SCARHAVEN KEEP

 BY J. S. FLETCHER

 1922

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I WANTED AT REHEARSAL II GREY ROOK AND GREY SEA III THE MAN WHO KNEW SOMETHING IV THE ESTATE AGENT V THE GREYLE HISTORY VI THE LEADING LADY VII LEFT ON GUARD VIII RIGHT OF WAY IX HOBKIN'S HOLE X THE INVALID CURATE XI BENEATH THE BRAMBLES XII GOOD MEN AND TRUE XIII MR. DENNIE XIV BY PRIVATE TREATY XV THE CABLEGRAM FROM NEW YORK XVI IN TOUCH WITH THE MISSING XVII THE OLD PLAYBILL XVIII THE LIE ON THE TOMBSTONE XIX THE STEAM YACHT XX THE COURTEOUS CAPTAIN XXI MAROONED XXII THE OLD HAND XXIII THE YACHT COMES BACK XXIV THE TORPEDO-BOAT DESTROYER XXV THE SQUIRE XXVI THE REAVER'S GLEN XXVII THE PEEL TOWERXXVIII THE FOOTPRINTS XXIX SCARVELL'S CUT XXX THE GREENGROCER'S CART XXXI AMBASSADRESS EXTRAORDINARY

CHAPTER I

WANTED AT REHEARSAL

Jerramy, thirty years' stage-door keeper at the Theatre Royal, Norcaster, had come to regard each successive Monday morning as a time for therenewal of old acquaintance. For at any rate forty-six weeks of thefifty-two, theatrical companies came and went at Norcaster with unfailingregularity. The company which presented itself for patronage in the firstweek of April in one year was almost certain to present itself again inthe corresponding week of the next year. Sometimes new faces came withit, but as a rule the same old favourites showed themselves for a goodmany years in succession. And every actor and actress who came toNorcaster knew Jerramy. He was the first official person encountered onentering upon the business of the week. He it was who handed out thelittle bundles of letters and papers, who exchanged the first greetings, of whom one could make useful inquiries, who always knew exactly whatadvice to give about lodgings and landladies. From noon onwards ofMondays, when the newcomers began to arrive at the theatre for thecustomary one o'clock call for rehearsal, Jerramy was invariably employedin hearing that he didn't look a day older, and was as blooming as ever, and sure to last another thirty years, and his reception alwaysculminated in a hearty handshake and genial greeting from the great manof the company, who, of course, after the fashion of magnates, alwaysturned up at the end of the irregular procession, and was not seldom latefor the fixture which he himself had made. 

At a quarter past one of a certain Monday afternoon in the course of asunny October, Jerramy leaned over the half-door of his sanctum inconversation with an anxious-eyed man who for the past ten minutes hadhung about in the restless fashion peculiar to those who are waiting forsomebody. He had looked up the street and down the street a dozen times;he had pulled out his watch and compared it with the clock of aneighbouring church almost as often; he had several times gone up thedark passage which led to the dressing-rooms, and had come back againlooking more perplexed than ever. The fact was that he was the businessmanager of the great Mr. Bassett Oliver, who was opening for the week atNorcaster in his latest success, and who, not quite satisfied with theway in which a particular bit of it was being played called a specialrehearsal for a quarter to one. Everything and everybody was ready forthat rehearsal, but the great man himself had not arrived. Now Mr. Bassett Oliver, as every man well knew who ever had dealings with him, was not one of the irregular and unpunctual order; on the contrary, hewas a very martinet as regarded rule, precision and system; moreover, healways did what he expected each member of his company to do. Thereforehis non-arrival, his half hour of irregularity, seemed all the moreextraordinary. 

"Never knew him to be late before--never!" exclaimed the businessmanager, impatiently pulling out his watch for the twentieth time. "Notin all my ten years' experience of him--not once. "

"I suppose you've seen him this morning, Mr. Stafford?" inquired Jerramy. "He's in the town, of course?"

"I suppose he's in the town, " answered Mr. Stafford. "I suppose he's athis old quarters--the 'Angel. ' But I haven't seen him; neither hadRothwell--we've both been too busy to call there. I expect he came on tothe 'Angel' from Northborough yesterday. "

Jerramy opened the half-door, and going out to the end of the passage, looked up and down the street. 

"There's a taxi-cab coming round the corner now, " he announced presently. "Coming quick, too--I should think he's in it. "

The business manager bustled out to the pavement as the cab came to ahalt. But instead of the fine face and distinguished presence of Mr. Bassett Oliver, he found himself confronting a young man who looked likea well-set-up subaltern, or a cricket-and-football loving undergraduate;a somewhat shy, rather nervous young man, scrupulously groomed, andneatly attired in tweeds, who, at sight of the two men on the pavement, immediately produced a card-case. 

"Mr. Bassett Oliver?" he said inquiringly. "Is he here? I--I've got anappointment with him for one o'clock, and I'm sorry I'm late--my train--"

"Mr. Oliver is not here yet, " broke in Stafford. "He's late, too--unaccountably late, for him. An appointment, you say?"

He was looking the stranger over as he spoke, taking him for somestage-struck youth who had probably persuaded the good-natured actor togive him an interview. His expression changed, however; as he glanced atthe card which the young man handed over, and he started a little andheld out his hand with a smile. 

"Oh!--Mr. Copplestone?" he exclaimed. "How do you do? My name'sStafford--I'm Mr. Oliver's business manager. So he made anappointment with you, did he--here, today? Wants to see you aboutyour play, of course. "

Again he looked at the newcomer with a smiling interest, thinkingsecretly that he was a very youthful and ingenuous being to have writtena play which Bassett Oliver, a shrewd critic, and by no means easy toplease, had been eager to accept, and was about to produce. Mr. RichardCopplestone, seen in the flesh, looked very young indeed, and veryunlike anything in the shape of a professional author. In fact he verymuch reminded Stafford of the fine and healthy young man whom one seeson the playing fields, and certainly does not associate with pen andink. That he was not much used to the world on whose edge he just thenstood Stafford gathered from a boyish trick of blushing through the tanof his cheeks. 

"I got a wire from Mr. Oliver yesterday--Sunday, " replied Mr. Copplestone. "I ought to have had it in the morning, I suppose, but I'dgone out for the day, you know--gone out early. So I didn't find it untilI got back to my rooms late at night. I got the next train I could fromKing's Cross, and it was late getting in here. "

"Then you've practically been travelling all night?" remarked Stafford. "Well, Mr. Oliver hasn't turned up--most unusual for him. I don't knowwhere--" Just then another man came hurrying down the passage from thedressing-rooms, calling the business manager by name. 

"I say, Stafford!" he exclaimed, as he emerged on the street. "This is aqueer thing!--I'm sure there's something wrong. I've just rung up the'Angel' hotel. Oliver hasn't turned up there! His rooms were all readyfor him as usual yesterday, but he never came. They've neither seen norheard of him. Did you see him yesterday?"

"No!" replied Stafford. "I didn't. Never seen him since last thingSaturday night at Northborough. He ordered this rehearsal for one--no, aquarter to one, here, today. But somebody must have seen him yesterday. Where's his dresser--where's Hackett?"

"Hackett's inside, " said the other man. "He hasn't seen him either, sinceSaturday night. Hackett has friends living in these parts--he went off tosee them early yesterday morning, from Northborough, and he's only justcome. So he hasn't seen Oliver, and doesn't know anything about him; heexpected, of course, to find him here. "

Stafford turned with a wave of the hand towards Copplestone. 

"So did this gentleman, " he said. "Mr. Copplestone, this is ourstage-manager, Mr. Rothwell. Rothwell, this is Mr. Richard Copplestone, author of the new play that Mr. Oliver's going to produce next month. Mr. Copplestone got a wire from him yesterday, asking him to come here todayat one o'clock, He's travelled all night to get here. "

"Where was the wire sent from?" asked Rothwell, a sharp-eyed, keen-looking man, who, like Stafford, was obviously interested in the newauthor's boyish appearance. "And when?"

Copplestone drew some letters and papers from his pocket and selectedone. "That's it, " he said. "There you are--sent off from Northborough atnine-thirty, yesterday morning--Sunday. "

"Well, then he was at Northborough at that time, " remarked Rothwell. "Look here, Stafford, we'd better telephone to Northborough, to hishotel. The 'Golden Apple, ' wasn't it?"

"No good, " replied Stafford, shaking his head. "The 'Golden Apple' isn'ton the 'phone--old-fashioned place. We'd better wire. "

"Too slow, " said Rothwell. "We'll telephone to the theatre there, and askthem to step across and make inquiries. Come on!--let's do it at once. "

He hurried inside again, and Stafford turned to Copplestone. 

"Better send your cab away and come inside until we get some news, " hesaid. "Let Jerramy take your things into his sanctum--he'll keep an eyeon them till you want them--I suppose you'll stop at the 'Angel' withOliver. Look here!" he went on, turning to the cab driver, "just you waita bit--I might want you; wait ten minutes, anyway. Come in, Mr. Copplestone. "

Copplestone followed the business manager up the passage to adressing-room, in which a little elderly man was engaged in unpackingtrunks and dress-baskets. He looked up expectantly at the sound offootsteps; then looked down again at the work in hand and went silentlyon with it. 

"This is Hackett, Mr. Oliver's dresser, " said Stafford. "Been withhim--how long, Hackett?"

"Twenty years next January, Mr. Stafford, " answered the dresser quietly. 

"Ever known Mr. Oliver late like this?" inquired Stafford. 

"Never, sir! There's something wrong, " replied Hackett. "I'm sure of it. I feel it! You ought to go and look for him, some of you gentlemen. "

"Where?" asked Stafford. "We don't know anything about him. He's not cometo the 'Angel, ' as he ought to have done, yesterday. I believe you're thelast person who saw him, Hackett. Aren't you, now?"

"I saw him at the 'Golden Apple' at Northborough at twelve o'clockSaturday night, sir, " answered Hackett. "I took a bag of his to his roomsthere. He was all right then. He knew I was going off first thing nextmorning to see an uncle of mine who's a farmer on the coast between hereand Northborough, and he told me he shouldn't want me until one o'clocktoday. So of course, I came straight here to the theatre--I didn't callin at the 'Angel' at all this morning. "

"Did he say anything about his own movements yesterday?" asked Stafford. "Did he tell you that he was going anywhere?"

"Not a word, Mr. Stafford, " replied Hackett. "But you know his habits aswell as I do. "

"Just so, " agreed Stafford. "Mr. Oliver, " he continued, turning toCopplestone, "is a great lover of outdoor life. On Sundays, when we'retravelling from one town to another, he likes to do the journey bymotor--alone. In a case like this, where the two towns are not very farapart, it's his practice to find out if there's any particular beautyspot or place of interest between them, and to spend his Sunday there. Idaresay that's what he did yesterday. You see, all last week we were atNorthborough. That, like Norcaster, is a coast town--there's fifty milesbetween them. If he followed out his usual plan he'd probably hire amotor-car and follow the coast-road, and if he came to any place that wasof special interest, he'd stop there. But--in the usual way ofthings--he'd have turned up at his rooms at the 'Angel' hotel here lastnight. He didn't--and he hasn't turned up here, either. So where is he?"

"Have you made inquiries of the company, Mr. Stafford?" asked Hackett. "Most of 'em wander about a bit of a Sunday--they might have seen him. "

"Good idea!" agreed Stafford. He beckoned Copplestone to follow him onto the stage, where the members of the company sat or stood about ingroups, each conscious that something unusual had occurred. "It's reallya queer, and perhaps a serious thing, " he whispered as he steered hiscompanion through a maze of scenery. "And if Oliver doesn't turn up, weshall be in a fine mess. Of course, there's an understudy for his part, but--I say!" he went on, as they stepped upon the stage, "Have any of youseen Mr. Oliver, anywhere, since Saturday night? Can anybody tellanything about him--anything at all? Because--it's useless to deny thefact--he's not come here, and he's not come to town at all, so far as weknow. So--"

Rothwell came hurrying on to the stage from the opposite wings. Hehastened across to Stafford and drew him and Copplestone a little aside. 

"I've heard from Northborough, " he Said. "I 'phoned Waters, the managerthere, to run across to the 'Golden Apple' and make inquiries. The'Golden Apple' people say that Oliver left there at eleven o'clockyesterday morning. He was alone. He simply walked out of the hotel. Andthey know nothing more. "

CHAPTER II

GREY ROCK AND GREY SEA

The three men stood for a while silently looking at each other. Copplestone, as a stranger, secretly wondered why the two managers seemedso concerned; to him a delay of half an hour in keeping an appointmentdid not appear to be quite as serious as they evidently considered it. But he had never met Bassett Oliver, and knew nothing of his ways; heonly began to comprehend matters when Rothwell turned to Stafford with anair of decision. 

"Look here!" he said. "You'd better go and make inquiry at Northborough. See if you can track him. Something must be wrong--perhaps seriouslywrong. You don't quite understand, do you, Mr. Copplestone?" he went on, giving the younger man a sharp glance. "You see, we know Mr. Oliver sowell--we've both been with him a good many years. He's a model of system, regularity, punctuality, and all the rest of it. In the ordinary courseof events, wherever he spent yesterday, he'd have been sure to turn up athis rooms at the 'Angel' hotel last night, and he'd have walked in herethis morning at half-past twelve. As he hasn't done either, why, then, something unusual has happened. Stafford, you'd better get a move on. "

"Wait a minute, " said Stafford. He turned again to the groups behind him, repeating his question. 

"Has anybody anything to tell?" he asked anxiously. "We've just heardthat Mr. Oliver left his hotel at Northborough yesterday morning ateleven o'clock, alone, walking. Has anybody any idea of any project, anyexcursion, that he had in mind?"

An elderly man who had been in conversation with the leading ladystepped forward. 

"I was talking to Oliver about the coast scenery between here andNorthborough the other day--Friday, " he remarked. "He'd never seen it--Itold him I used to know it pretty well once. He said he'd try and seesomething of it on Sunday--yesterday, you know. And, I say--" here hecame closer to the two managers and lowered his voice--"that coast isvery wild, lonely, and a good bit dangerous--sharp and precipitouscliffs. Eh?"

Rothwell clapped a hand on Stafford's arm. 

"You'd really better be off to Northborough, " he said with decision. "You're sure to come across traces of him. Go to the 'GoldenApple'--then the station. Wire or telephone me--here. Of course, thisrehearsal's off. About this evening--oh, well, a lot may happen beforethen. But go at once--I believe you can get expresses from here toNorth-borough pretty often. "

"I'll go with you--if I may, " said Copplestone suddenly. "I might be ofuse. There's that cab still at the door, you know--shall we run up tothe station?"

"Good!" assented Stafford. "Yes, come by all means. " He turned toRothwell for a moment. "If he should turn up here, 'phone to Waters atthe Northborough theatre, won't you?" he said. "We'll look in there assoon as we arrive. "

He hurried out with Copplestone and together they drove up to thestation, where an express was just leaving for the south. Once on theirway to Northborough, Stafford turned to his companion with a grave shakeof the head. 

"I daresay you don't quite see the reason of our anxiety, " he observed. "You see, we know Oliver. He's a trick of wandering about by himself onSundays--when he gets the chance. Of course when there's a long journeybetween two towns, he doesn't get the chance, and then he's all right. But when, as in this case, the town of one week is fairly close to thetown of the next, he invariably spots some place of interest, an oldcastle, or a ruined abbey, or some famous house, and goes looking roundit. And if he's been exploring some spot on this coast yesterday, andit's as that chap Rutherford said, wild and dangerous, why, then--"

"You think he may have had an accident--fallen over the cliffs orsomething?" suggested Copplestone. 

"I don't like to think anything, " replied Stafford. "But I shall be agood deal relieved if we can get some definite news about him. "

The first half-hour at Northborough yielded nothing definite. A telephonemessage from Rothwell had just come to the theatre when they drove up toit--nothing had so far been heard of the missing man at Norcaster--eitherat theatre or hotel. Stafford and Copplestone hurried across to the"Golden Apple" and interviewed its proprietor; he, keenly interested inthe affair, could tell no more than that Mr. Bassett Oliver, having senthis luggage forward to Norcaster, had left the house on foot at eleveno'clock the previous morning, and had been seen to walk across themarket-place in the direction of the railway station. But an oldhead-waiter, who had served the famous actor's breakfast, was able togive some information; Mr. Oliver, he said, had talked a little to himabout the coast scenery between Northborough and Norcaster, and had askedhim which stretch of it was worth seeing. It was his impression that Mr. Oliver meant to break his journey somewhere along the coast. 

"Of course, that's it, " said Stafford, as he and Copplestone drove offagain. "He's gone to some place between the two towns. But where? Anyhow, nobody's likely to forget Oliver if they've once seen him, and whereverhe went, he'd have to take a ticket. Therefore--the booking-office. "

Here at last, was light. One of the clerks in the booking-office cameforward at once with news. Mr. Bassett Oliver, whom he knew well enough, having seen him on and off the stage regularly for the past five years, had come there the previous morning, and had taken a first-class singleticket for Scarhaven. He would travel to Scarhaven by the 11. 35 train, which arrived at Scarhaven at 12. 10. Where was Scarhaven? On the coast, twenty miles off, on the way to Norcaster; you changed for it at TilmouthJunction. Was there a train leaving soon for Scarhaven? There was--infive minutes. 

Stafford and Copplestone presently found themselves travelling back alongthe main line. A run of twenty minutes brought them to the junction, where, at an adjacent siding they found a sort of train in miniaturewhich ran over a narrow-gauge railway towards the sea. Its course laythrough a romantic valley hidden between high heather-clad moorland; theysaw nothing of their destination nor of the coast until, coming to a stopin a little station perched high on the side of a hill they emerged tosee shore and sea lying far beneath them. With a mutual consent theypassed outside the grey walls of the station-yard to take a comprehensiveview of the scene. 

"Just the place to attract Oliver!" muttered Stafford, as he gazed aroundhim. "He'd revel in it--fairly revel!"

Copplestone gazed at the scene in silence. That was the first time he hadever seen the Northern coast, and the strange glamour and romance of thisstretch of it appealed strongly to his artistic senses. He found himselfstanding high above the landward extremity of a narrow bay or creek, muchresembling a Norwegian fiord in its general outlines; it ran in from thesea between high shelving cliffs, the slopes of which were thickly woodedwith the hardier varieties of tree and shrub, through which at intervalsgreat, gaunt masses of grey rock cropped out. On the edge of the water ateither side of the bay were lines of ancient houses and cottages of greywalls and red roofs, built and grouped with the irregularity ofindividual liking; on the north side rose the square tower and low naveof a venerable church; amidst a mass of wood on the opposite side stood agreat Norman keep, half ruinous, which looked down on a picturesque houseat its foot. Quays, primitive and quaint, ran along between the oldcottages and the water's edge; in the bay itself or nestling against theworn timbers of the quays, were small craft whose red sails hung idlyagainst their tall masts and spars. And at the end of the quays and thewooded promontories which terminated the land view, lay the North Sea, cold, grey, and mysterious in the waning October light, and out of itsbosom rose, close to the shore, great masses of high grey rocks, strongand fantastic of shape, and further away, almost indistinct in thedistance, an island, on the highest point of which the ruins of some oldreligious house were silhouetted against the horizon. 

