“He’s the proprietor of the place,” said Hilary as they drove through the town. “Apparently from a long-standing Stirrington family, much respected here.”

Lenox was observing what he could: maids stringing up laundry, a small but fair church, a slightly more bitter cold than London. “Any family?”

Hilary consulted his notes. “Wife, deceased. No children. Crook’s niece lives with him and keeps his house, a girl named Nettie.”

“What’s Crook’s political history?”

“He helped Stoke win-but as you know that was no great achievement. The Stoke name means a good deal in this area, and Stoke has run largely unopposed since he first came into office. Before either of our times, of course. Undistinguished but loyal.”

“So Crook hasn’t much experience?”

Hilary frowned. “I suppose not much, but we have firm knowledge of his stature within the community. Apparently there’s a consortium of shop and tavern owners who listen to his every word. Shop owners, Lenox, win elections of this rural sort.”

“Yes?”

Hilary laughed. “By God, you’re lucky to run in such a place. My seat”-he represented part of Liverpool-“took a good deal more money and a great deal more maneuvering than this one will.”

Soon they pulled up to the Queen’s Arms. It was a distinguished-looking public house, with whitewashed walls that had black beams running across them, giving it a rather Tudor feel. An ornately painted, and really rather beautiful, sign depicted Anne with a crown and a detailed image of the world beneath her foot. There were stables to the rear of the house, rooms upstairs, and, from what they saw through the windows, a spacious one-room bar below.

They went in and found a hot, roaring fire at one end and a decent trade for the time of day; in chalk on a board were lunch specials (lamb with potatoes, hearty beef stew, hot wine), and Lenox’s hunger returned to him with a growl. A pretty, busy girl was coming to and fro from the kitchen, while a massive, red-nosed gentleman stood behind the bar, pouring drinks with surprisingly deft hands. He had on a bottle green spencer jacket, and a dirty towel was slung over each shoulder. This, Lenox saw, was Mr. Crook.