Towards evening he came to Stuttgart and rode through the Schloss Platz and along the Königstrasse. Wogan would not sleep there, since there the Duke of Würtemberg held his court, and in that court the Countess of Berg was very likely to have friends. He rode onwards through the valley along the banks of the Nesen brook until he came to its junction with the Neckar. A mile farther a wooden mill stood upon the river-bank, beyond the mill was a tavern, and beyond the tavern stood a few cottages. At some distance from the cottages along the road, Wogan could see a high brick wall, and over the top the chimneys and the slate roof of a large house. Wogan stopped at the tavern. It promised no particular comfort, it was a small dilapidated house; but it had the advantage that it was free from new paint. It seemed to Wogan, however, wellnigh useless to take precautions in the choice of a lodging; danger leaped at him from every quarter. For this last night he must trust to his luck; and besides there was the splash of the water falling over the mill-dam. It was always something to Wogan to fall asleep with that sound in his ears. He dismounted accordingly, and having ordered his supper asked for a room. "You will sleep here?" exclaimed his host. "I will at all events lie in bed," returned Wogan. The innkeeper took a lamp and led the way up a narrow winding stair. "Have a care, sir," said he; "the stairs are steep." "I prefer them steep." "I am afraid that I keep the light from you, but there is no room for two to walk abreast." "It is an advantage. I do not like to be jostled on the stairs." The landlord threw open a door at the top of the stairs. "The room is a garret," he said in apology. "So long as it has no cupboards it will serve my turn." "Ah! you do not like cupboards." "They fill a poor man with envy of those who have clothes to hang in them." Wogan ascertained that there were no cupboards. There was a key, too, in the lock, and a chest of drawers which could be moved very suitably in front of the door. "It is a good garret," said Wogan, laying down his bag upon a chair. "The window is small," continued the landlord. "One will be less likely to fall out," said Wogan. One would also, he thought, be less likely to climb in. He looked out of the window. It was a good height from the ground; there was no stanchion or projection in the wall, and it seemed impossible that a man could get his shoulders through the opening. Wogan opened the window to try it, and the sound of someone running came to his ears. "Oho!" said he, but he said it to himself, "here's a man in a mighty hurry." A mist was rising from the ground; the evening, too, was dark. Wogan could see no one in the road below, but he heard the footsteps diminishing into a faint patter. Then they ceased altogether. The man who ran was running in the direction of Stuttgart.