"Just the place!" repeated Stafford. "He'd have cheerfully travelled athousand miles to see this. And now--we know he came here--what we nextwant to know is, what he did when he got here?"

Copplestone, who had been taking in every detail of the scene before him, pointed to a house of many gables and queer chimneys which stood a littleway beneath them at the point where the waters of a narrow stream raninto the bay. 

"That looks like an inn, " he said. "I think I can make out a sign on thegable-end. Let's go down there and inquire. He would get here just abouttime for lunch, wouldn't he, and he'd probably turn in there. Also--theymay have a telephone there, and you can call up the theatre at Norcasterand find out if anything's been heard yet. "

Stafford smiled approvingly and started out in the direction of thebuildings towards which Copplestone had pointed. 

"Excellent notion!" he said. "You're quite a business man--an unusualthing in authors, isn't it? Come on, then--and that is an inn, too--I canmake out the sign now--The 'Admiral's Arms'--Mary Wooler. Let's hope MaryWooler, who's presumably the landlady, can give us some useful news!"

The "Admiral's Arms" proved to be an old-fashioned, capacious hostelry, eminently promising and comfortable in appearance, which stood on theedge of a broad shelf of headland, and commanded a fine view of thelittle village and the bay. Stafford and Copplestone, turning in at thefront door, found themselves in a deep, stone-paved hall, on one side ofwhich, behind a bar window, a pleasant-faced, buxom woman, silk-apronedand smartly-capped, was busily engaged in adding up columns of figures ina big account-book. At sight of strangers she threw open a door andsmilingly invited them to walk into a snugly furnished bar-parlour wherea bright fire burned in an open hearth. Stafford gave his companion alook--this again was just the sort of old-world place which would appealto Basset Oliver, supposing he had come across it. 

"I wonder if you can give me some information?" he asked presently, whenthe good-looking landlady had attended to their requests for refreshment. "I suppose you are the landlady--Mrs. Wooler? Well, now, Mrs. Wooler, didyou have a tall, handsome, slightly grey-haired gentleman in here tolunch yesterday--say about one o'clock?"

The landlady turned on her questioner with an intelligent smile. 

"You mean Mr. Oliver, the actor?" she said. 

"Good!" exclaimed Stafford, with a hearty sigh of relief. "I do! You knowhim, then?"

"I've often seen him, both at Northborough and at Norcaster, " repliedMrs. Wooler. "But I never saw him here before yesterday. Oh, yes! ofcourse I knew him as soon as he walked in, and I had a bit of chat withhim before he went out, and he remarked that though he'd been coming intothese parts for some years, he'd never been to Scarhaven before--usually, he said, he'd gone inland of a Sunday, amongst the hills. Oh, yes, he washere--he had lunch here. "

"We're seeking him, " said Stafford, going directly to the question. "Heought to have turned up at the 'Angel Hotel' at Norcaster last night, and at the theatre today at noon--he did neither. I'm his businessmanager, Mrs. Wooler. Now can you tell us anything--more than you'vealready told, I mean?"

The landlady, whose face expressed more and more concern as Staffordspoke, shook her head. 

"I can't!" she answered. "I don't know any more. He was here perhaps anhour or so. Then he went away, saying he was going to have a look roundthe place. I expected he'd come in again on his way to the station, buthe never did. Dear, dear! I hope nothing's happened to him--such a fine, pleasant man. And--"

"And--what?" asked Stafford. 

"These cliffs and rocks are so dangerous, " murmured Mrs. Wooler. "Ioften say that no stranger ought to go alone here. They aren't safe, these cliffs. "

Stafford set down his glass and rose. 

"I think you've got a telephone in your hall, " he said. "I'll just callup Norcaster and find out if they've heard anything. If they haven't--"

He shook his head and went out, and Copplestone glanced at the landlady. 

"You say the cliffs are dangerous, " he said. "Are they particularly so?"

"To people who don't know them, yes, " she replied. "They ought to beprotected, but then, of course, we don't get many tourists here, and theScarhaven people know the danger spots well enough. Then again at the endof the south promontory there, beyond the Keep--"

"Is the Keep that high square tower amongst the woods?" askedCopplestone. 

"That's it--it's all that's left of the old castle, " answered Mrs. Wooler. "Well, off the point beneath that, there's a group ofrocks--you'd perhaps noticed them as you came down from the station?They've various names--there's the King, the Queen, the Sugar-Loaf, andso on. At low tide you can walk across to them. And of course, somepeople like to climb them. Now, they're particularly dangerous! On theQueen rock there's a great hole called the Devil's Spout, up which thesea rushes. Everybody wants to look over it, you know, and if a man wasthere alone, and his foot slipped, and he fell, why--"

Stafford came back, looking more cast down than ever. 

"They've heard nothing there, " he announced. "Come on--we'll go down andsee if we can hear anything from any of the people. We'll call in and seeyou later, Mrs. Wooler, and if you can make any inquiries in themeantime, do. Look here, " he went on, when he and Copplestone had gotoutside, "you take this south side of the bay, and I'll take the north. Ask anybody you see--any likely person--fishermen and so on. Then comeback here. And if we've heard nothing--"

He shook his head significantly, as he turned away, and Copplestone, taking the other direction, felt that the manager's despondency wasinfluencing himself. A sudden disappearance of this sort was surely notto be explained easily--nothing but exceptional happenings could havekept Bassett Oliver from the scene of his week's labours. There must havebeen an accident--it needed little imagination to conjure up its easyoccurrence. A too careless step, a too near approach, a loose stone, asudden giving way of crumbling soil, the shifting of an already detachedrock--any of these things might happen, and then--but the thought of whatmight follow cast a greyer tint over the already cold and grey sea. 

He went on amongst the old cottages and fishing huts which lay at thefoot of the wooded heights on the tops of whose pines and firs the gauntruins of the old Keep seemed to stand sentinel. He made inquiry at opendoors and of little groups of men gathered on the quay and by thedrawn-up boats--nobody knew anything. According to what they told him, most of these people had been out and about all the previous afternoon;it had been a particularly fine day, that Sunday, and they had all beenout of doors, on the quay and the shore, in the sunshine. But nobody hadany recollection of the man described, and Copplestone came to theconclusion that Oliver had not chosen that side of the bay. There was, however, one objection to that theory--so far as he could judge, thatside was certainly the more attractive. And he himself went on to the endof it--on until he had left quay and village far behind, and had come toa spit of sand which ran out into the sea exactly opposite the group ofrocks of which Mrs. Wooler had spoken. There they lay, rising out of thesurf like great monsters, a half-mile from where he stood. The tide wasout at that time, and between him and them stretched a shining expanse ofglittering wet sand. And, coming straight towards him across it, Copplestone saw the slim and graceful figure of a girl. 

CHAPTER III

THE MAN WHO KNEW SOMETHING

It was not from any idle curiosity that Copplestone made up his mind toawait the girl's nearer approach. There was no other human being in view, and he was anxious to get some information about the rocks whose grimoutlines were rapidly becoming faint and indistinct in the gatheringdarkness. And so as the girl came towards him, picking her way across thepools which lay amidst the brown ribs of sand, he went forward, throwingaway all formality and reserve in his eagerness. 

"Forgive me for speaking so unceremoniously, " he said as they met. "I'mlooking for a friend who has disappeared--mysteriously. Can you tell meif, any time yesterday, afternoon or evening, you saw anywhere about herea tall, distinguished-looking man--the actor type. In fact, he is anactor--perhaps you've heard of him? Mr. Bassett Oliver. "

He was looking narrowly at the girl as he spoke, and she, too, lookednarrowly at him out of a pair of grey eyes of more than ordinaryintelligence and perception. And at the famous actor's name she started alittle and a faint colour stole over her cheeks. 

"Mr. Bassett Oliver!" she exclaimed in a clear, cultured voice. "Mymother and I saw Mr. Oliver at the Northborough Theatre on Fridayevening. Do you mean that he--"

"I mean--to put it bluntly--that Bassett Oliver is lost, " answeredCopplestone. "He came to this place yesterday, Sunday, morning, to lookround; he lunched at the 'Admiral's Arms, ' he went out, after a chat withthe landlady, and he's never been seen since. He should have turned up atthe 'Angel' at Norcaster last night, and at a rehearsal at the TheatreRoyal there today at noon--but he didn't. His manager and I have trackedhim here--and so far I can't hear of him. I've asked people all throughthe village--this side, anyway--nobody knows anything. "

He and the girl still looked attentively at each other; Copplestone, indeed, was quietly inspecting her while he talked. He judged her to betwenty-one or two; she was a little above medium height, slim, graceful, pretty, and he was quick to notice that her entire air and appearancesuggested their present surroundings. Her fair hair escaped from aknitted cap such as fisher-folk wear; her slender figure was shown toadvantage by a rough blue jersey; her skirt of blue serge was short andpractical; she was shod in brogues which showed more acquaintance withsand and salt water than with polish. And her face was tanned with thestrong northern winds, and the ungloved hands, small and shapely as theywere, were brown as the beach across which she had come. 

"I have not seen--nor heard--of Mr. Bassett Oliver--here, " she answered. "I was out and about all yesterday afternoon and evening, too--not onthis side of the bay, though. Have you been to the police-station?"

"The manager may have been there, " replied Copplestone. "He's gone alongthe other shore. But--I don't think he'll get any help there. I'm afraidMr. Oliver must have met with an accident. I wanted to ask you aquestion--I saw you coming from the direction of those rocks just now. Could he have got out there across those sands, yesterday afternoon?"

"Between three o'clock and evening--yes, " said the girl. 

"And--is it dangerous out there?"

"Very dangerous indeed--to any one who doesn't know them. "

"There's something there called the Devil's Spout?"

"Yes--a deep fissure up which the sea boils. Oh! it seems dreadful tothink of--I hope he didn't fall in there. If he did--"

"Well?" asked Copplestone bluntly, "what if he did?"

"Nothing ever came out that once went in, " she answered. "It's a sort ofwhirlpool that's sucked right away into the sea. The people hereaboutssay it's bottomless. "

Copplestone turned his face towards the village. 

"Oh, well, " he said, with an accent of hopelessness. "I can't do any moredown here, it's growing dusk. I must go back and meet the manager. "

The girl walked along at his side as he turned towards the village. 

"I suppose you are one of Mr. Oliver's company?" she observed presently. "You must all be much concerned. "

"They're all greatly concerned, " answered Copplestone. "But I don'tbelong to the company. No--I came to Norcaster this morning to meet Mr. Oliver--he's going--I hope I oughtn't to say was going!--to produce aplay of mine next month, and he wanted to talk about the rehearsals. Everything, of course, was at a standstill when I reached Norcaster atone o 'clock, so I came with Stafford, the business manager, to seewhat we could do about tracking Mr. Oliver. And I'm afraid, I'm verymuch afraid--"

He paused, as a gate, set in the thick hedge of a garden at this point ofthe village, suddenly opened to let out a man, who at sight of the girlstopped, hesitated, and then waited for her approach. He was a tall, well-built man of apparently thirty years, dressed in a rough tweedknickerbocker suit, but the dusk had now so much increased thatCopplestone could only gather an impression of ordinary good-lookingnessfrom the face that was turned inquiringly on his companion. The girlturned to him and spoke hurriedly. 

"This is my cousin, Mr. Greyle, of Scarhaven Keep, " she murmured. "He maybe able to help. Marston!" she went on, raising her voice, "can you giveany help here? This gentleman--" she paused, looking at Copplestone. 

"My name is Richard Copplestone, " he said. 

"Mr. Copplestone is looking for Mr. Bassett Oliver, the famous actor, "she continued, as the three met. "Mr. Oliver has mysteriouslydisappeared. Mr. Copplestone has traced him here, to Scarhaven--he washere yesterday, lunching at the inn--but he can't get any further news. Did you see anything, or hear anything of him?"

Marston Greyle, who had been inspecting the stranger narrowly in thefading light, shook his head. 

"Bassett Oliver, the actor, " he said. "Oh, yes, I saw his name on thebills in Norcaster the other day. Came here, and has disappeared, yousay? Under what circumstances?"

Copplestone had listened carefully to the newcomer's voice; moreparticularly to his accent. He had already gathered sufficient knowledgeof Scarhaven to know that this man was the Squire, the master of the oldhouse and grey ruin in the wood above the cliff; he also happened toknow, being something of an archaeologist and well acquainted with familyhistories, that there had been Greyles of Scarhaven for many hundredyears. And he wondered how it was that though this Greyle's voice waspleasant and cultured enough, its accent was decidedly American. 

"Perhaps I'd better explain, " said Copplestone. "I've already told mostof it to this lady, but you will both understand more fully if I tell youmore. It's this way--" and he went on to tell everything that hadhappened and come to light since one o'clock that day. "So you see, it'shere, " he concluded; "we're absolutely certain that Oliver went out ofthe 'Admiral's Arms' up there about half-past two yesterday, but--where?From that moment, no one seems to have seen him. Yet how he could comealong this village street, this quay, without being seen--"

"He need not have come along the quayside, " interrupted the girl. "Thereis a cliff path just below the inn which leads up to the Keep. "

"Also, he mayn't have taken this side of the bay, either. " remarkedGreyle. "He may have chosen the other. You didn't see or hear of him onyour side, Audrey?"

"Nothing!" replied the girl. "Nothing!"

Marston Greyle had fallen into line with the other two, and they were nowwalking along the quay in the direction of the "Admiral's Arms. " Andpresently Stafford, accompanied by a policeman, came hurriedly round acorner and quickened his steps at sight of Copplestone. The policeman, evidently much puzzled and interested, saluted the Squire obsequiously asthe two groups met. 

"No news at all!" exclaimed Stafford, glancing at Copplestone'scompanions. "You got any?"

"None, " replied Copplestone. "Not a word. This is Mr. Greyle, of theKeep--he has heard nothing. This lady--Miss Greyle?--was out a good dealyesterday afternoon; she knows Oliver quite well by sight, but she didnot see him. So if you've no news--"

Marston Greyle interrupted, turning to the policeman. 

"What ought to be done, Haskett?" he asked. "You've had cases ofdisappearance to deal with before, eh?"

"Can't say as I have, sir, in my time, " answered the policeman. "Leastways, not of this sort. Of course, we can get search partiestogether, and one of 'em can go along the coast north'ards, and the othercan go south'ards, and we might have a look round the rocks out yonder, tomorrow, as soon as it's light. But if the gentleman went out there, andhad the bad luck to fall into that Devil's Spout, why, then, sir, I'mafraid all the searching in the world'll do no good. And the queer thingis, gentlemen, if I may express an opinion, that nobody ever saw thegentleman after he had left Mrs. Wooler's! That seems--"

A fisherman came lounging across the quay from the shadow of one of theneighbouring cottages. He touched his cap to Marston Greyle, and lookedinquiringly at the two strangers. 

"Are you the gentlemen as is asking after another gentleman?" he said. "'Cause if so, I make no doubt as how I had a word or two with himyesterday afternoon. "

Stafford and Copplestone turned sharply on the newcomer--an elderlyman of plain and homely aspect who responded frankly to theirquestioning glances. He went on at once, before they could put theirquestions into words. 

"It 'ud be about half-past two, or maybe a bit nearer three o'clock, " hesaid. "Up yonder it was, about a hundred yards this side of the'Admiral's Arms. ' I was sitting on a baulk o' timber there, doingnothing, when he comes along--a tall, fine-looking man. He gives me apleasant sort o' nod, and said it was a grand day, and we got talking abit, about the scenery and such-like, and he said he'd never been herebefore. Then he pointed up to the big house and the old Keep yonder, andasked whose place that might be, and I said that was the Squire's. 'Andwho may the Squire be?' says he. 'Mr. Marston Greyle, ' says I, 'Recentcome into the property. ' 'Marston Greyle!' he says, sharp-like. 'Why, Iused to know a young man of that very name in America!' he says. 'Verylike, ' says I, 'I have heard as how the Squire had been in them partsbefore he came here. ' 'Bless me!' he says, 'I've a good mind to call onhim. How do you get up there?' he says. So I showed him that side paththat runs up through the plantation to near the top, and I told him thatif he followed that till he came to the Keep, he'd find another paththere as would take him to the door of the house. And he gave me ashilling to drink his health, and off he went, the way as I'd pointedout. D'ye think that'll be the same gentleman, now?"

Nobody answered this question. Everybody there was looking at MarstonGreyle. The little group had drawn near to the light of one of the threegas-lamps which feebly illuminated the quay; it seemed to Copplestonethat the Squire's face had paled when the fisherman arrived at the middleof his story. But it flushed as his companion turned to him, and helaughed, a little uneasily. 

"Said he knew me--in America?" he exclaimed. "I don't remember meetingMr. Bassett Oliver out there. But then I met so many Englishmen in oneplace or another that I may have been introduced to him somewhere, atsome time, and--forgotten all about it. "

Stafford spoke--with unnecessary abruptness, in Copplestone's opinion. 

"I don't think it very likely that any one would forget Bassett Oliver, "he said. "He isn't--or wasn't--the sort of man anybody could forget, oncethey'd met him. Anyhow--did he come to your house yesterday afternoon asthis man suggests?"

Marston Greyle drew himself up. He looked Stafford up and down. Then hemade a slight gesture to the girl, whose face had already assumed atroubled expression. 

"If I had seen Mr. Bassett Oliver yesterday, sir, we should not bediscussing his possible whereabouts now, " said Greyle, icily. "Are youcoming, Audrey?"

The girl hesitated, glanced at Copplestone, and then walked away with hercousin. Stafford sniffed contemptuously. 

"Ass!" he muttered. "Couldn't he see that what I meant was that Olivermust either have been mistaken, or have referred to some other Greylewhom he met? Hang his pride! Well, now, " he went on, turning to thefisherman, "you're dead certain about what you've told us?"

"As certain as mortal man can be of aught there is!" answered theinformant. "Sure certain, mister. "

"Make a note of it, constable, " said Stafford. "Mr. Oliver was last seengoing up the path to the Keep, having said he meant to call on Mr. Marston Greyle. I'll call on you again tomorrow morning. Copplestone!" hewent on, drawing his companion away, "I'm off to Norcaster--I shall seethe police there and get detectives. There's something seriously wronghere--and by heaven, we've got to get to the bottom of it! Now, lookhere--will you stay here for the night, so as to be on the spot? I'llcome back first thing in the morning and bring your luggage--I can't comesooner, for there are heaps of business matters to deal with. Youwill--good! Now I can just catch a train. Copplestone!--keep your eyesand ears open. It's my firm belief--I don't know why--that there's beenfoul play. Foul play!"

Stafford hurried away up hill to the station, and Copplestone, afterwaiting a minute or two, turned along the quay on the north of thebay--following Audrey Greyle, who was in front, alone. 

