You'll find the drive gates on your right."
I thanked him and invited him to join us in a drink, an offer which he accepted with cheerful alacrity. For a coroner he seemed a very genial person.
"Can I have a bedroom here for a few days?" inquired Billy casually.
"Oh yes, I think so, sir," replied the lady behind the bar. "I'll just call Mr. Martin."
She went out, returning a minute later with the landlord, a side-whiskered gentleman in shirt-sleeves.
Billy repeated his request, and, informing us that there was plenty of room in the house, our host conducted us out of the bar, and up a winding staircase to the landing above.
"This is a nice, bright room," he said, opening the door to the left. "Looks out on the main street, too—kind of cheerful like."
"That's good," said Billy. "There may be a dog-fight, or a runaway horse, or something—one never knows. I'll take it, anyhow."
"Can we have some tea?" I asked.
The smiling landlord nodded his head. "Certainly, sir; I'll have it sent into the dining-room. This way, sir."