Barrant found the inn at the dark end of a stone alley, with the sound of tipsy singing and shuffling feet coming through the half-open door.

He made his way up three granite steps into a side-entrance, catching a glimpse through a glass partition of shaggy red faces and pint pots floating in a fog of tobacco smoke.

A stout landlord leaned behind the bar watching his customers with the tolerant smile of a man who was making a living out of their merriment.

He straightened himself as he caught sight of Barrant, and opened the sliding window.

The detective inquired about the wagonette, and learnt that it had not yet arrived.
"The roouds is rough, and old Garge Crows takes his time," said the landlord, eyeing Barrant with a heavy stare.