Leaning against the bar, and apparently engaging Mr. Wilkes in desultory conversation, was his very antithesis, a thin, wiry little man, with a very sharp face and pale eyes that darted from object to object with a quickness that gave a disagreeable impression of shiftiness. He glanced at Peter as Peter crossed the threshold, and at once looked away again.

"Evening, Wilkes," Peter said. "I've brought my brother-in-law along to try that draught bitter of yours."

Mr. Wilkes beamed upon them both. "Very glad to see any friend of yours here, sir. Two half-cans, sir? You shall have it." He took down a couple of pewter tankards from a shelf behind him, and drew two half-pints of frothing beer. Having supplied his patrons with this, he wiped clown the bar with a mechanical action, and said affably: "And how are you getting on up at the Priory, sir, if I may ask?"

"All right, thanks. We haven't seen your ghost yet. Wlicn does he usually show up?"

The smile faded. Mr. Wilkes looked at Peter rather queerly, and said in an altered voice: "I wouldn't joke about it, sir, not if I was you."

Charles emerged from his tankard. "Has my man Bowers been in here at all?" he demanded.

The landlord looked surprised; the small stranger, who had edged away a little when the newcomers first entered, shot a quick look at Charles.

"Yes, sir, several times," Wilkes answered.

"I thought so," said Charles. "And did you tell him that the ghost prowled round the passages, and pawed all the doors?"

Wilkes seemed to draw back. "Has he heard it again?" he asked.

"Heard my eye!" Charles retorted. "All he heard was what you told him, and his own imagination."

Joking apart, Wilkes, you don't really believe in the thing, do you?" Peter asked.

The small man, who had looked for a moment as though he were going to say something, moved unobtrusively away to a seat by one of the windows, and fishing a crumpled newspaper from his pocket began to read it.