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Five minutes later a lamp was
lit in a room upon the first floor.
"It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the
Fighting Cock," said Holmes.
"The bar is on the other side."
"Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests.
Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at
this hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet
him there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try to
investigate this a little more closely."
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the
door of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes
struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him
chuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above
us was the lighted window.
"I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your
back and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can
manage."
An instant later, his feet were on my shoulders, but he was
hardly up before he was down again.
"Come, my friend," said he, "our day's work has been quite
long enough.


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