The landlady uttered an expression of distress, and opening a
side-door, motioned them to step into her parlour.

"Which of them is it?" she asked anxiously. "There's two
--came together last night, they did--a tall one and a short
one. Dear, dear me!--is it a bad accident, now, inspector?"

"The man's dead, ma'am," replied Mitchington grimly. "And we
want to know who he is. Have you got his name--and the other
gentleman's?"

Mrs. Partingley uttered another exclamation of distress and
astonishment, lifting her plump hands in horror. But her
business faculties remained alive, and she made haste to
produce a big visitors' book and to spread it open before her
callers.

"There it is!" she said, pointing to the two last entries.
"That's the short gentleman's name--Mr. John Braden, London.
And that's the tall one's--Mr. Christopher Dellingham--also
London. Tourists, of course--we've never seen either of them
before."

"Came together, you say, Mrs. Partingley?" asked Mitchington.
"When was that, now?"

"Just before dinner, last night," answered the landlady.
"They'd evidently come in by the London train--that gets in at
six-forty, as you know. They came here together, and they'd