men stood or sat about, examining papers or writing in books. One of them, seeing me approach the counter and probably noticing my diffident and greenhorn air, got off his stool, put his pen behind his ear, and came across with an almost fatherly solicitude on his fresh-coloured face.
"Can I see some responsible official?" I asked.
He half turned, indicating a man who wore braid on his closely buttoned tunic, and sat at a desk in the corner.
"Inspector, sir," he said. "Speak to him."
He lifted a hinged door in the counter, and I went across to the man in question. He looked up as I drew near, and gave me a swift glance from top to toe. I had a vague sense of thankfulness that I was well dressed.
"Yes!" he said.
I got close to him. Possibly I looked mysterious—anyway, I felt so.
"You know Mr. James Parslewe of Kelpieshaw, near Wooler?" I suggested.
"Yes!"
"Mr. Parslewe is staying at the North Eastern Station Hotel. I am staying there
