With a little grunt of satisfaction Mr. Bascombe settled himself down upon the article in question. His enjoyment of its comfortable cushions was heightened by the remembrance of the hard wooden stool which for five years had constituted his only form of sitting accommodation. Half closing his eyes, he leaned back in an attitude of luxurious abandonment. There was no one in the lounge beside himself, the only sound that reached him being a faint murmur of voices from the bar beyond varied once by the sharp popping of a cork. At the latter noise a slow smile crept over the convict's face, and once more he thoughtfully passed his tongue across his lips. His solitude was broken by the entrance of the landlord, a cheery-looking little man with grey side-whiskers and a slight stammer. "G-good morning, sir," he began; "sorry to have k-kept you waiting." "That's all right," replied Mr. Bascombe graciously. "I want to know if you can let me have a room." "Oh, yes, sir--n-no difficulty about that. Just for the night, or will you be staying for a f-f-few days?" "I'm in no hurry," returned Mr. Bascombe, stretching himself contentedly; then, thinking that perhaps he ought to be more explicit, he added with a touch of native humour, "It's pleasant to to be in a comfortable hotel again after what I've had to put up with lately." "Indeed, sir!" said the landlord. "Perhaps you're on a w-w-walking tour?" He looked round as though expecting to see the inevitable knapsack. Mr. Bascombe interpreted the glance correctly. "Yes," he said, "that's it. I've got my baggage coming on by train." The landlord nodded his head. "Nothing like walking light," he commented. "You're right," said Mr. Bascombe, rising to his feet. "By the way, can I have something to eat? It's a bit early, I know, but the fact is I didn't have much of a breakfast this morning." "Why, c-certainly, sir, of course. Lunch won't be ready till one o'clock, but you can have anything c-c-cold, or a chop, or s-s-steak, if you pre-prefer it." "Ah! a steak will do me proud," said Mr. Bascombe with enthusiasm. "A big 'un for choice, with plenty of potatoes." "Anything to drink, sir?" Mr. Bascombe paused a moment so as to let the full beauty of the question sink into his understanding. Then he replied playfully: "Well, I think a drop of Burgundy might help it down." The landlord, whose previous experience of touring clergymen had led him to regard them as a joyless and unprofitable brood, was delighted at the mingled geniality and broad-mindedness of his guest. With a "Certainly, sir; I'll fetch it you myself," he led the way across the lounge and threw open the door of the coffee-room. "Perhaps you'd like to g-go to your room first, sir?" he suggested. Mr. Bascombe cast a contemplative look at his hands. "I could do with a wash, couldn't I?" he admitted cheerfully. "Dirty work climbing these hills."