CHAPTER IV

THE ESTATE AGENT

Copplestone had kept a sharp watch on Marston Greyle and his cousin whenthey walked off, and he had seen that they had parted at a point a littlefarther along the shore road--the man turning up into the wood, the girlgoing forward along the quay which led to the other half of the village. He quickened his pace and followed her, catching her up as she came to apath which led towards the old church. At the sound of his hurrying stepsshe turned and faced him, and he saw in the light of a cottage lamp thatshe still looked troubled and perplexed. 

"Forgive me for running after you, " said Copplestone as he went up toher. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about--about that little scenedown there, you know. Your cousin misunderstood Mr. Stafford--whatStafford meant was that--"

"I saw what Mr. Stafford meant, " she broke in quickly. "I'm sorry mycousin didn't see it. It was--obvious. "

"All the same, Stafford put it rather--shall we say, brusquely, " remarkedCopplestone. "Of course, he's terribly upset about Oliver'sdisappearance, and he didn't consider the effect of his words. And it wasrather a surprise to hear that Oliver had known some man of yourcousin's name over there in America, wasn't it?"

"And that Mr. Oliver should mysteriously disappear just after making suchan announcement, " said Audrey. "That certainly seems very surprising. "

The two looked at each other, a question in the eyes of each, andCopplestone knew that the trouble in the girl's eyes arose from inabilityto understand what was already a suspicious circumstance. 

"But after all, that may have been a mere coincidence, " he hastened tosay. "Let's hope things may be cleared. I only hope that Oliver hasn'tmet with an accident and is lying somewhere without help. I'm going toremain here for the night, however, and Stafford will come back early inthe morning and go more thoroughly into things--I suppose there'll haveto be a search of the neighbourhood. "

They had walked slowly up a path on the side of the cliff as they talked, and now the girl stopped before a small cottage which stood at the end ofthe churchyard, set in a tree-shaded garden, and looking out on the bay. She laid her hand on the gate, glancing at Copplestone, and suddenly shespoke, a little impulsively. 

"Will you come in and speak to my mother?" she said. "She was a greatadmirer of Mr. Oliver's acting--and she knew him at one time. She will beinterested--and grieved. "

Copplestone followed her up the garden and into the house, where she ledthe way into a small old-fashioned parlour in which a grey-haired woman, who had once been strikingly handsome, and whose face seemed to thevisitor to bear traces of great trouble, sat writing at a bureau. Sheturned in surprise as her daughter led Copplestone in, but her mannerbecame remarkably calm and collected as Audrey explained who he was andwhy he was there. And Copplestone, watching her narrowly, fancied that hesaw interest flash into her eyes when she heard of Bassett Oliver'sremark to the fisherman. But she made no comment, and when Audrey hadfinished the story, she turned to Copplestone as if she had alreadysummed up the situation. 

"We know this place so well--having lived here so long, you know, " shesaid, "that we can make a fairly accurate guess at what Mr. Oliver mightdo. There seems no doubt that he went up the path to the Keep. Accordingto Mr. Marston Greyle's statement, he certainly did not go to the house. Well, he might have done one of two other things. There is a path whichleads from the Keep down to the beach, immediately opposite the big rockswhich you have no doubt seen. There is another path which turns out ofthe woods and follows the cliffs towards Lenwick, a village along thecoast, a mile away. But--at that time, on a Sunday afternoon, both pathswould be frequented. Speaking from knowledge, I should say that Mr. Oliver cannot have left the woods--he must have been seen had he done so. It's impossible that he could have gone down to the shore or along thecliffs without being seen, too--impossible!"

There was a certain amount of insistence in the last few words whichpuzzled Copplestone--also they conveyed to him a queer suggestion whichrepulsed him; it was almost as if the speaker was appealing to him to usehis own common-sense about a difficult question. And before he could makeany reply Mrs. Greyle put a direct inquiry to him. 

"What is going to be done?"

"I don't know, exactly, " answered Copplestone. "I'm going to stay herefor the night, anyway, on the chance of hearing something. Stafford iscoming back in the morning--he spoke of detectives. "

He looked a little doubtfully at his questioner as he uttered the lastword, and again he saw the sudden strange flash of unusual interest inher eyes, and she nodded her head emphatically. 

"Precisely!--the proper thing to do, " she said. "There must have beenfoul play--must!"

"Mother!" exclaimed Audrey, half doubtfully. "Do you really think--that?"

"I don't think anything else, " replied Mrs. Greyle. "I certainly don'tbelieve that Bassett Oliver would put himself into any position of dangerwhich would result in his breaking his neck. Bassett Oliver never leftScarhaven Wood!"

Copplestone made no comment on this direct assertion. 

Instead, after a brief silence, he asked Mrs. Greyle a question. 

"You knew Mr. Oliver--personally?"

"Five and twenty years ago--yes, " she answered. "I was on the stagemyself before my marriage. But I have never met him since then. I haveseen him, of course, at the local theatres. "

"He--you won't mind my asking?" said Copplestone, diffidently, "he didn'tknow that you lived here?"

Mrs. Greyle smiled, somewhat mysteriously. 

"Not at all--my name wouldn't have conveyed anything to him, " sheanswered. "He never knew whom I married. Otherwise, if he met some onenamed Marston Greyle in America he would have connected him with me, andhave made inquiry about me, and had he known I lived here, he would havecalled. It is odd, Audrey, that if your cousin met Mr. Oliver over therehe should have forgotten him. For one doesn't easily forget a man ofreputation--and Mr. Oliver was that of course!--and on the other hand, Marston Greyle is not a common name. Did you ever hear the name before, Mr. Copplestone?"

"Only in connection with your own family--I have read of the Greyles ofScarhaven, " replied Copplestone. "But, after all, I suppose it is notconfined to your family. There may be Greyles in America. Well--it's allvery queer, " he went on, as he rose to leave. "May I come in tomorrow andtell you what's being done?--I'm sure Stafford means to leave no stoneunturned--he's tremendously keen about it. "

"Do!" said Mrs. Greyle, heartily. "But the probability is that you'll seeus out and about in the morning--we spend most of our time out of doors, having little else to do. "

Copplestone went away feeling more puzzled than ever. 

Now that he was alone, for the first time since meeting Audrey Greyle onthe beach, he was able to reflect on certain events of the afternoon inuninterrupted fashion. He thought over them as he walked back towards the"Admiral's Arms. " It was certainly a strange thing that Bassett Oliver, after remarking to the fisherman that he had known a Mr. Marston Greylein America, and hearing that the Squire of Scarhaven had been in thatcountry, should have gone up to the house saying that he would call onthe Squire and should never have been seen again. It was certainlystrange that if this Marston Greyle, of Scarhaven, had met Bassett Oliverin America he should have completely forgotten the fact. Bassett Oliverhad a considerable reputation in the United States--he was, in fact, morepopular in that country than in his own, and he had toured in theprincipal towns and cities across there regularly for several years. Tomeet him there was to meet a most popular celebrity--could any man forgetit? Therefore, were there two men of the name of Marston Greyle?

That was one problem--closely affecting Oliver's disappearance. The otherhad nothing to do with Oliver's disappearance--nevertheless, itinterested Richard Copplestone. He was a young man of quick perceptionand accurate observation, and his alert eyes had seen that the Squire ofScarhaven occupied a position suggestive of power and wealth. The housewhich stood beneath the old Keep was one of size and importance, the sortof place which could only be kept up by a rich man--Copplestone's glancesat its grounds, its gardens, its entrance lodge, its entire surroundingshad shown him that only a well-to-do man could live there. How came it, then, that the Squire's relations--his cousin and her mother--lived in asmall and unpretentious cottage, and were obviously not well off asregards material goods? Copplestone had the faculty of seeing things at aglance, and refined and cultivated as the atmosphere of Mrs. Greyle'sparlour was, it had taken no more than a glance from his perceptive eyesto see that he was there confronted with what folk call genteel poverty. Mrs. Greyle's almost nun-like attire of black had done duty for a longtime; the carpet was threadbare; there was an absence of those littletouches of comfort with which refined women of even modest means love tosurround themselves; a sure instinct told him that here were two womenwho had to carefully count their pence, and lay out their shillings withcaution. Genteel, quiet poverty, without doubt--and yet, on the otherside of the little bay, a near kinsman whose rent-roll must run to a fewthousands a year!

And yet one more curious occasion of perplexity--to add to the other two. Copplestone had felt instinctively attracted to Audrey Greyle when he mether on the sands, and the attraction increased as he walked at her sidetowards the village. In his quiet unobtrusive fashion he had watched herclosely when they encountered the man whom she introduced as her cousin;and he had fancied that her manner underwent a curious change whenMarston Greyle came on the scene--she had seemed to become constrained, chilled, distant, aloof--not with the stranger, himself, but with herkinsman. This fancy had become assurance during the conversation whichhad abruptly ended when Greyle took offence at Stafford's brusque remark. Copplestone had seen a sudden look in the girl's eyes when the fishermanrepeated what Oliver had said about meeting a Mr. Marston Greyle inAmerica; it was a look of sharply awakened--what? Suspicion?apprehension?--he could not decide. But it was the same look which hadcome into her mother's eyes later on. Moreover, when the Squire turnedhuffily away, taking his cousin with him, Copplestone had noticed thatthere was evidently a smart passage of words between them after leavingthe little group on the quay, and they had parted unceremoniously, theman turning on his heel up a side path into his own grounds and the girlgoing forward with a sudden acceleration of pace. All this madeCopplestone draw a conclusion. 

"There's no great love lost between the gentleman at the big house andhis lady relatives in the little cottage, " he mused. "Also, around thegentleman there appears to be some cloud of mystery. What?--and has itanything to do with the Oliver mystery?"

He went back to the inn and made his arrangements with its landlady, whoby that time was full to overflowing with interest and amazement at thestrange affair which had brought her this guest. But Mrs. Wooler had eyesas well as ears, and noticing that Copplestone was already looking wearyand harassed, she hastened to provide a hot dinner for him, and torecommend a certain claret which in her opinion possessed remarkablerevivifying qualities. Copplestone, who had eaten nothing for severalhours, accepted her hospitable attentions with gratitude, and he wasenjoying himself greatly in a quaint old-world parlour, in closeproximity to a bright fire, when Mrs. Wooler entered with a countenancewhich betokened mystery in every feature. 

"There's the estate agent, Mr. Chatfield, outside, very anxious to have aword with you about this affair, " she said. "Would you be for having himin? He's the sort of man, " she went on, sinking her tones to a whisper, "who must know everything that's going on, and, of course, having theposition he has, he might be useful. Mr. Peter Chatfield, Mr. Greyle'sagent, and his uncle's before him--that's who he is--Peeping Peter, theycall him hereabouts, because he's fond of knowing everybody's business. "

"Bring him in, " said Copplestone. He was by no means averse to having acompanion, and Mrs. Wooler's graphic characterization had awakened hiscuriosity. "Tell him I shall be glad to see him. "

Mrs. Wooler presently ushered in a figure which Copplestone's dramaticsense immediately seized on. He saw before him a tall, heavily-builtman, with a large, solemn, deeply-lined face, out of which looked apair of the smallest and slyest eyes ever seen in a human being--queer, almost hidden eyes, set beneath thick bushy eyebrows above which rosethe dome of an unusually high forehead and a bald head. As for the restof him, Mr. Peter Chatfield had a snub nose, a wide slit of a mouth, anda flabby hand; his garments were of a Quaker kind in cut and hue; hewore old-fashioned stand-up collars and a voluminous black stock; in onehand he carried a stout oaken staff, in the other a square-crownedbeaver hat; altogether, his mere outward appearance would have gainednotice for him anywhere, and Copplestone rejoiced in him as a character. He rose, greeted his visitor cordially, and invited him to a seat by thefire. The estate agent settled his heavy figure comfortably, and made acareful inspection of the young stranger before he spoke. At last heleaned forward. 

"Sir!" he whispered in a confidential tone. "Do you consider this here amatter of murder?"

CHAPTER V

THE GREYLE HISTORY

If Copplestone had followed his first natural impulse, he would havelaughed aloud at this solemnly propounded question: as it was, he foundit difficult to content himself with a smile. 

"Isn't it a little early to arrive at any conclusion, of any sort, Mr. Chatfield?" he asked. "You haven't made up your own mind, surely?"Chatfield pursed up his long thin lips and shook his head, continuing tostare fixedly at Copplestone. 

"Now I may have, and I may not have, mister, " he said at last, suddenlyrelaxing. "What I was asking of was--what might you consider?"

"I don't consider at all--yet, " answered Copplestone. "It's too soon. Letme offer you a glass of claret. "

"Many thanks to you, sir, but it's too cold for my stomach, " respondedthe visitor. "A drop of gin, now, is more in my line, since you're sokind. Ah, well, in any case, sir, this here is a very unfortunate affair. I'm a deal upset by it--I am indeed!"

Copplestone rang the bell, gave orders for Mr. Chatfield's suitableentertainment with gin and cigars, and making an end of his dinner, drewup a chair to the fire opposite his visitor. 

"You are upset, Mr. Chatfield?" he remarked. "Now, why?"

Chatfield sipped his gin and water, and flourished a cigar with acomprehensive wave of his big fat hand. 

"Oh, in general, sir!" he said. "Things like this here are not pleasantto have in a quiet, respectable community like ours. There's very wickedpeople in this world, mister, and they will not control what's termed theunruly member. They will talk. You'll excuse me, but I doubt not that I'ma good deal more than twice your age, and I've learnt experience. Myexperience, sir, is that a wise man holds his tongue until he's calledupon to use it. Now, in my opinion, it was a very unwise thing of yonthere sea-going man, Ewbank, to say that this unfortunate play-actor toldhim that he'd met our Squire in America--very unfortunate!"

Copplestone pricked his ears. Had the estate agent come there to tell himthat? And if so, why?

"Oh!" he said. "You've heard that, have you? Now who told you that, Mr. Chatfield? For I don't think that's generally known. "

"If you knew this here village, mister, as well as what I do, " repliedChatfield coolly, "you'd know that there is known all over the place bythis time. The constable told me, and of course yon there man, Ewbank, he'll have told it all round since he had that bit of talk with you andyour friend. He'll have been in to every public there is in Scarhaven, repeating of it. And a very, very serious complexion, of course, could beput on them words, sir. "

"How?" asked Copplestone. 

"Put it to yourself, sir, " replied Chatfield. "The unfortunate man comeshere, tells Ewbank he knew Mr. Greyle in that far-away land, says he'llcall on him, is seen going towards the big house--and is never seen nomore! Why, sir, what does human nature--which is wicked--say?"

"What does your human nature--which I'm sure is not wicked, say?"suggested Copplestone. "Come, now!"

"What I say, sir, is neither here nor there, " answered the agent. "It'swhat evil-disposed tongues says. "

"But they haven't said anything yet, " said Copplestone. 

"I should say they've said a deal, sir, " responded Chatfield, lugubriously. "I know Scarhaven tongues. They'll have thrown out a dealof suspicious talk about the Squire. "

"Have you seen Mr. Greyle?" asked Copplestone. He was already sure thatthe agent was there with a purpose, and he wanted to know its precisenature. "Is he concerned about this?"

"I have seen Mr. Greyle, mister, and he is concerned about what yon man, Ewbank, related, " replied Chatfield. "Mr. Greyle, sir, came straight tome--I reside in a residence within the park. Mr. Greyle, mister, saysthat he has no recollection whatever of meeting this play-actor person inAmerica--he may have done and he mayn't. But he doesn't remember him, andit isn't likely he should--him, an English landlord and a gentlemanwouldn't be very like to remember a play-actor person that's here todayand gone tomorrow! I hope I give no offence, sir--maybe you're aplay-actor yourself. "

"I am not, " answered Copplestone. He sat staring at his visitor forawhile, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its cordial tone. "Well, " he said, "and what have you called on me about?"

Chatfield looked up sharply, noticing the altered tone. 

"To tell you--and them as you no doubt represent--that Mr. Greyle will beglad to help in any possible way towards finding out something in thishere affair, " he answered. "He'll welcome any inquiry that's opened. "

"Oh!" said Copplestone. "I see! But you're making a mistake, Mr. Chatfield. I don't represent anybody. I'm not even a relation of Mr. Bassett Oliver. In fact, I never met Mr. Oliver in my life: never spoketo him. So--I'm not here in any representative or official sense. "

Chatfield's small eyes grew smaller with suspicious curiosity. 

"Oh?" he said questioningly. "Then--what might you be here for, mister?"

Copplestone stood up and rang the bell. 

"That's my business. " he answered. "Sorry I can't give you any moretime, " he went on as Mrs. Wooler opened the door. "I'm engaged now. Ifyou or Mr. Greyle want to see Mr. Oliver's friends I believe his brother, Sir Cresswell Oliver, will be here tomorrow--he's been wired for anyhow. "

Chatfield's mouth opened as he picked up his hat. He stared at thisself-assured young man as if he were something quite new to him. 

"Sir Cresswell Oliver!" he exclaimed. "Did you say, sir?"

"I said Sir Cresswell Oliver--quite plainly, " answered Copplestone. 

Chatfield's mouth grew wider. 

"You don't mean to tell me that a play-actor's own brother to a titledgentleman!" he said. 

"Good-night!" replied Copplestone, motioning his visitor towards thedoor. "I can't give you any more time, really. However, as you seemanxious, Mr. Bassett Oliver is the younger brother of Rear-Admiral SirCresswell Oliver, Baronet, and I should imagine that Sir Cresswell willwant to know a lot about what's become of him. So you'd better--or Mr. Greyle had better--speak to him. Now once more--good-night. "

When Chatfield had gone, Copplestone laughed and flung himself into aneasy chair before the fire. Of course, the stupid, ignorant, self-sufficient old fool had come fishing for news--he and his masterwanted to know what was going to be done in the way of making inquiry. But why?--why so much anxiety if they knew nothing whatever about BassettOliver's strange disappearance? "Why this profession of eager willingnessto welcome any inquiry that might be made? Nobody had accused MarstonGreyle of having anything to do with Bassett Oliver's strange exit--if itwas an exit--why, then--

"But it's useless speculating, " he mused. "I can't do anything--and hereI am, with nothing to do!"

He had pleaded an engagement, but he had none, of course. There was ashelf of old books in the room, but he did not care to read. Andpresently, hands in pockets, he lounged out into the hall and saw Mrs. Wooler standing at the door of the little parlour into which she hadshown him and Stafford earlier in the day. 

"There's nobody in here, sir, " she said, invitingly; "if you'd like tosmoke your pipe here--"

"Thank you--I will, " answered Copplestone. "I got rid of that oldfellow, " he observed confidentially when he had followed the landladywithin, and had dropped into a chair near her own. "I think he hadcome--fishing. "

"That's his usual occupation, " said Mrs. Wooler, with a meaning smile. "Itold you he was called Peeping Peter. He's the sort of man who will havehis nose in everybody's affairs. But, " she added, with a shake of thehead which seemed to mean a good deal more than the smile, "he doesn'toften come here. This is almost the only house in Scarhaven that doesn'tbelong to the Greyle estate. This house, and the land round it, havebelonged to the Wooler family as long as the rest of the place hasbelonged to the Greyles. And many a Greyle has wanted to buy it, andevery Wooler has refused to sell it--and always will!"

