In effect, Mr.Franklin impressed the landlord as a man of taste and ample means.
Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room, but they met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs anent his carryin's on in Knoleworth the previous night.
Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitues had the place to themselves.
Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose exactly, so he gave the conversation the right twist.
"I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this sensational murder ?" he said.
Hobbs took refuge in a glass of beer.

Siddle gazed contemplatively at his neat boots.

Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the stranger, and summing him up as a detective, answered brusquely: "The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse.

Three days gone, and nothing done!" "What murder are you discussing, may I ask ?" put in Franklin.
Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly mobile face.
"Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven't heard of the Steynholme murder ?" he gasped.
"I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I landed in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though abyssmal, is pardonable.

Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more interested in pedigree horses than in vulgar criminals." Peters explained fluently.