"I ain't trying to insinooate nothing," said the postman. "It's my opinion as the Professor's a gentleman--a proper gentleman 'e is, and 'e always treated you a sight too well. If I'd been in 's shoes, you'd 'ave been out of it long ago. That's my opinion, Mister Andrew, and if you don't like it, you can shove it in your pipe and dam well smoke it." So saying, the postman emptied his pot of beer, and, buttoning his uniform, rose defiantly to his feet. Before the heated atmosphere had a chance to burst, however, the landlord again intervened, this time with the full majesty of law behind him. "One minute past ten!" he cried, snapping a huge watch which he had extracted from the depths of his waistcoat. "I'll be losin' my licence, standin' 'ere listenin' to your jokin'. Come along, George--get up the shutters." George, an aged, lop-sided gentleman, shuffled out from the bar, and the whole company, with the exception of the indignant and heavily breathing Mr. Andrew, rose reluctantly to their feet. There was a general feeling of disappointment that such a promising situation should have come to so tame a conclusion. Mr. Bates passed through the door with the rest into the darkness outside. Though it was not actually raining, only a shameless optimist could have described it as a fine night. A raw November mist brooded unpleasantly over everything, offering a dismal contrast to the warmth and brightness of the little bar-parlour. Under the circumstances, nobody stayed to gossip on the doorstep, even the thrilling topic of Mr. Andrew's resignation being mutually abandoned. There was a general turning up of coat-collars, the flare of a match, a "Good-night, Tom!"--"Comin' my way, Potter?" and all the late revellers clumped away to their respective homes--all of them, that is to say, except Mr. Bates. He, unfortunately, had no home to go to. He stood still, listening to the retreating footsteps. Then, with a faint sigh, he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to walk slowly back along the road in the direction from which he had arrived at the inn. He had covered nearly a quarter of a mile in this fashion when a few yards ahead the dull yellow blue of an oil lamp suddenly appeared through the mist. Mr. Bates stopped and began to peer anxiously through the gloom on his left. "Ought to be jest about here," he muttered, "if I ain't made a mistake." The shadowy outline of a white gate rewarded his efforts. He climbed carefully over it, and feeling his way by means of a wall that ran at right angles to the road, arrived at a low stone building, which, as far as could be seen in the darkness, bore the appearance of a discarded cowshed.