"That's very interesting, " said Copplestone. "Does the present Greylewant to buy?"

The landlady picked up a piece of sewing and sat down in a chair whichseemed to be purposely placed so that she could keep an eye on theadjacent bar-parlour on one side and the hall on the other. 

"I don't know much about what the present Squire would like, " she said. "Nobody does. He's a newcomer, and nobody knows anything about him. Yousaw him this afternoon?"

"I met a young lady on the sands who turned out to be his cousin, and hecame up while I was talking to her, " replied Copplestone. "Yes, I sawhim. I'm afraid Mr. Stafford, who came in here with me, you know, offended him, " he continued, and gave Mrs. Wooler an account of what hadhappened. "Is he rather--touchy?" he concluded. 

"I don't know that he is, " she said. "No one sees much of him. You seehe's a stranger: although he's a Greyle, he's not a Scarhaven man. Ofcourse, I know all his family history--I'm Scarhaven born and bred. In mytime there have been three generations of Greyles. The first one I knewwas this Squire's grandfather, old Mr. Stephen Greyle: he died when I wasa girl in my 'teens. He had three sons and no daughters. The three sonswere all different in their tastes and ideas; the eldest, Stephen John, who came into the estates on his father's death, was a real home bird--henever left Scarhaven for more than a day or two at a time all his life. And he never married--he was a real old bachelor, almost a woman-hater. The next one, Marcus, went out to America and settled there--he was thefather of this present Squire, Mr. Marston Greyle. Then there was thethird son, Valentine--he went to live in London. And years after he cameback here, very poor, and settled down in a little house near ScarhavenChurch with his wife and daughter--that was the daughter you met thisafternoon, Miss Audrey. I don't know why, and nobody else knows, either, but the last Squire, Stephen John, never had anything to do withValentine and his family; what's more, when Valentine died and left thewidow and daughter very poorly off, Stephen John did nothing for them. But he himself died very soon after Valentine, and then of course, asMarcus had already died in America, everything came to this Mr. Marston. And, as I said, he's a stranger to Scarhaven folk and Scarhaven ways. Indeed, you might say to England and English ways, for I understand he'dnever been in England until he came to take up the family property. "

"Is he more friendly with the mother and daughter than the last Squirewas?" asked Copplestone, who had been much interested in this chapter offamily history. 

Mrs. Wooler made several stitches in her sewing before she answered thisdirect question, and when, she spoke it was in lower tones and with aglance of caution. 

"He would be, if he could!" she said. "There are those in the village whosay that he wants to marry his cousin. But the truth is--so far as onecan see or learn it--that for some reason or other, neither Mrs. Valentine Greyle nor Miss Audrey can bear him! They took some queerdislike to the young man when he first came, and they've kept it up. Ofcourse, they're outwardly friendly, and he occasionally, I believe, goesto the cottage, but they rarely go to the big house, and it's very seldomthey're ever seen together. I have heard--one does hear things invillages--that he'd be very glad to do something handsome for them, butthey're both as proud as they're poor, and not the sort to accept aughtfrom anybody. I believe they've just enough to live on, but it can't be agreat deal, for everybody knows that Valentine Greyle made ducks anddrakes of his fortune long before he came back to Scarhaven, and oldStephen John only left them a few hundreds of pounds. However--there itis. However much the new Squire wants to marry his cousin, it's very flatshe'll not have anything to say to him. I've once or twice had anopportunity of seeing those two together, and it's my private opinionthat Miss Audrey dislikes that young man just about as heartily as shepossibly could!"

"What does Mr. Marston Greyle find to do with himself in this place?"asked Copplestone, turning the conversation. "Can't be very lively forhim if he's a man of any activity. "

"Oh, I don't know, " replied Mrs. Wooler. "I think he's a good deal likehis uncle, the last squire--he certainly never goes anywhere, except outto sea in his yacht. He shoots a bit, and fishes a bit, and so on, andspends a lot of time with Peeping Peterhe's a widower, is Chatfield, andlives alone, except when his daughter runs down to see him. And thatdaughter, bye-the-bye, Mr. Copplestone, is on the stage. "

"Dear me!" said Copplestone. "That is surprising! Her father made severalcontemptuous references to play-actors when he was talking to me. "

"Oh, he hates them, and all connected with them!" replied Mrs. Wooler, laughing. "All the same, his own daughter has been on the stage for agood five years, and I fancy she's doing well. A fine, handsome girl sheis, too--she's been down here a good deal lately, and--"

The landlady suddenly paused, hearing a light step in the hall. Sheglanced through the window and then turned to Copplestone with anarch smile. 

"Talk of the--you know, " she exclaimed. "Here's Addie Chatfield herself!"

CHAPTER VI

THE LEADING LADY

Copplestone looked up with interest as the door of the private parlourwas thrown open, and a tall, handsome young woman burst in with abriskness of movement which betokened unusual energy and vivacity. Hegot an impression of the old estate agent's daughter in one glance, and wondered how Chatfield came to have such a good-looking girl ashis progeny. The impression was of dark, sparkling eyes, a mass ofdarker, highly-burnished hair, bright colour, a flashing vivacioussmile, a fine figure, a general air of sprightliness and glowinghealth--this was certainly the sort of personality that wouldrecommend itself to a considerable mass of theatre-goers, andCopplestone, as a budding dramatist, immediately began to cast AddieChatfield for an appropriate part. 

The newcomer stopped short on the threshold as she caught sight of astranger, and she glanced with sharp inquisitiveness at Copplestone as herose from his chair. 

"Oh!--I supposed you were alone, Mrs. Wooler, " she exclaimed. "Youusually are, you know, so I came in anyhow--sorry!"

"Come in, " said the landlady. "Don't go, Mr. Copplestone. This is MissAdela Chatfield. Your father has just been to see this gentleman, Addie--perhaps he told you?"

Addie Chatfield dropped into a chair at Mrs. Wooler's side, and lookedthe stranger over slowly and carefully. "

"No, " she answered. "My father didn't tell me--he doesn't tell meanything about his own affairs. All his talk is about mine--the iniquityof them, and so on. "

She showed a fine set of even white teeth as she made this remark, andher eyes sought Copplestone's again with a direct challenge. Copplestonelooked calmly at her, half-smiling; he was beginning, in his youthfulinnocence, to think that he already understood this type of young woman. And seeing him smile, Addie also smiled. 

"Now I wonder whatever my father wanted to see you about?" she said, witha strong accent on the personal pronoun. "For you don't look his sort, and he certainly isn't yours--unless you're deceptive. "

"Perhaps I am, " responded Copplestone, still keeping his eyes on her. "Your father wanted to see me about the strange disappearance of Mr. Bassett Oliver. That was all. "

The girl's glance, bold and challenging, suddenly shifted beforeCopplestone's steady look. She half turned to Mrs. Wooler, and her colourrose a little. 

"I've heard of that, " she said, with an affectation of indifference. "Andas I happen to know a bit of Bassett Oliver, I don't see what all thisfuss is about. I should say Bassett Oliver took it into his head to gooff somewhere yesterday on a little game of his own, and that he's turnedup at Norcaster by this time, and is safe in his dressing-room, or on thestage. That's my notion. "

"I wish I could think it the correct one, " replied Copplestone. "But wecan soon find out if it is--there's a telephone in the hall. Yet--I'm sosure that you're wrong, that I'm not even going to ring Norcaster up. Mr. Bassett Oliver has--disappeared here!"

"Are you a member of his company?" asked Addie, again looking Copplestoneover with speculative glances. 

"Not at all! I'm a humble person whose play Mr. Oliver was about toproduce next month, in consequence of which I came down to see him, andto find this state of affairs. And--having nothing else to do--I'm nowhere to help to find him--alive or dead. "

"Oh!" said Addie. "So--you're a writer?"

"I understand that you are an actress?" responded Copplestone. "I wonderif I've ever seen you anywhere?"

Addie bowed her head and gave him a sharp glance. 

"Evidently not!" she retorted. "Or you wouldn't wonder! As if anybodycould forget me, once they'd seen me! I believe you're pulling my leg, though. Do you live in town?"

"I live, " replied Copplestone slowly and with affected solemnity, "inchambers in Jermyn Street. "

"And do you mean to tell me that you didn't see me last year in _TheClever Lady Hartletop?_" she exclaimed. 

Copplestone put the tips of his fingers together and his head on one sideand regarded her critically. 

"What part did you play?" he asked innocently. 

"Part? Why, _the_ part, of course!" she retorted. "Goodness! Why, Icreated it! And played it to crowded houses for nearly two hundrednights, too!"

"Ah!" said Copplestone. "But I'll make a confession to you. I rarelyvisit the theatre. I never saw _Lady Hartletop. _ I haven't been in atheatre of any sort for two years. So you must forgive me. I congratulateyou on your success. "

Addie received this tribute with a mollified smile, which changed to aglance of surprised curiosity. 

"You never go to the theatre?--and yet you write plays!" she exclaimed. "That's queer, isn't it? But I believe writing people are queer--theylook it, anyhow. All the same, you don't look like a writer--what does helook like, Mrs. Wooler? Oh, I know--a sort of nice little officer boy, just washed and tidied up!"

The landlady, who had evidently enjoyed this passage at arms, laughed asshe gave Copplestone a significant glance. 

"And when did you come down home, Addie?" she asked quietly. "I didn'tknow you were here again. "

"Came down Saturday night, " said Addie. "I'm on my way toEdinburgh--business there on Wednesday. So I broke the journey here--justto pay my respects to my worshipful parent. "

"I think I heard you say that you knew Mr. Bassett Oliver?" askedCopplestone. "You've met him?"

"Met him in this country and in America, " replied Addie, calmly. "He wason tour over there when I was--three years ago. We were in two or threetowns together at the same time--different houses, of course. I never sawmuch of him in London, though. "

"You didn't see anything of him yesterday, here?" suggested Copplestone. 

Addie stared and glanced at the landlady. 

"Here?" she exclaimed. "Goodness, no! When I'm here of a Sunday, I lie inbed all day, or most of it. Otherwise, I'd have to walk with my parent tothe family pew. No--my Sundays are days of rest! You really think thisdisappearance is serious?"

"Oliver's managers--who know him best, of course--think it most serious, "replied Copplestone. "They say that nothing but an accident of a reallyserious nature would have kept him from his engagements. "

"Then that settles it!" said Addie. "He's fallen down the Devil's Spout. Plain as plain can be, that! He's made his way there, been a bit toodaring, and slipped over the edge. And whoever falls in there never comesout again!--isn't that it, Mrs. Wooler?"

"That's what they say, " answered the landlady. 

"But I don't remember any accident at the Devil's Spout in my time. "

"Well, there's been one now, anyway--that's flat, " remarked Addie. "Poorold Bassett--I'm sorry for him! Well, I'm off. Good-night, Mr. Copplestone--and perhaps you'll so far overcome your repugnance to thetheatre as to come and see me in one some day?"

"Supposing I escort you homeward instead--now?" suggested Copplestone. "That will at least show that I am ready to become your devoted--"

"Admirer, I suppose, " said Addie. "I'm afraid he's not quite as innocentas he looks, Mrs. Wooler. Well--you can escort me as far as the gates ofthe park, then--I daren't take you further, because it's so dark in therethat you'd surely lose your way, and then there'd be a seconddisappearance and all sorts of complications. "

She went out of the inn, laughing and chattering, but once outside shesuddenly became serious, and she involuntarily laid her hand onCopplestone's arm as they turned down the hillside towards the quay. 

"I say!" she said in a low voice. "I wasn't going to ask questions inthere, but--what's going to be done about this Oliver affair? Of courseyou're stopping here to do something. What?"

Copplestone hesitated before answering this direct question. He had notseen anything which would lead him to suppose that Miss Adela Chatfieldwas a disingenuous and designing young woman, but she was certainlyPeeping Peter's daughter, and the old man, having failed to get anythingout of Copplestone himself, might possibly have sent her to see what shecould accomplish. He replied noncommittally. 

"I'm not in a position to do anything, " he said. "I'm not a relative--noteven a personal friend. I daresay you know that Bassett Oliver was--one'salready talking of him in the past tense!--the brother of Rear-AdmiralSir Cresswell Oliver, the famous seaman?"

"I knew he was a man of what they call family, but I didn't know that, "she answered. "What of it?"

"Stafford's wired to Sir Cresswell, " replied Copplestone. "Hell be downhere some time tomorrow, no doubt. And of course he'll take everythinginto his own hands. "

"And he'll do--what?" she asked. 

"Oh, I don't know, " replied Copplestone. "Set the police to work, Ishould think. They'll want to find out where Bassett Oliver went, wherehe got to, when he turned up to the Keep, saying he'd go and call onthe Squire, as he'd met some man of that name in America. By-the-bye, you said you'd been in America. Did you meet anybody of the Squire'sname there?"

They were passing along the quay by that time, and in the light of one ofits feeble gas-lamps he turned and looked narrowly at his companion. Hefancied that he saw her face change in expression at his question; ifthere was any change, however, it was so quick that it was gone in asecond. She shook her head with emphatic decision. 

"I?" she exclaimed. "Never! It's a most uncommon name, that. I neverheard of anybody called Greyle except at Scarhaven. "

"The present Mr. Greyle came from America, " said Copplestone. 

"I know, of course, " she answered. "But I never met any Greyles outthere. Bassett Oliver may have done, though. I know he toured in a lotof American towns--I only went to three--New York, Chicago, St. Louis. I suppose, " she continued, turning to Copplestone with a suggestion ofconfidence in her manner, "I suppose you consider it a very damningthing that Bassett Oliver should disappear, after saying what he didto Ewbank. "

It was very evident to Copplestone that whether Miss Chatfield had spokenthe truth or not when she said that her father had not told her of hisvisit to the "Admiral's Arms, " she was thoroughly conversant with all thefacts relating to the Oliver mystery, and he was still doubtful as towhether she was not seeking information. 

"Does it matter at all what I think, " he answered evasively. "I've nopart in this affair--I'm a mere spectator. I don't know how what yourefer to might be considered by people who are accustomed to size thingsup. They might say all that was a mere coincidence. "

"But what do you think?" she said with feminine persistence. "Come, now, between ourselves?"

Copplestone laughed. They had come to the edge of the wooded park inwhich the estate agent's house stood, and at a gate which led into it, he paused. 

"Between ourselves, then, I don't think at all--yet, " he answered. "Ihaven't sized anything up. All I should say at present is that if--oras, for I'm sure the fisherman repeated accurately what he heard--asOliver said he met somebody called Marston Greyle in America, why--Iconclude he did. That's all. Now, won't you please let me see youthrough these dark woods?"

But Addie said her farewell, and left him somewhat abruptly, and hewatched her until she had passed out of the circle of light from the lampwhich swung over the gate. She passed on into the shadows--andCopplestone, who had already memorized the chief geographical points ofhis new surroundings, noticed what she probably thought no stranger wouldnotice--that instead of going towards her father's house, she turned upthe drive to the Squire's. 

CHAPTER VII

LEFT ON GUARD

Stafford was back at Scarhaven before breakfast time next morning, bringing with him a roll of copies of the _Norcaster Daily Chronicle_, one of which he immediately displayed to Copplestone and Mrs. Wooler, whomet him at the inn door. He pointed with great pride to certain staringheadlines. 

"I engineered that!" he exclaimed. "Went round to the newspaper officelast night and put them up to everything. Nothing like publicity in thesecases. There you are!

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF FAMOUS ACTOR! BASSETT OLIVER MISSING!INTERVIEW WITH MAN WHO SAW HIM LAST!

That's the style, Copplestone!--every human being along this coast'll bereading that by now!"

"So there was no news of him last night?" asked Copplestone. 

"Neither last night nor this morning, my boy, " replied Stafford. "Ofcourse not! No--he never left here, not he! Now then, let Mrs. Woolerserve us that nice breakfast which I'm sure she has in readiness, andthen we're going to plunge into business, hot and strong. There's acouple of detectives coming on by the nine o'clock train, and we're goingto do the whole thing thoroughly. "

"What about his brother?" inquired Copplestone. 

"I wired him last night to his London address, and got a reply firstthing this morning, " said Stafford. "He's coming along by the 5:15 A. M. From King's Cross--he'll be here before noon. I want to get things towork before he arrives, though. And the first thing to do, of course, isto make sympathetic inquiry, and to search the shore, and the cliffs, andthese woods--and that Keep. All that we'll attend to at once. "

But on going round to the village police-station they found thatStafford's ideas had already been largely anticipated. The news of thestrange gentleman's mysterious disappearance had spread like wild-firethrough Scarhaven and the immediate district during the previous evening, and at daybreak parties of fisher-folk had begun a systematic search. These parties kept coming in to report progress all the morning: by noonthey had all returned. They had searched the famous rocks, the woods, thepark, the Keep, and its adjacent ruins, and the cliffs and shore for someconsiderable distance north and south of the bay, and there was noresult. Not a trace, not a sign of the missing man was to be foundanywhere. And when, at one o'clock, Stafford and Copplestone walked up tothe little station to meet Sir Cresswell Oliver, it was with thedisappointing consciousness that they had no news to give him. 

Copplestone, who nourished a natural taste for celebrities of any sort, born of his artistic leanings and tendencies, had looked forward withinterest to meeting Sir Cresswell Oliver, who, only a few monthspreviously, had made himself famous by a remarkable feat of seamanship inwhich great personal bravery and courage had been displayed. He had avague expectation of seeing a bluff, stalwart, sea-dog type of man;instead, he presently found himself shaking hands with a veryquiet-looking, elderly gentleman, who might have been a barrister or adoctor, of pleasant and kindly manners. With him was another gentleman ofa similar type, and of about the same age, whom he introduced as thefamily solicitor, Mr. Petherton. And to these two, in a privatesitting-room at the "Admiral's Arms, " Stafford, as Bassett Oliver'sbusiness representative, and Copplestone, as having remained on the spotsince the day before, told all and every detail of what had transpiredsince it was definitely established that the famous actor was missing. Both listened in silence and with deep attention; when all the facts hadbeen put before them, they went aside and talked together; then theyreturned and Sir Cresswell besought Stafford and Copplestone's attention. 

