Still, as in a dream, Bella found herself entering a snug old-fashioned public-house, and found herself smuggled into a little three-cornered room nearly opposite the bar of that establishment. Mr. Inspector achieved the smuggling of herself and John into this queer room, called Cosy in an inscription on the door, by entering in the narrow passage first in order, and suddenly turning round upon them with extended arms, as if they had been two sheep. The room was lighted for their reception.
“Now,” said Mr. Inspector to John, turning the gas lower; “I’ll mix with ’em in a casual way, and when I say identification, perhaps you’ll show yourself.”
John nodded, and Mr. Inspector went alone to the half-door of the bar. From the dim doorway of Cosy, within which Bella and her husband stood, they could see a comfortable little party of three persons sitting at supper in the bar, and could hear everything that was said.
The three persons were Miss Abbey and two male guests. To whom collectively, Mr. Inspector remarked that the weather was getting sharp for the time of year.
“It need be sharp to suit your wits, sir,” said Miss Abbey. “What have you got in hand now?”
“Thanking you for your compliment: not much, Miss Abbey,” was Mr. Inspector’s rejoinder.