scramble on to the back of the coach , jump off when it slowed down for the hubwards gate , pick up the tin chest he 'd got stashed in the beams of the old stable in lobbin clout , get changed and adjust his face , stroll across the city to have a coffee in that shop near the main watch house , keep an eye on the clacks traffic for a while , stroll over to hen and chickens court where he had another trunk stored with 'i do n't know ' jack , get changed , leave with his little bag and his tweed cap ( which he 'd change for the old brown bowler in the bag in some alley , just in case jack had a sudden attack of memory brought on by excessive money ) , and he 'd mosey down to the slaughterhouse district and step into the persona of jeff the drover and hang out in the huge fetid bar of the butcher 's eagle , which was where the drovers traditionally damped down the road dust .