"I want to tell you young gentlemen precisely what Mr. Petherton and Ithink it best to do, " he said in the mild and bland accents which had somuch astonished Copplestone. "We have listened, as you will admit, withour best attention. Mr. Petherton, as you know, is a man of law; Imyself, when I have the good luck to be ashore, am a Chairman ofQuarter Sessions, so I'm accustomed to hearing and weighing evidence. Wedon't think there's any doubt that my poor brother has met with somecurious mishap which has resulted in his death. It seems impossible, going on what you tell us from the evidence you've collected, that hecould ever have approached that Devil's Spout place unseen; it alsoseems impossible that he could have had a fatal fall over the cliffs, since his body has not been found. No--we think something befell him inthe neighbourhood of Scarhaven Keep. But what? Foul play? Possibly! Ifit was--why? And there are three people Mr. Petherton and I would liketo speak to, privately--the fisherman, Ewbank, Mr. Marston Greyle, andMrs. Valentine Greyle. We should like to hear Ewbank's story forourselves; we certainly want to see the Squire; and I, personally, wishto see Mrs. Greyle because, from what Mr. Copplestone there has told us, I am quite sure that I, too, knew her a good many years ago, when shewas acquainted with my brother Bassett. So we propose, Mr. Stafford, togo and see these three people--and when we have seen them, I will tellyou and Mr. Copplestone exactly what I, as my brother's representative, wish to be done. "

The two younger men waited impatiently in and about the hotel while theirelders went on their self-appointed mission. Stafford, essentially a manof activity, speculated on their reasons for seeing the three people whomSir Cresswell Oliver had specifically mentioned: Copplestone wasmeanwhile wondering if he could with propriety pay another visit to Mrs. Greyle's cottage that night. It was drawing near to dusk when the twoquiet-looking, elderly gentlemen returned and summoned the younger onesto another conference. Both looked as reserved and bland as when they hadset out, and the old seaman's voice was just as suave as ever when headdressed them. 

"Well, gentlemen, " he said, "we have paid our visits, and I suppose I hadbetter tell you at once that we are no wiser as to actual facts than wewere when we left you earlier in the afternoon. The man Ewbank standsemphatically by his story; Mr. Marston Greyle says that he cannotremember any meeting with my brother in America, and that he certainlydid not call on him here on Sunday: Mrs. Valentine Greyle has not metBassett for a great many years. Now--there the matter stands. Of course, it cannot rest there. Further inquiries will have to be made. Mr. Petherton and I are going on to Norcaster this evening, and we shall havea very substantial reward offered to any person who can give anyinformation about my brother. That may result in something--or innothing. As to my brother's business arrangements, I will go fully intothat matter with you, Mr. Stafford, at Norcaster, tomorrow. Now, Mr. Copplestone, will you have a word or two with me in private?"

Copplestone followed the old seaman into a quiet corner of the room, where Sir Cresswell turned on him with a smile. 

"I take it, " he said, "that you are a young gentleman of leisure, andthat you can abide wherever you like, eh?"

"Yes, you may take that as granted, " answered Copplestone, wondering whatwas coming. 

"Doesn't much matter if you write your plays in Jermyn Streetor--anywhere else, eh?" questioned Sir Cresswell with a humorous smile. 

"Practically, no, " replied Copplestone. 

Sir Cresswell tapped him on the shoulder. 

"I want you to do me a favour, " he said. "I shall take it as a kindnessif you will. I don't want to talk about certain ideas which Petherton andI have about this affair, yet, anyway--not even to you--but we _have_formed some ideas this afternoon. Now, do you think you could manage tostay where you are for a week or two?"

"Here?" exclaimed Copplestone. 

"This seems very comfortable, " said Sir Cresswell, looking round. "Thelandlady is a nice, motherly person; she gave me a very well-cookedlunch; this is a quiet room in which to do your writing, eh?"

"Of course I can stay here, " answered Copplestone, who was a good dealbewildered. "But--mayn't I know why--and in what capacity?"

"Just to keep your eyes and your ears open, " said Sir Cresswell. "Don'tseem to make inquiries--in fact, don't make any inquiry--do nothing. Idon't want you to do any private detective work--not I! Just stop herea bit--amuse yourself--write--read--and watch things quietly. And--don'tbe cross--I've an elderly man's privilege, you know--you'll send yourbills to me. "

"Oh, that's all right, thanks!" said Copplestone, hurriedly. "I'm prettywell off as regards this world's goods. "

"So I guessed when I found that you lived in the expensive atmosphere ofJermyn Street, " said Sir Cresswell, with a sly laugh. "But all the same, you'll let me be paymaster here, you know--that's only fair. "

"All right--certainly, if you wish it, " agreed Copplestone. "But lookhere--won't you trust me? I assure you I'm to be trusted. You suspectsomebody! Hadn't you better give me your confidence? I won't tell asoul--and when I say that, I mean it literally. I won't tell onesingle soul!"

Sir Cresswell waited a moment or two, looking quietly at Copplestone. Then he clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder. 

"All right, my lad, " he said. "Yes!--we do suspect somebody. MarstonGreyle! Now you know it. "

"I expected that, " answered Copplestone. "All right, sir. And my ordersare--just what you said. "

"Just what I said, " agreed Sir Cresswell. "Carry on at that--eyes andears open; no fuss; everything quiet, unobtrusive, silent. Meanwhile--Petherton will be at work. And I say--if you want company, you know--I think you'll find it across the bay there at Mrs. Greyle's--eh?"

"I was there last night, " said Copplestone. "I liked both of themvery much. You knew Mrs. Greyle once upon a time, I think; you andyour brother?"

"We did!" replied Sir Cresswell, with a sigh. "Um!--the fact is, bothBassett and I were in love with her at that time. She married another maninstead. That's all!"

He gave Copplestone a squeeze of the elbow, laughed, and went across tothe solicitor, who was chatting to Stafford in one of the bow windows. Ten minutes later all three were off to Norcaster, and Copplestone wasalone, ruminating over this sudden and extraordinary change in thehiterto even tenor of his life. Little more than twenty-four hourspreviously, all he had been concerned about was the production of hisplay by Bassett Oliver--here he was now, mixed up in a drama of reallife, with Bassett Oliver as its main figure, and the plot as yetunrevealed. And he himself was already committed to play in it--butwhat part?

Now that the others had gone, Copplestone began to feel strangely alone. He had accepted Sir Cresswell Oliver's commission readily, feelinggenuinely interested in the affair, and being secretly conscious that hewould be glad of the opportunity of further improving his acquaintancewith Audrey Greyle. But now that he considered things quietly, he beganto see that his position was a somewhat curious and possibly invidiousone. He was to watch--and to seem not to watch. He was to listen--andappear not to listen. The task would be difficult--and perhapsunpleasant. For he was very certain that Marston Greyle would resent hispresence in the village, and that Chatfield would be suspicious of it. What reason could he, an utter stranger, have for taking up his quartersat the "Admiral's Arms?" The tourist season was over: Autumn was well setin; with Autumn, on that coast, came weather which would send mostsoutherners flying homewards. Of course, these people would say that hewas left there to peep and pry--and they would all know that the Squirewas the object of suspicion. It was all very well, his telling Mrs. Wooler that being an idle man he had taken a fancy to Scarhaven, andwould stay in her inn for a few weeks, but Mrs. Wooler, like everybodyelse, would see through that. However, the promise had been given, and hewould keep it--literally. He would do nothing in the way of activedetective work--he would just wait and see what, if anything, turned up. 

But upon one thing Copplestone had made up his mind determinedly beforethat second evening came--he would make no pretence to Audrey Greyle andher mother. And availing himself of their permission to call again, hewent round to the cottage, and before he had been in it five minutes toldthem bluntly that he was going to stay at Scarhaven awhile, on thechance of learning any further news of Bassett Oliver. 

"Which, " he added, with a grim smile, "seems about as likely as thatI should hear that I am to be Lord Chancellor when the Woolsack isnext vacant!"

"You don't know, " remarked Mrs. Greyle. "A reward for information is tobe offered, isn't it?"

"Do you think that will do much good?" asked Copplestone. 

"It depends upon the amount, " replied Mrs. Greyle. "We know these people. They are close and reserved--no people could keep secrets better. For allone knows, somebody in this village may know something, and may atpresent feel it wisest to keep the knowledge to himself. But ifmoney--what would seem a lot of money--comes into question--ah!"

"Especially if the information could be given in secret, " said Audrey. "Scarhaven folk love secrecy--it's the salt of life to them: it's intheir very blood. Chatfield is an excellent specimen. He'll watch you asa cat watches a mouse when he finds you're going to stay here. "

"I shall be quite open, " said Copplestone. "I'm not going to indulge inany secret investigations. But I mean to have a thorough look round theplace. That Keep, now?--may one look round that?"

"There's a path which leads close by the Keep, from which you can get agood outside view of it, " replied Audrey. "But the Keep itself, and therest of the ruins round about it are in private ground. "

"But you have a key, Audrey, and you can take Mr. Copplestone in there, "said Mrs. Greyle. "And you would show him more than he would find out forhimself--Audrey, " she continued, turning to Copplestone, "knows everyinch of the place and every stone of the walls. "

Copplestone made no attempt to conceal his delight at this suggestion. Heturned to the girl with almost boyish eagerness. 

"Will you?" he exclaimed. "Do! When?"

"Tomorrow morning, if you like, " replied Audrey. "Meet me on the southquay, soon after ten. "

Copplestone was down on the quay by ten o'clock. He became aware as hedescended the road from the inn that the fisher-folk, who were alwayslounging about the sea-front, were being keenly interested in somethingthat was going on there. Drawing nearer he found that an energeticbill-poster was attaching his bills to various walls and doors. SirCresswell and his solicitor had evidently lost no time, and had set aNorcaster printer to work immediately on their arrival the previousevening. And there the bill was, and it offered a thousand pounds rewardto any person who should give information which would lead to the findingof Bassett Oliver, alive or dead. 

Copplestone purposely refrained from mingling with the groups of men andlads who thronged about the bills, eagerly discussing the great affair ofthe moment. He sauntered along the quay, waiting for Audrey. She came atlast with an enigmatic smile on her lips. 

"Our particular excursion is off, Mr. Copplestone, " she said. "Extraordinary events seem to be happening. Mr. Chatfield called on us anhour ago, took my key away from me, and solemnly informed us thatScarhaven Keep is strictly closed until further notice!"

CHAPTER VIII

RIGHT OF WAY

The look of blank astonishment which spread over Copplestone's face onhearing this announcement seemed to afford his companion greatamusement, and she laughed merrily as she signed to him to turn backtowards the woods. 

"All the same, " she observed, "I know how to steal a countermarch onMaster Chatfield. Come along!--you shan't be disappointed. "

"Does your cousin know of that?" asked Copplestone. "Are those hisorders?"

Audrey's lips curled a little, and she laughed again--but this time thelaughter was cynical. 

"I don't think it much matters whether my cousin knows or not, " she said. "He's the nominal Squire of Scarhaven, but everybody knows that the realover-lord is Peter Chatfield. Peter Chatfield does--everything. And--hehates me! He won't have had such a pleasant moment for a long time as hehad this morning when he took my key away from me and warned me off. "

"But why you?" asked Copplestone. 

"Oh--Peter is deep!" she said. "Peter, no doubt, knew that you came tosee us last night--Peter knows all that goes on in Scarhaven. And he putthings together, and decided that I might act as your cicerone over theKeep and the ruins, and so--there you are!"

"Why should he object to my visiting the Keep?" demanded Copplestone. 

"That's obvious! He considers you a spy, " replied Audrey. "And--there maybe reasons why he doesn't desire your presence in those ancient regions. But--we'll go there, all the same, if you don't mind breaking rules anddefying Peter. "

"Not I!" said Copplestone. "Hang Peter!"

"There are people who firmly believe that Peter Chatfield should havebeen hanged long since, " she remarked quietly. "I'm one of them. Chatfield is a bad old man--thoroughly bad! But I'll circumvent him inthis, anyhow. I know how to get into the Keep in spite of him and of hislocks and bolts. There's a big curtain wall, twenty feet high, all roundthe Keep, but I know where there's a hole in it, behind some bushes, andwe'll get in there. Come along!"

She led him up the same path through the woods along which Bassett Oliverhad gone, according to Ewbank's account. It wound through groves of firand pine until it came out on a plateau, in the midst of which, surrounded by a high irregular wall, towered at the angles and buttressedall along its length, stood Scarhaven Keep. And there, at the head of apath which evidently led up from the big house, stood Chatfield, angryand threatening. Beyond him, distributed at intervals about the otherpaths which converged on the plateau were other men, obviously estatelabourers, who appeared to be mounting guard over the forbidden spot. 

"Now there's going to be a row!--between me and Chatfield, " murmuredAudrey. "You play spectator--don't say a word. Leave it to me. We are onour rights along this path--take no notice of Peter. "

But Chatfield was already bearing down on them, his solemn-featured facedark with displeasure. He raised his voice while he was yet a dozenyards away. 

"I thought I'd told you as you wasn't to come near these here ruins!" hesaid, addressing Audrey in a fashion which made Copplestone's fingersitch to snatch the oak staff from the agent and lay it freely about hisperson. "My orders was to that there effect! And when I give orders Imean 'em to be obeyed. You'll turn straight back where you came from, miss, and in future do as I instruct--d'ye hear that, now?"

"If you expect me to keep quiet or dumb under that sort of thing, "whispered Copplestone, bending towards Audrey, "you're very much mistakenin me! I shall give this fellow a lesson in another minute if--"

"Well, wait another minute, then, " said Audrey, who had continued to walkforward, steadily regarding the agent's threatening figure. "Let me talka little, first--I'm enjoying it. Are you addressing me, Mr. Chatfield?"she went on in her sweetest accents. "I hear you speaking, but I don'tknow if you are speaking to me. If so, you needn't shout. "

"You know very well who I'm a-speaking to, " growled Chatfield. "I toldyou you wasn't to come near these ruins--it's forbidden, by order. You'lltake yourself off, and that there young man with you--we want no paidspies hereabouts!"

"If you speak to me like that again I'll knock you down!" exclaimedCopplestone, stepping forward before Audrey could stop him. "Or to thislady, either. Stand aside, will you?"

Chatfield twisted on his heel with a surprising agility--not to standaside, but to wave his arm to the men who stood here and there, behind him. 

"Here, you!" he shouted. "Here, this way, all of you! This here fellow'sthreatening me with assault. You lay a finger on me, you young snapper, and I'll have you in the lock-up in ten minutes. Stand between us, youmen!--he's for knocking me down. Now then!" he went on, as the bodyguardgot between him and Copplestone, "off you go, out o' these grounds, bothof you--quick! I'll have no defiance of my orders from neither gel norboy, man nor woman. Out you go, now--or you'll be put out. "

But Audrey continued to advance, still watching the agent. "You're undera mistake, Mr. Chatfield, " she said calmly. "You will observe that Mr. Copplestone and I are on this path. You know very well that this is apublic foot-path, with a proper and legal right-of-way from timeimmemorial. You can't turn us off it, you know--without exposing yourselfto all sorts of pains and penalties. You men know that, too, " shecontinued, turning to the labourers and dropping her bantering tone. "Youall know this is a public footpath. So stand out of our way, or I'llsummon every one of you!"

The last words were spoken with so much force and decision that the threelabourers involuntarily moved aside. But Chatfield hastened to opposeAudrey's progress, planting himself in front of a wicket-gate which therestood across the path, and he laughed sneeringly. 

"And where would you find money to take summonses out?" he said, with alook of contempt, "I should think you and your mother's something betterto do with your bit o' money than that. Now then, no more words!--backyou turn!"

Copplestone's temper had been gradually rising during the last fewminutes. Now, at the man's carefully measured taunts, he let it go. Before Chatfield or the labourers saw what he was at, he sprang on theagent's big form, grasped him by the neck with one hand, twisted his oakstaff away from him with the other, flung him headlong on the turf, andraised the staff threateningly. 

"Now!" he said, "beg Miss Greyle's pardon, instantly, or I'll split yourwicked old head for you. Quick, man--I mean it!"

Before Chatfield, moaning and groaning, could find his voice capableof words, Marston Greyle, pale and excited, came round a corner ofthe ruins. 

"What's this, what's all this?" he demanded. "Here, yon sir, what areyou doing with that stick! What--"

"I'm about to chastise your agent for his scoundrelly insolence to yourcousin, " retorted Copplestone with cheerful determination. "Now then, myman, quick--I always keep my word!"

"Hand the stick to Mr. Marston Greyle, Mr. Copplestone, " said Audrey inher demurest manner. "I'm sure he would beat Chatfield soundly if he hadheard what he said to me--his cousin. "

"Thank you, but I'm in possession, " said Copplestone, grimly. "Mr. Marston Greyle can kick him when I've thrashed him. Now, then--are yougoing to beg Miss Greyle's pardon, you hoary sinner?"

"What on earth is it all about?" exclaimed Greyle, obviously upset andafraid. "Chatfield, what have you been saying? Go away, you men--go away, all of you, at once. Mr. Copplestone, don't hit him. Audrey, what is it?Hang it all!--I seem to have nothing but bother--it's most annoying. Whatis it, I say?"

"It is merely, Marston, that your agent there, after trying to turn Mr. Copplestone and myself off this public foot-path, insulted me withshameful taunts about my mother's poverty, " replied Audrey. "That's all!Whereupon--as you were not here to do it--Mr. Copplestone promptly andvery properly knocked him down. And now--is Mr. Copplestone to punish himor--will you?"

Copplestone, keeping a sharp eye on the groaning and sputtering agent, contrived at the same time to turn a corner of it on Marston Greyle. Thatmomentary glance showed him much. The Squire was mortally afraid of hisman. That was certain--as certain as that they were there. He stood, apicture of vexation and indecision, glancing furtively at Chatfield, thenat Audrey, and evidently hating to be asked to take a side. 

"Confound it all, Chatfield!" he suddenly burst out. "Why don't you mindwhat you're saying? It's all very well, Audrey, but you shouldn't havecome along here--especially with strangers. The fact is, I'm so upsetabout this Oliver affair that I'm going to have a thorough search andexamination of the Keep and the ruins, and, of course, we can't allow anyone inside the grounds while it's going on. You should have kept toChatfield's orders--"

"And since when has a Greyle of Scarhaven kept to a servant's orders?"interrupted Audrey, with a sneer that sent the blood rushing to theSquire's face. "Never!--until this present régime, I should think. Orders, indeed!--from an agent! I wonder what the last Squire ofScarhaven would have said to a proposition like that? Mr. Copplestone--you've punished that bad old man quite sufficiently. Willyou open the gate for me--and we'll go on our way. "

The girl spoke with so much decision that Copplestone moved away fromChatfield, who struggled to his feet, muttering words that sounded verymuch like smothered curses. 

"I'll have the law on you!" he growled, shaking his fist at Copplestone. "Before this day's out, I'll have the law!"

"Sooner the better, " retorted Copplestone. "Nothing will please me somuch as to tell the local magistrates precisely what you said to yourmaster's kinswoman. You know where I'm to be found--and there, " headded, throwing a card at the agent's feet, "there you'll find mypermanent address. "

"Give me my walking-stick!" demanded Chatfield. 

"Not I!" exclaimed Copplestone. "That's mine, my good man, by right ofconquest. You can summon me, or arrest me, if you like, for stealing it. "

He opened the wicket-gate for Audrey, and together they passed through, skirted the walls of the ruins, and went away into the higher portion ofthe woods. Once there the girl laughed. 

