Ahh, someone who gave a good answer, if not the correct or, rather, not detailed enough or what have you. Claire smiled and nodded approvingly, not that it mattered what she thought of the man. The socialite had nothing to say at the moment, she went back to studying the map quietly until there would be a time for her to be addressed by either man. Of course, that was not to say she would like to be ignored.

"I don't know Glaisdale that well, sir." He looked down at the map, but couldn't see anything that referred to the name 'Farris'. "My suggestion would be to talk to the people of Glaidsdale and drop the name Farris... see if it rings any bells." He was good at getting information out of people, alright.

"Well, perhaps not the well of local information I was hoping for but still, a damn sight better fit to the task than the last one." Quentin says wrapping his knuckles on the table. Reflecting that he had called Whitby a county earlier but he was wrong, they were in Yorkshire County, Whitby was just the Post Town for Glaisedale. "Very well, I'll give you a shot. We will go to Glaisdale and see how long it takes you to solve the riddle there. You will be compensated for your time regardless of success. Any objections?"

Claire looked up as the bigger man gave approval to the smaller, looking between the two and saying, "That is for certain." She was finally at the point where she was ready to move on from the topic of Mister Longbottom, so she didn't add any insults like she was ticking off inwardly. Horse's ass... dragon breath... cowardly cad... et cetera. The thoughts faded into others and she soon returned her gaze once more to the map which so fascinated her. Had she gotten herself in over her head? Probably.

"No, sir. That sounds good," Gareth said. Even if he would not be hired, he would still receive some payment, and, more importantly, he would have the start of what seemed to be a sensational story. It was the primary reason he had signed up.

The young reporter looked from Quentin to Claire. "That man must have made quite the impression... the bad sort..." Possibly the start of another story, though more likely a dime a dozen drunk. No reader was interested in hearing even more about drunk people, when they had the same drunks vomiting on their doorsteps and keeping them out of their sleep at night.

"A fine deduction." Quentin says with a chuckle. "Go make what preparations you need and be back here within two hours. We will take a carriage to Glaisdale on your return." This is addressed to both of them and it is clearly dismissal.

She regarded the reporter with a curious gaze for perhaps a moment, glad that Quentin interjected so she could merely nod and give a slight smile. Then she gave a shrug with one shoulder, a noncomittal reply. Then they were being dismissed and she straightened her spine. "I'll be seeing you both soon," she murmured before making her way toward the exit.

Gareth had hoped that they could make the trip the next morning. It seemed to him that this was going to be a long night, traveling all the way to bloody Glaisdale and back. Would they have to wait for the morning train back? What a pain. But he just nodded. It was hardly the first time he would do a 24 hours job, since sometimes the more sensational things for him to report on happened in darkened alleys and yards under the far off rays of a street lantern. "Very well, until then," he said, letting the lady go first and watching her as he made his way out. She would make an interesting character.

The road from Whitby to Glaisdale was well trodden and at a trot the carriage would see them to the town in just over an hour. So that was Quentin's selected method of travel the large lord secures this, potential lodgings in Glaisdale if required, and his coat and hat. With this done all that was left to do was to wait for his two young companions.

She returned later to the establishment with only a few of her belongings that she thought would be essential for a treasure hunt. Claire wore trousers now, for gowns were impractical, she thought, at least for something like this. The redhead had whatever she needed in the messenger bag she carried over her shoulder, including a change of clothing and things like paper and pencil to draw with. She wandered through the crowd until she spotted Quentin and headed his way.