Won't you go inside ?" His voice was the best part of him; soft and gentle, with a cultivated accent which suggested that the speaker had known a different environment at some time or other.
"Show us into a private room," said Mr.Cromering.
The innkeeper escorted the party along the passage, and took them into a room with a low ceiling and sanded floor, smelling of tobacco, explaining, as he placed chairs, that it was the bar parlour, but they would be quiet and free from interruption in it, because he had closed the inn that day in anticipation of the police visit.
"Quite right--very proper," said the chief constable.
"Will you and the other gentlemen take any refreshment, after your journey ?" suggested the innkeeper.

"I'm afraid the resources of the inn are small, but there is some excellent old brandy." He stretched out an arm towards the bell rope behind him.

Colwyn noticed that his hand was long and thin and yellow--a skeleton claw covered with parchment.
"Never mind the brandy just now," said Mr.Cromering, taking on himself to refuse on behalf of his companions the proffered refreshment.

"We have much to do and it will be time enough for refreshments afterwards.
We will view the body first, and make inquiries after.

Where is the body, Benson ?" "Upstairs, sir." "Take us to the room." The innkeeper led the way upstairs along a dark and narrow passage.