The girl returned with two sandwiches. Without either of the two Londoners noticing, Crook had poured two half-pints of mild and pushed them across the bar. “You look peaky,” he said. “Drink these off and eat on your way. Six doors down, to your left. Make sure you bring cash. The stables have your bags? Good, I’ve got two rooms for you. Nice to meet you, Mr. Lenox. Mr. Hilary. All will turn out well if you trust me. Clark, one more pint of bitter before you go back to work?”

With that their introduction to Edward Crook was over, and the two men looked at each other, shrugged, and turned away, both taking ravenous bites of their sandwiches before they left.

“What do you think?” asked Hilary as they walked down the street.

“He seems competent.”

“Fearfully so, I should have said.”

“The sort of chap we want on our side, rather than the other,” Lenox added.

“Yes, absolutely. By God, these sandwiches aren’t half bad, are they? Look, this must be the printer.”

CHAPTER SIX

Crook, it emerged, was a gloomy, blunt, and practical man; Lenox took to him straightaway. He was honest and fair and had a straightforward way of speaking that engendered in his listeners an instant trust. When that evening he introduced Lenox to the small circle of businessmen and shopkeepers who formed the local party committee, he didn’t heap praise on the detective’s head. He merely said that he thought they had a candidate who could ably replace Stoke, a candidate with sufficient funds to have his voice heard, a candidate willing to work hard, and a candidate who would be-beyond any doubt-a better representative of Stirrington’s interests in Parliament than Robert Roodle, the brewer and Conservative.

After they had returned from the printers that afternoon, Crook had described the situation.