Mr Hoole clearly felt he had secured a bargain, for he hummed as he strode on short legs across the Market Place and smiled a tight, shiny-skinned smile of recognition at a policeman in uniform who was stolidly patrolling the rows of stalls.
Constable Cowdrey did not acknowledge Mr Hoole’s smile. Nor did he permit his eyes to meet those of one of the traders, a man who directed at him a challenging, contemptuous stare while he cut lengths of cloth for his customers.
Tucked behind his back, Constable Cowdrey’s hands protectively enclosed a packet of sausages.
His limp was almost unnoticeable.