He went downstairs into the common room and supped off a smoked ham and
a bottle of execrable wine. While he ate a man came in and sat him down
by the fire. The man had a hot, flushed face, and when he saluted Wogan
he could hardly speak.

"You have been running," said Wogan, politely.

"Sir, running is a poor man's overcoat for a chilly evening; besides it
helps me to pay with patience the price of wine for vinegar;" and the
fellow called the landlord.

Presently two other men entered, and taking a seat by the fire chatted
together as though much absorbed in their private business. These two
men wore swords.

"You have a good trade," said Wogan to the landlord.

"The mill brings me custom."

The door opened as the landlord spoke, and a big loud-voiced man
cheerily wished the company good evening. The two companions at the fire
paid no heed to the civility; the third, who had now quite recovered his
breath, replied to it. Wogan pushed his plate away and called for a
pipe. He thought it might perhaps prove well worth his while to study
his landlord's clients before he retired up those narrow stairs. The
four men gave no sign of any common agreement, nor were they at all
curious as to Wogan. If they spoke at all, they spoke as strangers
speak. But while Wogan was smoking his first pipe a fifth man entered,
and he just gave one quick glance at Wogan. Wogan behind a cloud of
tobacco-smoke saw the movement of the head and detected the look. It