Stanton. Well, we haven't come
far; it won't take you long. Do you mind?"

"My dear Holmes, I am at your service."

Antony gave him a smile and was silent for a little, thinking.

"Is there another inn at Stanton--fairly close to the station?"

"The 'Plough and Horses'--just at the corner where the road goes up to
the station--is that the one you mean?"

"That would be the one. I suppose you could do with a drink, couldn't
you?"

"Rather!" said Bill, with a grin.

"Good. Then have one at the 'Plough and Horses.' Have two, if you like,
and talk to the landlord, or landlady, or whoever serves you. I want you
to find out if anybody stayed there on Monday night."

"Robert?" said Bill eagerly.

"I didn't say Robert," said Antony, smiling. "I just want you to find
out if they had a visitor who slept there on Monday night. A stranger.
If so, then any particulars you can get of him, without letting the
landlord know that you are interested--"

"Leave it to me," broke in Bill. "I know just what you want."

"Don't assume that it was Robert--or anybody else. Let them describe the
man to you. Don't influence them unconsciously by suggesting that he was
short or tall, or anything of that sort. Just get them talking. If it's
the landlord, you'd better stand him a drink or two."

"Right you are," said Bill confidently. "Where do I meet you again?"

"Probably at 'the George.' If you get there before me, you can order
dinner for eight o'clock. Anyhow we'll meet at eight, if not before."

"Good." He nodded to Antony and strode off back to Stanton again.

Antony stood watching him with a little smile at his enthusiasm. Then he
looked round slowly, as if in search of something. Suddenly he saw what
he wanted. Twenty yards farther on a lane wandered off to the left, and
there was a gate a little way up on the right-hand side of it. Antony
walked to the gate, filling his pipe as he went. Then he lit his pipe,
sat on the gate, and took his head in his hands.

"Now then," he said to himself, "let's begin at the beginning."

It was nearly eight o'clock when William Beverley, the famous
sleuth-hound, arrived, tired and dusty, at 'the George,' to find Antony,
cool and clean, standing bare-headed at the door, waiting for him.

"Is dinner ready?" were Bill's first words.

"Yes."

"Then I'll just have a wash. Lord, I'm tired."

"I never ought to have asked you," said Antony penitently.

"That's all right. I shan't be a mom