The sea wind from the harbor, reeking of brine, beat in gusts against the wooden window of the sheriff's office.
Arthur half leaned against the window, a cigar between his fingers, its ember a dark red ring, pale grey smoke slowly unfurling.
The sheriff, a man past fifty, sat behind the large desk against the wall, wearing a navy single-breasted tailcoat whose brass buttons bore the red field and white horse of the Kent County arms; from the inner pocket of his dark brown corduroy waistcoat hung the chain of a pocket watch.
"The White Horse Arms of Kent County"
He was a decidedly old-fashioned country sheriff. Unlike his colleagues in town who had taken to wearing the fashionable silver-white wigs, he adhered to the local tradition of a hundred years and wore a broad-brimmed felt hat.
Nor was this his first encounter with Sir Arthur Hastings.
