The pub owner was present, just like most days he used the midday when nobody came by to clean and do inventory and stuff like that. At the moment that the strangers entered the closed but not locked door he was sweeping the wooden floor. The wooden chairs were put upside down on the few tables. Even though this was just a village pub, it was remarkably clean. The pub owner did everything himself. His wife was a seamstress and busy enough as it is with the kids. The village people knew better than to dare and put down a glass somewhere without a coaster underneath. The atmosphere in the pub was a little dark but cosy. During the day the sun lit up the shiny wood and all the ornaments and usual stuff that you find in a typical pub. In the evenings various dimmed lamps caused the familiar atmosphere that made you want to stay just a little longer.<br/>The little golden bell above the door tingled with a clear sound as the door opened. The owner looked up from his cleaning at the strangers with the covered faces. Having lived in Baskerville for all his live, he could recognise everyone even with their faces covered. Thus, it was immediately clear to him that the two that had just entered his pub were by no means anyone he has ever met before. Normally if one of the villagers came by during the day he would put away the broom before saying anything. Now, he kept a loose grip on it.<br/>“How can I help you?” he asked in a calm friendly tone, yet a clear distance could also be heard that certainly wouldn’t have been there in a conversation with a villager.