"Now there'll be another row!" she said. "Between master and manthis time. "

"I think not!" observed Copplestone, with unusual emphasis. "For themaster is afraid of the man. "

"Ah!--but which is master and which is man?" asked Audrey in a low voice. 

Copplestone stopped and looked narrowly at her. 

"Oh?" he said quietly, "so you've seen that?"

"Does it need much observation?" she replied. "My mother and I have knownfor some time that Marston Greyle is entirely under Peter Chatfield'sthumb. He daren't do anything--save by Chatfield's permission. "

Copplestone walked on a few yards, ruminating. 

"Why!" he asked suddenly. 

"How do we know?" retorted Audrey. 

"Well, in cases like that, " said Copplestone, "it generally means thatone man has a hold on the other. What hold can Chatfield have on yourcousin? I understand Mr. Marston Greyle came straight to his inheritancefrom America. So what could Chatfield know of him--to have any hold?"

"Oh, I don't know--and I don't care--much, " replied Audrey, as theypassed out of the woods on to the headlands beyond. "Never mind allthat--here's the sea and the open sky--hang Chatfield, and Marston, too!As we can't see the Keep, let's enjoy ourselves some other way. Whatshall we do?"

"You're the guide, conductress, general boss!" answered Copplestone. "Shall I suggest something that sounds very material, though? Well, then, can't we go along these cliffs to some village where we can find a niceold fishing inn and get a simple lunch of some sort?"

"That's certainly material and eminently practical, " laughed Audrey. "Wecan--that place, along there to the south--Lenwick. And so, come on--andno more talk of Squire and agent. I've a remarkable facility in throwingaway unpleasant things. "

"It's a grand faculty--and I'll try to imitate you, " said Copplestone. "So--today's our own, eh? Is that it?"

"Say until the middle of this afternoon, " responded Audrey. "Don't forgetthat I have a mother at home. "

It was, however, well past the middle of the afternoon when these tworeturned to Scarhaven, very well satisfied with themselves. They hadfound plenty to talk about without falling back on Marston Greyle, orPeter Chatfield, or the event of the morning, and Copplestone suddenlyremembered, almost with compunction, that he had been so engrossed inhis companion that he had almost forgotten the Oliver mystery. But thatwas sharply recalled to him as he entered the "Admiral's Arms. " Mrs. Wooler came forward from her parlour with a mysterious smile on hergood-looking face. 

"Here's a billet-doux for you, Mr. Copplestone, " she said. "And I can'ttell you who left it. One of the girls found it lying on the hall tablean hour ago. " With that she handed Copplestone a much thumbed, verygrimy, heavily-sealed envelope. 

CHAPTER IX

HOBKIN'S HOLE

Copplestone carried the queer-looking missive into his privatesitting-room and carefully examined it, back and front, before slittingit open. The envelope was of the cheapest kind, the big splotch of redwax at the flap had been pressed into flatness by the summary method offorcing a coarse-grained thumb upon it; the address was inscribed inill-formed characters only too evidently made with difficulty by a badpen, which seemed to have been dipped into watery ink at every third orfourth letter. And it read thus:--

"THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN STAYING AT 'THE ADMIRAL '--PRIVATE"

The envelope contained nothing but a scrap of paper obviously torn from apenny cash book. No ink had been used in transcribing the two or threelines which were scrawled across this scrap--the vehicle this time was anindelible pencil, which the writer appeared to have moistened with histongue every now and then, some letters being thicker and darker thanothers. The message, if mysterious, was straightforward enough. "_Sir, "_it ran, "_if so be as you'd like to have a bit of news from one as hasit, take a walk through Hobkin's Hole tomorrow morning and look out forYours truly--Him as writes this_. "

Like most very young men Copplestone on arriving at what he calledmanhood (by which he meant the age of twenty-one years), had drawn up forhimself a code of ethics, wherein he had mentally scheduled certainthings to be done and certain things not to be done. One of the thingswhich he had firmly resolved never to do was to take any notice of ananonymous letter. Here was an anonymous letter, and with it a conflictbetween his principles and his inclinations. In five minutes he learntthat cut-and-dried codes are no good when the hard facts of every-daylife have to be faced and that expediency is a factor in human existencewhich has its moral values. In plain English, he made up his mind tovisit Hobkin's Hole next morning and find out who the unknowncorrespondent was. 

He was half tempted to go round to the cottage and show the queer scrawlto Audrey Greyle, of whom, having passed six delightful hours in hercompany--he was beginning to think much more than was good for him, unless he intended to begin thinking of her always. But he was stillyoung enough to have a spice of bashfulness about him, and he did notwant to seem too pushing or forward. Again, it seemed to him that theanonymous letter conveyed, in some subtle fashion, a hint that it was tobe regarded as sacred and secret, and Copplestone had a strong sense ofhonour. He knew that Mrs. Wooler was femininely curious to hear all aboutthat letter, but he took care not to mention it to her. Instead hequietly consulted an ordnance map of the district which hung framed andglazed in the hall of the inn, and discovering that Hobkin's Hole wasmarked on it as being something or other a mile or two out of Scarhavenon the inland side, he set out in its direction next morning afterbreakfast, without a word to anyone as to where he was going. And that hemight not be entirely defenceless he carried Peter Chatfield's oakenstaff with him--that would certainly serve to crack any ordinary skull, if need arose for measure of defence. 

The road which Copplestone followed out of the village soon turned offinto the heart of the moorlands that lay, rising and falling in irregularundulations, between the sea and the hills. He was quickly out of sightof Scarhaven, and in the midst of a solitude. All round him stretchedwide expanses of heather and gorse, broken up by great masses of rock:from a rise in the road he looked about him and saw no sign of a humanhabitation and heard nothing but the rush of the wind across the moorsand the plaintive cry of the sea-birds flapping their way to thecultivated land beyond the barrier of hills. And from that point he sawno sign of any fall or depression in the landscape to suggest the placewhich he sought. But at the next turn he found himself at the mouth of anarrow ravine, which cut deep into the heart of the hill, and was darkand sombre enough to seem a likely place for secret meetings, if fornothing more serious and sinister. It wound away from a little bridgewhich carried the road over a brawling stream; along the side of thatstream were faint indications of a path which might have been made byhuman feet, but was more likely to have been trodden out by the mountainsheep. This path was quickly obscured by dwarf oaks and alder bushes, which completely roofed in the narrow valley, and about everything hung asuggestion of solitude that would have caused any timid or suspicioussoul to have turned back. But Copplestone was neither timid norsuspicious, and he was already intensely curious about this adventure;wherefore, grasping Peter Chatfield's oaken cudgel firmly in his righthand, he jumped over the bridge and followed the narrow path into thegloom of the trees. 

He soon found that the valley resolved itself into a narrow and rockydefile. The stream, level at first, soon came tumbling down amongst hugeboulders; the path disappeared; out of the oaks and alder high cliffs oflimestones began to lift themselves. The morning was unusually dark andgrey, even for October, and as leaves, brown and sere though they were, still clustered thickly on the trees, Copplestone quickly found himselfin a gloom that would have made a nervous person frightened. He alsofound that his forward progress became increasingly difficult. At thefoot of a tall cliff which suddenly rose up before him he was obliged topause; on that side of the stream it seemed impossible to go further. Butas he hesitated, peering here and there under the branches of the dwarfoaks, he heard a voice, so suddenly, that he started in spite of himself. 

"Guv'nor!"

Copplestone looked around and saw nothing. Then came a low laugh, as ifthe unseen person was enjoying his perplexity. 

"Look overhead, guv'nor, " said the voice. "Look aloft!"

Copplestone glanced upward, and saw a man's head and face, framed in ascreen of bushes which grew on a shelf of the limestone cliff. The headwas crowned by a much worn fur cap; the face, very brown and seamed andwrinkled, was ornamented by a short, well-blackened clay pipe, from thebowl of which a wisp of blue smoke curled upward. And as he grewaccustomed to the gloom he was aware of a pair of shrewd, twinkling eyes, and a set of very white teeth which gleamed like an animal's. 

"Hullo!" said Copplestone. "Come out of that!"

The white teeth showed themselves still more; their owner laughed again. 

"You come up, guv'nor, " he said. "There's a natural staircase round thecorner. Come up and make yourself at home. I've a nice little parlourhere, and a matter of refreshment in it, too. "

"Not till you show yourself, " answered Copplestone. "I want to see whatI'm dealing with. Come out, now!"

The unseen laughed again, moved away from his screen, and presentlyshowed himself on the edge of the shelf of rock. And Copplestone foundhimself staring at a queer figure of a man--an under-sized, quaint-looking fellow, clad in dirty velveteens, a once red waistcoat, and leather breeches and gaiters, a sort of compound between a poacher, agame-keeper, and an ostler. But quainter than figure or garments was theman's face--a gnarled, weather-beaten, sea-and-wind stained face, which, in Copplestone's opinion, was holiest enough and not without abundanttraces of a sense of humour. 

Copplestone at once trusted that face. He swung himself up by the nooksand crannies of the rock, and joined the man on his ledge. 

"Well?" he said. "You're the chap who sent me that letter? Why?"

"Come this way, guv'nor, " replied the brown-faced one. "Well talk morecomfortable, like, in my parlour. Here you are!"

He led Copplestone along the ridge behind the bushes, and presentlyrevealed a cave in the face of the overhanging limestone, mostly natural, but partly due to artifice, wherein were rude seats, covered over withold sacking, a box or two which evidently served for pantry and larder, and a shelf on which stood a wicker-covered bottle in company with a rowof bottles of ale. 

The lord of this retreat waved a hospitable hand towards his cellar. 

"You'll not refuse a poor man's hospitality, guv'nor?" he said politely. "I can give you a clean glass, and if you'll try a drop of rum, there'sfresh water from the stream to mix it with--good as you'll find inEngland. Or, maybe, it being the forepart of the day, you'd prefer ale, now? Say the word!"

"A bottle of ale, then, thank you, " responded Copplestone, who saw thathe had to deal with an original, and did not wish to appearstand-offish. "And whom am I going to drink with, may I ask?"

The man carefully drew the cork of a bottle, poured out its contents withthe discrimination of a bartender, handed the glass to his visitor with abow, helped himself to a measure of rum, and bowed again as he drank. 

"My best respects to you, guv'nor, " he said. "Glad to see you in Hobkin'sHole Castle--that's here. Queer place for gentlemen to meet in, ain't it?Who are you talking to, says you? My name, guv'-nor--well-knownhereabouts--is Zachary Spurge!"

"You sent me that note last night?" asked Copplestone, taking a seat andfilling his pipe. "How did you get it there--unseen?"

"Got a cousin as is odd-job man at the 'Admiral's Arms, '" repliedSpurge. "He slipped it in for me. You may ha' seen him there, guv'nor--chap with one eye, and queer-looking, but to be trusted. As Iam!--down to the ground. "

"And what do you want to see me about?" inquired Copplestone. "What'sthis bit of news you've got to tell?"

Zachary Spurge thrust a hand inside his velveteen jacket and drew out amuch folded and creased paper, which, on being unwrapped, proved to bethe bill which offered a reward for the finding of Bassett Oliver. Heheld it up before his visitor. 

"This!" he said. "A thousand pound is a vast lot o' money, guv'nor! Now, if I was to tell something as I knows of, what chances should I have ofgetting that there money?"

"That depends, " replied Copplestone. "The reward is to be given to--butyou see the plain wording of it. Can you give information of that sort?"

"I can give a certain piece of information, guv'nor, " said Spurge. "Whether it'll lead to the finding of that there gentleman or not I can'tsay. But something I do know--certain sure!"

Copplestone reflected awhile. 

"Ill tell you what, Spurge, " he said. "I'll promise you this much. If youcan give any information I'll give you my word that--whether what you cantell is worth much or little--you shall be well paid. That do?"

"That'll do, guv'nor, " responded Spurge. "I take your word as betweengentlemen! Well, now, it's this here--you see me as I am, here in acave, like one o' them old eremites that used to be in the ancient days. Why am I here! 'Cause just now it ain't quite convenient for me to showmy face in Scarhaven. I'm wanted for poaching, guv'nor--that's the fact!This here is a safe retreat. If I was tracked here, I could make my wayout at the back of this hole--there's a passage here--before anybodycould climb that rock. However, nobody suspects I'm here. Theythink--that is, that old devil Chatfield and the police--they think I'moff to sea. However, here I am--and last Sunday afternoon as ever was, Iwas in Scarhaven! In the wood I was, guv'nor, at the back of the Keep. Never mind what for--I was there. And at precisely ten minutes to threeo'clock I saw Bassett Oliver. "

"How did you know him?" demanded Copplestone. 

"Cause I've had many a sixpenn'orth of him at both Northborough andNorcaster, " answered Spurge. "Seen him a dozen times, I have, and knewhim well enough, even if I'd only viewed him from the the-ayter gallery. Well, he come along up the path from the south quay. He passed within adozen yards of me, and went up to the door in the wall of the ruins, right opposite where I was lying doggo amongst some bushes. He poked thedoor with the point of his stick--it was ajar, that door, and it wentopen. And so he walks in--and disappears. Guv'nor!--I reckon that'ud bethe last time as he was seen alive!--unless--unless--"

"Unless--what?" asked Copplestone eagerly. 

"Unless one other man saw him, " replied Spurge solemnly. "For there wasanother man there, guv'nor. Squire Greyle!"

Copplestone looked hard at Spurge; Spurge returned the stare, and noddedtwo or three times. 

"Gospel truth!" he said. "I kept where I was--I'd reasons of my own. Maybe eight minutes or so--certainly not ten--after Bassett Oliver walked inthere, Squire Greyle walked out. In a hurry, guv'nor. He come out quick. He looked a bit queer. Dazed, like. You know how quick a man can think, guv'nor, under certain circumstances? I thought quicker'n lightning. Isays to myself 'Squire's seen somebody or something he hadn't no tastefor!' Why, you could read it on his face! plain as print. It was there!"

"Well?" said Copplestone. "And then?"

"Then, " continued Spurge. "Then he stood for just a second or two, looking right and left, up and down. There wasn't a soul insight--nobody! But--he slunk off--sneaked off--same as a fox sneaks awayfrom a farm-yard. He went down the side of the curtain-wall that shuts inthe ruins, taking as much cover as ever he could find--at the end of thewall, he popped into the wood that stands between the ruins and hishouse. And then, of course, I lost all sight of him. "

"And--Mr. Oliver?" said Copplestone. "Did you see him again?"

Spurge took a pull at his rum and water, and relighted his pipe. 

"I did not, " he answered. "I was there until a quarter-past three--then Iwent away. And no Oliver had come out o' that door when I left. "

CHAPTER X

THE INVALID CURATE

Spurge and his visitor sat staring at each other in silence for a fewminutes; the silence was eventually broken by Copplestone. 

"Of course, " he said reflectively, "if Mr. Oliver was looking round thoseruins he could easily spend half an hour there. "

"Just so, " agreed Spurge. "He could spend an hour. If so be as he was oneof these here antiquarian-minded gents, as loves to potter about oldplaces like that, he could spend two hours, three hours, profitable-like. But he'd have come out in the end, and the evidence is, guv'nor, that henever did come out! Even if I am just now lying up, as it were, I'm fullywhat they term o-fay with matters, and, by all accounts, after BassettOliver went up that there path, subsequent to his bit of talk withEwbank, he was never seen no more 'cepting by me, and possibly by SquireGreyle. Them as lives a good deal alone, like me guv'nor, develops whatyou may call logical faculties--they thinks--and thinks deep. I'vethought. B. O. --that's Oliver--didn't go back by the way he'd come, orhe'd ha' been seen. B. O. Didn't go forward or through the woods to theheadlands, or he'd ha' been seen, B. O. Didn't go down to the shore, orhe'd ha' been seen. 'Twixt you and me, guv'nor, B. O. 's dead body is inthat there Keep!"

"Are you suggesting anything?" asked Copplestone. 

"Nothing, guv'nor--no more than that, " answered Spurge. "I'm making nosuggestion and no accusation against nobody. I've seen a bit too much oflife to do that. I've known more than one innocent man hanged there atNorcaster Gaol in my time all through what they call circumstantialevidence. Appearances is all very well--but appearances may be against aman to the very last degree, and yet him be as innocent as a new bornbaby! No--I make no suggestions. 'Cepting this here--which has no doubtoccurred to you, or to B. O. 's brother. If I were the missing gentleman'sfriends I should want to know a lot! I should want to know precisely whathe meant when he said to Dan'l Ewbank as how he'd known a man calledMarston Greyle in America. 'Taint a common name, that, guv'nor. "

Copplestone made no answer to these observations. His own train ofthought was somewhat similar to his host's. And presently he turned to adifferent track. 

"You saw no one else about there that afternoon?" he asked. 

"No one, guv'nor, " replied Spurge. 

"And where did you go when you left the place?" inquired Copplestone. 

"To tell you the truth, guv'nor, I was waiting there for that cousin o'mine--him as carried you the letter, " answered Spurge. "It was a fixturebetween us--he was to meet me there about three o'clock that day. If hewasn't there, or in sight, by a quarter-past three I was to know hewasn't able to get away. So as he didn't come, I slipped back into thewoods, and made my way back here, round by the moors. "

"Are you going to stay in this place?" asked Copplestone. 

"For a bit, guv'nor--till I see how things are, " replied Spurge. "As Isay, I'm wanted for poaching, and Chatfield's been watching to get hisknife into me this long while. All the same, if more serious things drewhis attention off, he might let it slide. What do you ask for, guv'nor?"

"I wanted to know where you could be found in case you were required togive evidence about seeing Mr. Oliver, " replied Copplestone. "Thatevidence may be wanted. "

"I've thought of that, " observed Spurge. "And you can always find thatmuch out from my cousin at the 'Admiral. ' He keeps in touch with me--ifit got too hot for me here, I should clear out to Norcaster--there's aspot there where I've laid low many a time. You can trust my cousin--JimSpurge, that's his name. One eye, no mistaking of him--he's always aboutthe yard there at Mrs. Wooler's. "

"All right, " said Copplestone. "If I want you, I'll tell him. By-the-bye, have you told this to anybody?"

"Not to a soul, guv'nor, " replied Spurge. "Not even to Jim. No--I kept itdark till I could see you. Considering, of course, that you are left incharge of things, like. "

Copplestone presently went away and returned slowly to Scarhaven, meditating deeply on what he had heard. He saw no reason to doubt thetruth of Zachary Spurge's tale--it bore the marks of credibility. Butwhat did it amount to? That Spurge saw Bassett Oliver enter the ruins ofthe Keep, by the one point of ingress; that a few moments later he sawMarston Greyle come away from the same place, evidently considerablyupset, and sneak off in a manner which showed that he dreadedobservation. That was all very suspicious, to say the least of it, takenin relation to Oliver's undoubted disappearance--but it was onlysuspicion; it afforded no direct proof. However, it gave material for areport to Sir Cresswell Oliver, and he determined to write out an accountof his dealings with Spurge that afternoon, and to send it off at once byregistered letter. 

He was busily engaged in this task when Mrs. Wooler came into hissitting-room to lay the table for his lunch. Copplestone saw at once thatshe was full of news. 

