It was after seven when he returned, his boots covered with mud, and his haversack bulging with a miscellaneous collection of plants. A fine drizzle had come on during the afternoon, and he was very wet. But trifles like these never dampened his spirits, and he made remarkable headway with the cold beef and pickles produced for his delectation. His meal over, he made his way to the smoking-room fire, and, spreading a newspaper on the table, began to examine the contents of his haversack. The rain, which by this time was falling steadily, seemed to have kept the regular customers of the Cross Keys at home. The smoking-room was empty, but for Mr. Ludgrove; and the landlord, after leaning idly against the bar at one end of the room, and staring inquisitively at his solitary guest, could restrain his curiosity no longer. Lifting the flap, he walked across the room, with the ostensible object of making up the fire. Mr. Ludgrove looked up at his approach. “Good evening,” he said pleasantly. “Good evening, sir,” replied the landlord, glancing at the plants laid out on the newspaper. “You’ve been having a walk round the country this afternoon, then.” “Yes, and a very pleasant country it is for one of my interests,” said Mr. Ludgrove. “I have secured several very interesting specimens, and I hope to find others to-morrow.” “Ah!” exclaimed the landlord. “Flowers and that aren’t much in my line. I’ve got a bit of garden, but it’s mostly vegetables. Pity the rain came on like it did.” “Oh, I don’t mind the rain,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “Walking about the country as I do, I am compelled to take the weather as it comes. I can only get away from London during the week-ends.” “I see you come from London by what you wrote in the book,” said the landlord slowly. “It’s Praed Street you lives in, isn’t it?” Mr. Ludgrove smiled. The eagerness in the landlord’s voice was very transparent. “Won’t you sit down and have a drink with me?” he said. “Yes, I live in Praed Street. Perhaps you saw in the paper that we had some very unusual happenings there a few weeks ago.” “I did, sir, and it was seeing you came from there made me think of them,” replied the landlord. He went back to the bar and got the drinks, which he brought to the fire. It immediately appeared that his interest in crime, as reported in the newspapers, was at least as keen as that of the late Mr. Tovey. But never before had it been his fortune to meet one who had personally known the victims of two unsolved murders.