The two police officers had almost finished eating, quickly placed the tin plate down, pulled out a few pennies and tossed them into the vendor's hands, while walking away and still bantering with lowered voices. Their boots stepped on the damp stone path, splashing a few tiny droplets, disappearing into the mist shortly.
On the other side of the stall, there was an unnoticed long wooden bench where an ordinary-looking gentleman was sitting.
He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and the buttons of his wool coat were fastened neatly from top to bottom, with a polished cane placed by his feet.
He quietly sipped a cup of tea that had long gone cold, then slowly placed the tea cup down, tapping his fingers on the porcelain edge, producing a slight sound.
The vendor peeked over, recognized him as the regular Mr. Hastings, and grinned without saying anything, casually picked up a freshly baked slice of bread and carried it over.