"Never rains but it pours!" she said with a smile. "Though, to be sure, it isn't a very heavy shower. I've got another visitor now, Mr. Copplestone. "

"Oh?" responded Copplestone, not particularly interested. "Indeed!"

"A young clergyman from London--the Reverend Gilling, " continued thelandlady. "Been ill for some time, and his doctor has recommended him totry the north coast air. So he came down here, and he's going to stopawhile to see how it suits him. "

"I should have thought the air of the north coast was a bit strong foran invalid, " remarked Copplestone. "I'm not delicate, but I find it quitestrong enough for me. "

"I daresay it's a case of kill or cure, " replied Mrs. Wooler. "Chestcomplaint, I should think. Not that the young gentleman looksparticularly delicate, either, and he tells me that he's a very goodappetite and that his doctor says he's to live well and to eat as much asever he can. "

Copplestone got a view of his fellow-visitor that afternoon in the hallof the inn, and agreed with the landlady that he showed no evident signsof delicacy of health. He was a good type of the conventional curate, with a rather pale, good-humoured face set between his round collar andwide brimmed hat, and he glanced at Copplestone with friendly curiosityand something of a question in his eyes. And Copplestone, out of goodneighbourliness, stopped and spoke to him. 

"Mrs. Wooler tells me you're come here to pick up, " he remarked. "Prettystrong air round this quarter of the globe!"

"Oh, that's all right!" said the new arrival. "The air of Scarhavenwill do me good--it's full of just what I want. " He gave Copplestoneanother look and then glanced at the letters which he held in his hand. "Are you going to the post-office?" he asked. "May I come?--I want togo there, too. "

The two young men walked out of the inn, and Copplestone led the waydown the road towards the northern quay. And once they were well outof earshot of the "Admiral's Arms, " and the two or three men wholounged near the wall in front of it, the curate turned to hiscompanion with a sly look. 

"Of course you're Mr. Copplestone?" he remarked. "You can't be anybodyelse--besides, I heard the landlady call you so. "

"Yes, " replied Copplestone, distinctly puzzled by the other's manner. "What then?"

The curate laughed quietly, and putting his fingers inside his heavyovercoat, produced a card which he handed over. 

"My credentials!" he said. 

Copplestone glanced at the card and read "Sir Cresswell Oliver, " Heturned wonderingly to his companion, who laughed again. 

"Sir Cresswell told me to give you that as soon as I conveniently could, "he said. "The fact is, I'm not a clergyman at all--not I! I'm a privatedetective, sent down here by him and Petherton. See?"

Copplestone stared for a moment at the wide-brimmed hat, the roundcollar, the eminently clerical countenance. Then he burst into laughter. "I congratulate you on your make-up, anyway!" he exclaimed. "Capital!"

"Oh, I've been on the stage in my time, " responded the private detective. "I'm a good hand at fitting myself to various parts; besides I've playedthe conventional curate a score of times. Yes, I don't think anybodywould see through me, and I'm very particular to avoid the clergy. "

"And you left the stage--for this?" asked Copplestone. "Why, now?"

"Pays better--heaps better, " replied the other calmly. "Also, it's moreexciting--there's much more variety in it. Well, now you know who Iam--my name, by-the-bye is Gilling, though I'm not the Reverend Gilling, as Mrs. Wooler will call me. And so--as I've made things plain--how'sthis matter going so far?"

Copplestone shook his head. 

"My orders, " he said, with a significant look, "are--to say nothingto any one. "

"Except to me, " responded Gilling. "Sir Cresswell Oliver's card is mypassport. You can tell me anything. "

"Tell me something first, " replied Copplestone. "Precisely what are youhere for? If I'm to talk confidentially to you, you must talk in the samefashion to me. "

He stopped at a deserted stretch of the quay, and leaning against thewall which separated it from the sand, signed to Gilling to stop also. 

"If we're going to have a quiet talk, " he went on, "we'd better have itnow--no one's about, and if any one sees us from a distance they'llonly think we're, what we look to be--casual acquaintances. Now--whatis your job?"

Gilling looked about him and then perched himself on the wall. 

"To watch Marston Greyle, " he replied. 

"They suspect him?" asked Copplestone. 

"Undoubtedly!"

"Sir Cresswell Oliver said as much to me--but no more. Have they saidmore to you?"

"The suspicion seemed to have originated with Petherton. Petherton, inspite of his meek old-fashioned manners, is as sharp an old bird asyou'll find in London! He fastened at once on what Bassett Oliver saidto that fisherman, Ewbank. A keen nose for a scent, Petherton's! And he's determined to find out who it was that Bassett Oliver met in theUnited States under the name of Marston Greyle. He's already set themachinery in motion. And in the meantime, I'm to keep my eye on thisSquire--as I shall!"

"Why watch him particularly?"

"To see that he doesn't depart for unknown regions--or, if he does, tofollow in his track. He's not to be lost sight of until this mystery iscleared. Because--something is wrong. "

Copplestone considered matters in silence for a few moments, and decidednot to reveal the story of Zachary Spurge to Gilling--yet awhile at anyrate. However, he had news which there was no harm in communicating. 

"Marston Greyle, " he said, presently, "or his agent, Peter Chatfield, orboth, in common agreement, are already doing something to solve themystery--so far as Greyle's property is concerned. They've closed theKeep and its surrounding ruins to the people who used to be permitted togo in, and they're conducting an exhaustive search--for Bassett Oliver, of course. "

Gilling made a grimace. 

"Of course!" he said, cynically. "Just so! I expected something of thatsort. That's all part of a clever scheme. "

"I don't understand you, " remarked Copplestone. "How--a clever scheme?"

"Whitewash!" answered Gilling. "Sheer whitewash! You don't suppose thateither Greyle or Chatfield are fools?--I should say they're far from it, from what little I've heard of 'em. Well--don't they know very well thatMarston Greyle is under suspicion? All right--they want to clear him. Sothey close their ruins and make a search--a private search, mind you--andat the end they announce that nothing's been found--and there you are!And--supposing they did find something--supposing they found BassettOliver's body--What is it?" he asked suddenly, seeing Copplestone staringhard across the sands at the opposite quay. "Something happened?"

"By Gad!--I believe something has happened!" exclaimed Copplestone. "Lookthere--men running down the hillside from the Keep. And listen--they'reshouting to those fellows on the other quay. Come on across! Will it beout of keeping with your invalid pose if you run?"

Gilling answered that question by lightly vaulting the wall and droppingto the sands beneath. 

"I'm not an invalid in my legs, anyhow, " he answered, as they began tosplash across the pools left by the recently retreated tide. "ByGeorge!--I believe something has happened, too! Look at those people, running out of their cottages!"

All along the south quay the fisher-folk, men, women, and children, werecrowding eagerly towards the gate of the path by which Bassett Oliver hadgone up towards the Keep. When Copplestone and his companion gained thequay and climbed up its wall they were pouring in at this gate, andswarming up to the woods, all talking at the top of their voices. Copplestone suddenly recognized Ewbank on the fringe of the crowd andcalled to him. 

"What is it?" he demanded. "What's happened?"

Ewbank, a man of leisurely movement, paused and waited for the two youngmen to come up. At their approach he took his pipe out of his mouth, andinclined his head towards the Keep. 

"They're saying something's been found up there. " he replied. "I don'tknow what. But Chatfield, he's sent two men down here to the village. Oneof 'em's gone for the police and the doctor, and t'other's gone to the'Admiral, ' looking for you. You're wanted up there--partiklar!"

CHAPTER XI

BENEATH THE BRAMBLES

By the time Copplestone and the pseudo-curate had reached the plateau ofopen ground surrounding the ruins it seemed as if half the population ofScarhaven had gathered there. Men, women and children were swarming aboutthe door in the curtain wall, all manifesting an eager desire to passthrough. But the door was strictly guarded. Chatfield, armed with a newoak cudgel stood there, masterful and lowering; behind him were severalestate labourers, all keeping the people back. And within the door stoodMarston Greyle, evidently considerably restless and perturbed, and everynow and then looking out on the mob which the fast-spreading rumour hadcalled together. In one of these inspections he caught sight ofCopplestone, and spoke to Chatfield, who immediately sent one of hisbody-guard through the throng. 

"Mr. Greyle says will you go forward, sir?" said the man. "Your friendcan go in too, if he likes. "

"That's your clerical garb, " whispered Copplestone as he and Gilling madetheir way to the door. "But why this sudden politeness?"

"Oh, that's easy to reckon up, " answered Gilling. "I see through it. Theywant creditable and respectable witnesses to something or other. Thisbig, heavy-jowled man is Chatfield, of course?"

"That's Chatfield, " responded Copplestone. "What's he after?"

For the agent, as the two young men approached, ostentiously turned awayfrom them, moving a few steps from the door. He muttered a word or two tothe men who guarded it and they stood aside and allowed Copplestone andthe curate to enter. Marston Greyle came forward, eyeing Gilling with asharp glance of inspection. He turned from him to Copplestone. 

"Will you come in?" he asked, not impolitely and with a certain anxietyof manner. "I want you to--to be present, in fact. This gentleman is afriend of yours?"

"An acquaintance of an hour, " interposed Gilling, with ready wit. "I havejust come to stay at the inn--for my health's sake. "

"Perhaps you'll be kind enough to accompany us?" said Greyle. "The factis, Mr. Copplestone, we've found Mr. Bassett Oliver's body. "

"I thought so, " remarked Copplestone. 

"And as soon as the police come up, " continued Greyle, "I want you all tosee exactly where it is. No one's touched it--no one's been near it. Ofcourse, he's dead!"

He lifted his hand with a nervous gesture, and the two others, who werewatching him closely, saw that he was trembling a good deal, and that hisface was very pale. 

"Dead!--of course, " he went on. "He--he must have been killedinstantaneously. And you'll see in a minute or two why the body wasn'tfound before--when we made that first search. It's quite explainable. Thefact is--"

A sudden bustle at the door in the wall heralded the entrance of twopolicemen. The Squire went forward to meet them. The prospect ofimmediate action seemed to pull him together and his manner changed toone of assertive superintendence of things. 

"Now, Mr. Chatfield!" he called out. "Keep all these people away! Closethe door and let no one enter on any excuse. Stay there yourself and seethat we are not interrupted. Come this way now, " he went on, addressingthe policemen and the two favoured spectators. 

"You've found him, then, sir?" asked the police-sergeant in a thickwhisper, as Greyle led his party across the grass to the foot of theKeep. "I suppose it's all up with the poor gentleman; of course? Thedoctor, he wasn't in, but they'll send him up as soon--"

"Mr. Bassett Oliver is dead, " interrupted Greyle, almost harshly. "Nodoctors can do any good. Now, look here, " he continued, pulling them to asudden halt, "I want all of you to take particular notice of this oldtower--the Keep. I believe you have not been in here before, Mr. Copplestone--just pay particular attention to this place. Here you see isthe Keep, standing in the middle of what I suppose was the courtyard ofthe old castle. It's a square tower, with a stair-turret at one angle. The stair in that turret is in a very good state of preservation--infact, it is quite easy to climb to the top, and from the top there's afine view of land and sea: the Keep itself is nearly a hundred feet inheight. Now the inside of the Keep is completely gutted, as you'llpresently see--there isn't a floor left of the five or six which wereonce there. And I'm sorry to say there's very little protection whenone's at the top--merely a narrow ledge with a very low parapet, which inplaces is badly broken. Consequently, any one who climbs to the top mustbe very careful, or there's the danger of slipping off that ledge andfalling to the bottom. Now in my opinion that's precisely what happenedon Sunday afternoon. Oliver evidently got in here, climbed the stairs inthe turret to enjoy the view and fell from the parapet. And why his bodyhasn't been found before I'll now show you. "

He led the way to the extreme foot of the Keep, and to a very low-archeddoor, at which stood a couple of the estate labourers, one of whomcarried a lighted lantern. To this man the Squire made a sign. 

"Show the way, " he said, in a low voice. 

The man turned and descended several steps of worn and moss-covered stonewhich led through the archway into a dark, cellar-like place smellingstrongly of damp and age. Greyle drew the attention of his companions toa heap of earth and rubbish at the entrance. 

"We had to clear all that out before we could get in here, " he said. "This archway hadn't been opened for ages. This, of course, is the verylowest story of the Keep, and half beneath the level of the groundoutside. Its roof has gone, like all the rest, but as you see, somethingelse has supplied its place. Hold up your lantern, Marris!"

The other men looked up and saw what the Squire meant. Across the tower, at a height of some fifteen or twenty feet from the floor, Nature, leftunchecked, had thrown a ceiling of green stuff. Bramble, ivy, and otherspreading and climbing plants had, in the course of years, made acomplete network from wall to wall. In places it was so thick that nolight could be seen through it from beneath; in other places it was thinand glimpses of the sky could be seen from above the grey, tunnel-likewalls. And in one of those places, close to the walls, there was adistinct gap, jagged and irregular, as if some heavy mass had recentlyplunged through the screen of leaf and branch from the heights above, andbeneath this the startled searchers saw the body, lying beside a heap ofstones and earth in the unmistakable stillness of death. 

"You see how it must have happened, " whispered Greyle, as they all bentround the dead man. "He must have fallen from the very top of theKeep--from the parapet, in fact--and plunged through this mass of greenstuff above us. If he had hit that where it's so thick--there!--it mighthave broken his fall, but, you see, he struck it at the very thinnestpart, and being a big and heavyish man, of course, he'd crash rightthrough it. Now of course, when we examined the Keep on Monday morning, it never struck us that there might be something down here--if you go upthe turret stairs to the top and look down on this mass of green stufffrom the very top, you'll see that it looks undisturbed; there's scarcelyanything to show that he fell through it, from up there. But--he did!"

"Whose notion was it that he might be found here?" asked Copplestone. 

"Chatfield's, " replied the Squire. "Chatfield's. He and I were up at thetop there, and he suddenly suggested that Oliver might have fallen fromthe parapet and be lying embedded in that mass of green stuff beneath. Wedidn't know then--even Chatfield didn't know--that there was this emptyspace beneath the green stuff. But when we came to go into it, we foundthere was, so we had that archway cleared of all the stone and rubbishand of course we found him. "

"The body'll have to be removed, sir, " whispered the police-sergeant. "It'll have to be taken down to the inn, to wait the inquest. "

Marston Greyle started. 

"Inquest!" he said. "Oh!--will that have to be held? I suppose so--yes. But we'd better wait until the doctor comes, hadn't we? I want him--"

The doctor came into the gloomy vault at that moment, escorted byChatfield, who, however, immediately retired. He was an elderly, old-fashioned somewhat fussy-mannered person, who evidently attachedmuch more importance to the living Squire than to the dead man, and helistened to all Marston Greyle's explanations and theories with greatdeference and accepted each without demur. "Ah yes, to be sure!" he said, after a perfunctory examination of the body. "The affair is easilyunderstood. It is precisely as you suggest, Squire. The unfortunate manevidently climbed to the top of the tower, missed his footing, and fellheadlong. That slight mass of branch and leaf would make littledifference--he was, you see, a heavy man--some fourteen or fifteen stone, I should think. Oh, instantaneous death, without a doubt! Well, well, these constables must see to the removal of the body, and we must let myfriend the coroner know--he will hold the inquest tomorrow, no doubt. Quite a mere formality, my dear sir!--the whole thing is as plain as apikestaff. It will be a relief to know that the mystery is nowsatisfactorily solved. "

Outside in the welcome freshness, Copplestone turned to the doctor. 

"You say the inquest will be held tomorrow?" he asked. The doctor lookedhis questioner up and down with an inquiry which signified doubt as toCopplestone's right to demand information. 

"In the usual course, " he replied stiffly. 

"Then his brother, Sir Cresswell Oliver, and his solicitor, Mr. Petherton, must be wired for from London, " observed Copplestone, turningto Greyle. "I'll communicate with them at once. I suppose we may go upthe tower?" he continued as Greyle nodded his assent. "I'd like to seethe stairs and the parapet. "

Greyle looked a little doubtful and uneasy. 

"Well, I had meant that no one should go up until all this was goneinto, " he answered. "I don't want any more accidents. You'll be careful?"

"We're both young and agile, " responded Copplestone. 

"There's no need for alarm. Do you care to go up, Mr. Gilling?"

The pseudo-curate accepted the invitation readily, and he andCopplestone entered the turret. They had climbed half its height beforeCopplestone spoke. 

"Well?" he whispered. "What do you think?"

"It may be accident, " muttered Gilling. "It--mayn't. "

"You think he might have been--what?--thrown down?"

"Might have been caught unawares, and pushed over. Let's see what thereis up above, anyway. "

The stair in the turret, much worn, but comparatively safe, and lightedby loopholes and arrow-slits, terminated in a low arched doorway, throughwhich egress was afforded to a parapet which ran completely round theinner wall of the Keep. It was in no place more than a yard wide; thebalustrading which fenced it in was in some places completely gone, amere glance was sufficient to show that only a very cool-headed andextremely sure-footed person ought to traverse it. Copplestone contentedhimself with an inspection from the archway; he looked down and saw atonce that a fall from that height must mean sure and swift death: he saw, too, that Greyle had been quite right in saying that the sudden plunge ofOliver's body through the leafy screen far beneath had made littledifference to the appearance of that screen as seen from above. And nowthat he saw everything it seemed to him that the real truth might welllie in one word--accident. 

"Coming round this parapet?" asked Gilling, who was looking narrowlyabout him. 

"No!" replied Copplestone. "I can't stand looking down from greatheights. It makes my head swim. Are you?"

"Sure!" answered Gilling. He took off his heavy overcoat and handed it tohis companion. "Mind holding it?" he asked. "I want to have a good lookat the exact spot from which Oliver must have fallen. There's thegap--such as it is, and it doesn't look much from here, does it?--in thegreen stuff, down below, so he must have been here on the parapet exactlyabove it. Gad! it's very narrow, and a bit risky, this, when all's saidand done!"

Copplestone watched his companion make his way round to the place fromwhich it was only too evident Oliver must have fallen. Gilling wentslowly, carefully inspecting every yard of the moss and lichen-coveredstones. Once he paused some time and seemed to be examining a part of theparapet with unusual attention. When he reached the precise spot at whichhe had aimed, he instantly called across to Copplestone. 

"There's no doubt about his having fallen from here!" he said. "Some ofthe masonry on the very edge of this parapet is loose. I could dislodgeit with a touch. "

"Then be careful, " answered Copplestone. "Don't cross that bit!"

But Gilling quietly continued his progress and returned to his companionby the opposite side from which he had set out, having thus accomplishedthe entire round. He quietly reassumed his overcoat. 

"No doubt about the fall, " he said as they turned down the stair. "Thenext thing is--was it accidental?"

"And--as regards that--what's to be done next?" asked Copplestone. 

