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1862
Henry Crawford was waiting on his porch, smoking his silver tobacco pipe, when Reeves and Mortimer arrived at his house. He was still in his bathing suit, having just come out of a hot shower. Adjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles, he cast a sharp eye at Mortimer and then turned to greet the Sheriff. The Sheriff and Crawford had known each other ever since their younger days, having gone to the same school. Though they were old friends, it was nothing more than the pretense of familiarity. Crawford usually liked to spend his time alone at his office in the inn and when he was at home, he never entertained guests except for business deals. “So, what can I do for you gentlemen?” Crawford asked, reclining into his armchair. “Mr. Mortimer wants to talk to you about the happenings at the inn
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