Ashton I've often seen sitting in a particular corner, smoking their
cigars, and talking together. And--if it's of any importance--I saw
them talking like that, at the Grey Mare, the very evening that--that
Mr. Ashton died, Mr. Viner."

"What time was that?" asked Viner.

"About the usual time, sir--nine-thirty or so," replied Barleyfield. "I
generally look in about that time--nine-thirty to ten."

"Did you leave them talking there?" inquired Viner.

"They were there when I left, sir, at a quarter past ten," answered
Barleyfield. "Talking in their usual corner."

"And you say you don't know who this man is?"

"I don't! I know him by sight--but he's a comparatively recent comer to
the Grey Mare. I've noticed him for a year or so--not longer."

Viner glanced at the two ladies.

"I suppose you never heard Mr. Ashton mention the Grey Mare?" he asked.

"We never heard Mr. Ashton say anything about his movements," answered
Miss Wickham. "We used to wonder, sometimes, if he'd joined a club or if
he had friends that we knew nothing about."

"Well," said Viner, turning to the florist, "do you think you could take
me to the Grey Mare, Mr. Barleyfield?"