The File on H. Read Online Free PDF Page B

what was being said about the newcomers accommodation. And what he heard was really odd. The foreigners were explaining quite openly that notwithstanding the pleasure of present company, they had no intention of hanging about in the town, No, they weren’t off to any other town, certainly not to any other area; they were going to stay in this zone, for sure, but not in the town of N----, and anyway, they wanted to have as little as possible to do with towns. They would lodge in a wayside inn far from any other houses, a remote hostelry or, more exactly, one of those coach houses located where major routes intersect. If the cold weather had not already come on, they would have gone up into the highlands to carry out their research but as the hills were now deep in snow, they would have to settle for a lodging at the foot, beside the old highway, as they said, one of the places where traveling singers usually put up. In fact, they had already pinpointed the inn they had in mind, and it was not very far away.
    â€œAh! You mean the Cross Inn,” the soapmaker butted in, “It’s beside the main road, about halfway between Shkodér and Tirana,”
    â€œNay, sir,” replied Max Ross, “Tis called the Inn of the Bone of the Buffalo, or, for short, Buffalo Inn.”
    â€œOh,” said the postmaster “but that’s a very old inn, and so far away from anything that even telegrams take four days to get there.”
    The Irishmen let out a gentle laugh.
    â€œWe saw it on the chart,’ said Bill “It is the place that best befits our task.
    â€œObviously!” the governor muttered to himself, “You couldn’t imagine a better place for your secret machinations!”
    â€œSo you have also brought maps along with you” he inquired aloud.
    â€œAye, a goodly number. And all the epic areas are marked."
    Wonderful, thought the governor. They are not even bothering to pretend anymore. He was tempted to ask them what these epic areas were but chose instead to pretend not to have noticed the term.
    â€œWhere is this Buffalo Inn, then?” Daisy asked the postmaster’s wife in a whisper.
    â€œHow can I explain? I don’t remember very well. I only went there once, with Petro, but it’s such a tumbledown place it makes you shiver just to see it — it looks like a heap of ruins.”
    â€œUnless I am mistaken,” the governor interjected, “it is, with the exception of the Inn of the Two Roberts, in central Albania, the oldest house of its kind and has been in existence since the Middle Ages.”
    â€œAnd is it very far from here?”
    â€œNo, not really. An hour’s drive in a cart, I guess.”
    Daisy felt warmer. An hour in a horse-drawn carriage wasn’t the end of the world. The conversation around the foreigners had got livelier.
    â€œYou really are amazing,
”
Mr. Rrok was saying, with his face right up to theirs, smiling under their noses. “Myself, for instance, I deal in soap, and I reckon I understand a bit about the world insofar as well, we all have something to do with soap, don’t we, all day long, from dawn to dusk. So, as a result, when I think about it, I say to myself, Soap is important, universal, and it seems everybody else thinks that way too. Because in fact you know it’s not a joke, it’s something that has to do with the body. There’s soap for shampoo, there’s toilet soap that does its job well or not so well, aside from all questions of scent, not to mention any other qualities or defects, for instance excessive acidity, which can be harmful, as you may well understand, to the delicate skins of ladies, especially when they wash their private … Ha! So anyway, I can have the illusion that everyone thinks of soap just like I do. But then along come two gentlemen like you, who are not in the least interested in my bars of soap and who have got it into their heads to come