was playing; citizens were taking the air with their wives and children;
the chief highway of the town ran through it; on one side stood the
frescoed Rathhaus, and opposite to it there was a spacious inn. Wogan
drew up at the doorway and saw that the hall was encumbered with
baggage. "Gaydon would stop here," said he, and he dismounted. The
porter came forward and took his horse.

"I need a room," said Wogan, and he entered the house. There were people
going up and down the stairs. While he was unstrapping his valise in his
bedroom, a servant with an apron about his waist knocked at the door
and inquired whether he could help him.

"No," said Wogan; and he thought with more confidence than ever, "here,
to be sure, is where Gaydon would sleep."

He supped at the ordinary in the company of linen merchants and
travellers, and quite recovered his spirits. He smoked a pipe of tobacco
on a bench under the trees of the square, and giving an order that he
should be called at five went up to his bedroom.

There was a key in the lock of the door, which Wogan turned; he also
tilted a chair and wedged the handle. He opened the window and looked
out. His room was on the first floor and not very high from the ground.
A man might possibly climb through the window. Gaydon would assuredly
close the shutters and the window, so that no one could force an
entrance without noise. Wogan accordingly did what Gaydon would
assuredly have done, and when he blew out his candle found himself in
consequence in utter darkness. No glimmer of light was anywhere visible.
He had his habits like another, and one of them was to sleep without
blinds or curtains drawn. His present deflection from this habit made