It was cool, and so dark after the blazing sunshine that, for a moment, I could see nothing, though I heard a sound of stertorous breathing. When my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I saw that there was a man asleep by the little counter. He sat on a bench which ran along the wall, and his head was buried in his arms, which rested on a beer-stained table. By his side stood a bottle half full of whisky. Supposing him to be the landlord--and no engaging figure at that--I touched him on the shoulder. It was like springing a trap! Instantly he snatched away his arms and sat up. For a second sleep held him. Then it passed away like a breath on glass, and if ever I saw fear on a man's face I saw it then. He was dressed in a blue jersey and an alpaca coat, oil-stained and dirty. His hands were the hands of a mechanic, with grimy nails. But it was his face that held me. It was sleek and cunning. There was a curious mixture of refinement and wickedness. He seemed like a naturally sensitive man, whom circumstances, indulgence, or some special temptation, had led very deeply astray. I noted all this while he stared at me with a drooping jaw and bloodshot eyes. His skin had turned dead-white, like the belly of a fish, and whatever he was thinking I felt that I would not have that man's conscience for a million. "I want you," I said--they were the first words that came. He made an inarticulate noise. "You are the landlord, aren't you?" At that he gave a long breath and his rigidity relaxed. He snatched at the whisky bottle, poured some into a glass and drank it off neat. "Lord, how you startled me!" he said glibly. "I was far away--dreaming--and you frightened me out of my life!" It was my turn to be amazed, though I showed nothing. The fellow spoke with a cultivated voice and accent which were impossible to mistake. He was not what I had thought him. "I am very sorry," I said; "you must please excuse me. But I naturally thought ..." "Of course you did!" he said, and a civil but ugly smile came on his clever, unpleasant face. "As a matter of fact, Trewhella, the landlord, has just gone to the village for a few minutes. He asked me to keep house for him. He's almost due back now." Thanking him urbanely, I sat down, my mind working very quickly. He offered me some whisky, and though it was the last thing I wanted, I accepted after a show of reluctance. He was watching me out of the corners of his eyes the whole time. "Can you tell me," I said, with great openness of manner, "if I can get rooms here, or in Zerran village?" He became alert at once. "Rooms, to stay in, do you mean?" "Yes. I am an Oxford tutor, and I have a young foreign gentleman in my charge whom I am coaching. I want a quiet place for three or four weeks, and this seems ideal for the purpose." His face cleared. "I should imagine so," he replied. "I know Trewhella does let sometimes." "You live here?" I remarked, with polite indifference.