"That's easy. We must go at once and wire for Sir Cresswell and oldPetherton, " replied Gilling. "It's now four-thirty. If they catch anevening express at King's Cross they'll get here early in the morning. Ifthey like to motor from Norcaster they can get here in the small hours. But--they must be here for that inquest. "

Greyle was talking to Chatfield at the foot of the Keep when they gotdown. The agent turned surlily away, but the Squire looked at both withan unmistakable eagerness. 

"There's no doubt whatever that Oliver fell from the parapet, " saidCopplestone. "The marks of a fall are there--quite unmistakably. "

Greyle nodded, but made no remark, and the two made their way throughthe still eager crowd and went down to the village post-office. Both werewondering, as they went, about the same thing--the evident anxiety andmental uneasiness of Marston Greyle. 

CHAPTER XII

GOOD MEN AND TRUE

Copplestone saw little of his bed that night. At seven o'clock in theevening came a telegram from Sir Cresswell Oliver, saying that he andPetherton were leaving at once, would reach Norcaster soon aftermidnight, and would motor out to Scarhaven immediately on arrival. Copplestone made all arrangements for their reception, and aftersnatching a couple of hours' sleep was up to receive them. By two o'clockin the morning Sir Cresswell and the old solicitor and Gilling--smuggledinto their sitting-room--had heard all he had to tell about ZacharySpurge and his story. 

"We must have that fellow at the inquest, " said Petherton. "At any costwe must have him! That's flat!"

"You think it wise?" asked Sir Cresswell. "Won't it be a bit previous?Wouldn't it be better to wait until we know more?"

"No--we must have his evidence, " declared Petherton. "It will serve as anopening. Besides, this inquest will have to be adjourned--I shall ask forthat. No--Spurge must be produced. "

"If Spurge comes into Scarhaven, " observed Copplestone, "he'll bepromptly collared by the police. They want him for poaching. "

"Then they can get him when the proceedings are over, " retorted the oldlawyer, dryly. "They daren't touch him while he's giving evidence andthat's all we want. Perhaps he won't come?--Oh he'll come all right ifwe make it worth his while. A month in Norcaster gaol will mean nothingto him if he knows there's a chance of that reward or somethingsubstantial out of it at the end of his sentence. You must go out tothis retreat of his and bring him in--we must have him. Better go veryearly in the morning. 

"I'll go now, " said Copplestone. "It's as easy to go by night as by day. "He left the other three to seek their beds, and himself slipped quietlyout of the hotel by one of the ground-floor windows and set off in apitch-black night to seek Spurge in his lair. And after sundry barkingsof his shins against the rocks and scratchings of his hands and cheeks bythe undergrowth of Hobkin's Hole he rounded the poacher out and deliveredhis message. 

Spurge, blinking at his visitor in the pale light of a guttering candle, shook his head. 

"I'll come, guv'nor, " he said. "Of course. I'll come--and I'll trust toluck to get away, and it don't matter a deal if the luck's agen me--I'vedone a month in Norcaster before today, and it ain't half a badrest-cure, if you only take it that way. But guv'nor--that old lawyer'smaking a mistake! You didn't ought to have my bit of evidence at thisstage. It's too soon. You want to work up the case a bit. There's such athing, guv'nor, in this world as being a bit previous. This here's tooprevious--you want to be surer of your facts. Because you know, guv'nornobody'll believe my word agen Squire Greyle's. Guv'nor--this hereinquest'll be naught but a blooming farce! Mark me! You ain't a native o'this part--I am. D'you think as how a Scarhaven jury's going to say aughtagen its own Squire and landlord? Not it! I say, guv'nor--all a bloomingfarce! Mark my words!"

"All the same, you'll come?" asked Copplestone, who was secretly ofSpurge's opinion. "You won't lose by it in the long run. "

"Oh, I'll be there, " responded Spurge. "Out of curiosity, if for nothingelse. You mayn't see me at first, but, let the lawyer from London call myname out, and Zachary Spurge'll step forward. "

There was abundant cover for Zachary Spurge and for half-a-dozen like himin the village school-house when the inquest was opened at ten-o'clockthat morning. It seemed to Copplestone that it would have been a physicalimpossibility to crowd more people within the walls than had assembledwhen the coroner, a local solicitor, who was obviously testy, irritable, self-important and afflicted with deafness, took his seat and lookedsourly on the crowd of faces. Copplestone had already seen him inconversation with the village doctor, the village police, Chatfield, andMarston Greyle's solicitor, and he began to see the force of Spurge'sshrewd remarks. What, of course, was most desired was secrecy andprivacy--the Scarhaven powers had no wish that the attention of all theworld should be drawn to this quiet place. But outsiders were there inplenty. Stafford and several members of Bassett Oliver's company hadmotored over from Norcaster and had succeeded in getting good places:there were half-a-dozen reporters from Norcaster and Northborough, andplain-clothes police from both towns. And there, too, were all theprincipal folk of the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Greyle and her daughter, and, a little distance from Audrey, alert and keenly interested, wasAddie Chatfield. 

It needed very little insight or observation on the part of anintelligent spectator to see how things were going. The twelve good menand true, required under the provisions of the old statute to form ajury, were all of them either Scarhaven tradesmen or Scarhavenhouseholders or labourers on the estate. Their countenances, as they tooktheir seats under the foremanship of a man whom Copplestone already knewas Chatfield's under-steward, showed plainly that they regarded the wholething as a necessary formality and that they were already prepared with averdict. This impression was strengthened by the coroner's openingremarks. In his opinion, the whole affair--to which he did not even referas unfortunate--was easily and quickly explained and understood. Thedeceased had come to the village to look round--on a Sunday be itobserved--had somehow obtained access to the Keep, where, the ruins beingstrictly private and not open to the public on any consideration onSunday, he had no right to be; had indulged his curiosity by climbing tothe top of the ancient tower and had paid for it by falling down fromthat terrible height and breaking his neck. All that was necessary wasfor them to hear evidence bearing out these facts--after which they wouldreturn a verdict in accordance with what they had heard. Very fortunatelythe facts were plain, and it would not be necessary to call manywitnesses. 

Sir Cresswell Oliver turned to Copplestone who sat at one side of him, while Petherton sat on the other. 

"I don't know if you notice that Greyle isn't here?" he whispered grimly. "In my opinion, he doesn't intend to show! We'll see!"

Certainly the Squire was not in the place. And there were soon signs thatthose who conducted the proceedings evidently did not consider hispresence necessary. The witnesses were few; their examinations wasperfunctory; they were out of the extemporised witness-box as soon asthey were in it. Sir Cresswell Oliver--to give formal identification. Mrs. Wooler--to prove that the deceased man came to her house. One of theforemen of the estate--to prove the great care with which the Squire hadsearched for traces of the missing man. One of the estate labourers--toprove the actual finding of the body. The doctor--to prove, beyond alldoubt, that the deceased had broken his neck. 

The coroner, an elderly man, obviously well satisfied with the trend ofthings, took off his spectacles and turned to the jury. 

"You have heard everything there is to be heard, gentlemen, " said he. "AsI remarked at the opening of this inquest, the case is one of greatsimplicity. You will have no difficulty in deciding that the deceasedcame to his death by accident--as to the exact wording of your verdict, you had better put it in this way:--that the deceased Bassett Oliver diedas the result--"

Petherton, who, noticing the coroner's deafness, had contrived to seathimself as close to his chair of office as possible, quietly rose. 

"Before the jury consider any verdict, " he said in his loudest tones, "they must hear certain evidence which I wish to call. And first ofall--is Mr. Marston Greyle present in this room?"

The coroner frowned, and the Squire's solicitor turned to Petherton. 

"Mr. Greyle is not present, " he said. "He is not at all well. There is noneed for his presence--he has no evidence to give. "

"If you don't have Mr. Greyle down here at once, " said Petherton, quietly, "this inquest will have to be adjourned for his attendance. You had better send for him--or I'll get the authorities to do so. Inthe meantime, we '11 call one or two witnesses, --Daniel Ewbank!--tobegin with. "

There was a brief and evidently anxious consultation between Greyle'ssolicitor and the coroner; there were dark looks at Petherton and hiscompanions. Then the foreman of the jury spoke, sullenly. 

"We don't want to hear no Ewbanks!" he said. "We're quite satisfied, usas sits here. Our verdict is--"

"You'll have to bear Ewbank and anybody I like to call, my good sir, "retorted Petherton quietly. "I am better acquainted with the law than youare. " He turned to the coroner's officer. "I warned you this morning toproduce Ewbank, " he said. "Now, where is he?"

Out of a deep silence a shrill voice came from the rear of the crowd. 

"Knows better than to be here, does Dan'l Ewbank, mister! He's off!"

"Very good--or bad--for somebody, " remarked Petherton, quietly. "Then--until Mr. Marston Greyle comes--we will call Zachary Spurge. "

The assemblage, jurymen included, broke into derisive laughter as Spurgesuddenly appeared from the most densely packed corner of the room, and itwas at once evident to Copplestone that whatever the poacher might say, no one there would attach any importance to it. The laughter continuedand increased while Spurge was under examination. Petherton appealed tothe coroner; the coroner affected not to hear. And once more the foremanof the jury interrupted. 

"We don't want to hear no more o' this stuff!" he said. "It's an insultto us to put a fellow like that before us. We don't believe a word o'what he says. We don't believe he was within a mile o' them ruins onSunday afternoon. It's all a put-up job!"

Petherton leaned towards the reporters. 

"I hope you gentlemen of the press will make a full note of theseproceedings, " he observed suavely. "You at any rate are not biassed orprejudiced. "

The coroner heard that in spite of his deafness, and he grew purple. 

"Sir!" he exclaimed. "That is a most improper observation! It's areflection on my position, sir, and I've a great mind--"

"Mr. Coroner, " observed Petherton, leaning towards him, "I shall hand ina full report concerning your conduct of these proceedings to the HomeOffice tomorrow. If you attempt to interfere with my duty here, all theworse for you. Now, Spurge, you can stand down. And as I see Mr. Greylethere--call Marston Greyle!"

The Squire had appeared while Spurge was giving his evidence, and hadheard what the poacher alleged. He entered the box very pale, angry, anddisturbed, and the glances which he cast on Sir Cresswell Oliver and hisparty were distinctly those of displeasure. 

"Swear him!" commanded Petherton. "Now, Mr. Greyle--"

But Greyle's own solicitor was on his legs, insisting on his right to puta first question. In spite of Petherton, he put it. 

"You heard the evidence of the last witness?--Spurge. Is there a word oftruth in it?"

Marston Greyle--who certainly looked very unwell--moistened his lips. 

"Not one word!" he answered. "It's a lie!"

The solicitor glanced triumphantly at the Coroner and the jury, and thecrowd raised unchecked murmurs of approval. Again the foreman endeavouredto stop the proceedings. 

"We regard all this here as very rude conduct to Mr. Greyle, " he saidangrily. "We're not concerned--"

"Mr. Foreman!" said Petherton. "You are a foolish man--you areinterfering with justice. Be warned!--I warn you, if the Coroner doesn't. Mr. Greyle, I must ask you certain questions. Did you see the deceasedBassett Oliver on Sunday last?"

"No!"

"I needn't remind you that you are on your oath. Have you ever met thedeceased man in your life?"

"Never!"

"You never met him in America?"

"I may have met him--but not to my recollection. If I did, it was in sucha casual fashion that I have completely forgotten all about it. "

"Very well--you are on your oath, mind. Where did you live in America, before you succeeded to this estate?"

The Squire's solicitor intervened. 

"Don't answer that question!" he said sharply. "Don't answer any more. Iobject altogether to your line, " he went on, angrily, turning toPetherton. "I claim the Coroner's protection for the witness. "

"I quite agree, " said the Coroner. "All this is absolutely irrelevant. You can stand down, " he continued, turning to the Squire. "I will have nomore of this--and I will take the full responsibility!"

"And the consequences, Mr. Coroner, " replied Petherton calmly. "And thefirst consequence is that I now formally demand an adjournment of thisinquest, _sine die_. "

"On what grounds, sir?" demanded the Coroner. 

"To permit me to bring evidence from America, " replied Petherton, with aside glance at Marston Greyle. "Evidence already being prepared. "

The Coroner hesitated, looked at Greyle's solicitor, and then turnedsharply to the jury. 

"I refuse that application!" he said. "You have heard all I have to say, gentlemen, " he went on, "and you can return your verdict. "

Petherton quietly gathered up his papers and motioned to his friends tofollow him out of the schoolroom. The foreman of the jury was returning averdict of accidental death as they passed through the door, and theyemerged into the street to an accompaniment of loud cheers for the Squireand groans for themselves. 

"What a travesty of justice!" exclaimed Sir Cresswell. "That fellowSpurge was right, you see, Copplestone. I wish we hadn't brought himinto danger. "

Copplestone suddenly laughed and touched Sir Cresswell's arm. He pointedto the edge of the moorland just outside the school-yard. Spurge wasdisappearing over that edge, and in a moment had vanished. 

CHAPTER XIII

MR. DENNIE

Amongst the little group of actors and actresses who had come over fromNorcaster to hear all that was to be told concerning their late manager, sat an old gentleman who, hands folded on the head of his walking cane, and chin settled on his hands, watched the proceedings with silent andconcentrated attention. He was a striking figure of an oldgentleman--tall, distinguished-looking, handsome, with a face full ofcharacter, the strong lines and features of which were furtheraccentuated by his silvery hair. He was a smart old gentleman, too, welland scrupulously attired and groomed, and his blue bird's-eye necktie, worn at a rakish angle, gave him the air of something of a sporting manrather than of a follower of Thespis. His fellow members of the Olivercompany seemed to pay him great attention, and at various points of theproceedings whispered questions to him as to an acknowledged authority. 

This old gentleman, when the inquest came to its extraordinary end andthe crowd went out murmuring and disputing, separated himself from hiscompanions and made his way towards Mrs. Greyle and her daughter, whowere quietly setting out homewards. To Audrey's surprise the two eldersshook hands in silence, and inspected each other with a palpablewistfulness of look. 

"And yet it's twenty-five years since we met, isn't it?" said the oldgentleman, almost as if he were talking to himself. "But I knew you atonce--I was wondering if you remembered me?"

"Why, of course, " responded Mrs. Greyle. "Besides, I've had anadvantage over you. I've seen you, you know, several times--atNorcaster. We go to the theatre now and then. Audrey--this is Mr. Dennie--you've seen him, too. "

"On the stage--on the stage!" murmured the old actor, as he shook handswith the girl. "Um!--I wonder if any of us are ever really off it! Thisaffair, for instance--there's a drama for you! By the-bye--this youngSquire--he's your relation, of course?"

"My nephew-in-law, and Audrey's cousin, " replied Mrs. Greyle. Mr. Dennie, who had walked along with them towards their cottage, stopped in a quietstretch of the quay, and looked meditatively at Audrey. 

"Then this young lady, " he said, "is next heir to the Greyle estates, eh?For I understand this present Squire isn't married. Therefore--"

"Oh, that's something that isn't worth thinking about, " replied Mrs. Greyle hastily. "Don't put such notions into the girl's head, Mr. Dennie. Besides, the Greyle estates are not entailed, you know. The present ownercan do what he pleases with them--besides that, he's sure to marry. "

"All the same, " observed Mr. Dennie, imperturbably, "if this young manhad not been in existence, this child would have succeeded, eh?"

"Why, of course, " agreed Mrs. Greyle a little impatiently. "But what'sthe use of talking about that, my old friend! The young man is inpossession--and there you are!"

"Do you like the young man?" asked Mr. Dennie. "I take an old fellow'sprivilege in asking direct questions, you know. And--though we haven'tseen each other for all these years--you can say anything tome. "

"No, we don't, " replied Mrs. Greyle. "And we don't know why we don't--sothere's a woman's answer for you. Kinsfolk though we are, we see littleof each other. "

Mr. Dennie made no remark on this. He walked along at Audrey's side, apparently in deep thought, and suddenly he looked across at her mother. 

"What do you think about this extraordinary story of Bassett Oliver'shaving met a Marston Greyle over there in America?" he asked abruptly. "What do people here think about it?"

"We're not in a position to hear much of what other people think, "answered Mrs. Greyle. "What I think is that if this Marston Greyle everdid meet such a very notable and noticeable man as Bassett Oliver it's avery, very strange thing that he's forgotten all about it!"

Mr. Dennie laughed quietly. 

"Aye, aye!" he said. "But--don't you think we folk of the profession area little bit apt to magnify our own importance? You say 'Bless me, howcould anybody ever forget an introduction to Bassett Oliver!' But we mustremember that to some people even a famous actor is of no more importancethan--shall we say a respectable grocer? Marston Greyle may be one ofthose people--it's quite possible he may have been introduced, quitecasually, to Oliver at some club, or gathering, something-or-other, overthere and have quite forgotten all about it. Quite possible, I think. "

"I agree with you as to the possibility, but certainly not as to theprobability, " said Mrs. Greyle, dryly. "Bassett Oliver was the sort ofman whom nobody would forget. But here we are at our cottage--you'll comein, Mr. Dennie?"

"It will only have to be for a little time, my dear lady, " said the oldactor, pulling out his watch. "Our people are going back very soon, and Imust join them at the station. "

"I'll give you a glass of good old wine, " said Mrs. Greyle as they wentinto the cottage. "I have some that belonged to my father-in-law, the oldSquire. You must taste it--for old times' sake. "

Mr. Dennie followed Audrey into the little parlour as Mrs. Greyledisappeared to another part of the house. And the instant they werealone, he tapped the girl's arm and gave her a curiously warning look. 

"Hush, my dear!" he whispered. "Not a word--don't want your mother toknow! Listen--have you a specimen--letter--anything--of your cousin, theSquire's handwriting? Anything so long as it's his. You have? Give it tome--say nothing to your mother. Wait until tomorrow morning. I'll runover to see you again--about noon. It's important--but silence!"

Audrey, scarcely understanding the old man's meaning, opened a desk anddrew out one or two letters. She selected one and handed it to Mr. Dennie, who made haste to put it away before Mrs. Greyle returned. Hegave Audrey another warning look. 

"That was what I wanted!" he said mysteriously. "I thought of it duringthe inquest. Never mind why, just now--you shall know tomorrow. "

He lingered a few minutes, chatting to his hostess about old times as hesipped the old Squire's famous port; then he went off to the littlestation, joined Stafford and his fellow actors and actresses, andreturned with them to Norcaster. And at Norcaster Mr. Dennie separatedhimself from the rest and repaired to his quiet lodgings--rooms which hehad occupied for many years in succession whenever he went that way ontour--and once safely bestowed in them he pulled out a certainold-fashioned trunk, which he had owned since boyhood and lugged aboutwherever he went in two continents, and from it, after much methodicalunpacking, he disinterred a brown paper parcel, neatly tied up with greenribbon. From this parcel he drew a thin packet of typed matter and acouple of letters--the type script he laid aside, the letters he openedout on his table. Then he took from his pocket the letter which AudreyGreyle had given him and put it side by side with those taken from theparcel. And after one brief glance at all three Mr. Dennie madetypescript and letters up again into a neat packet, restored them to histrunk, locked them up, and turned to the two hours' rest which he alwaystook before going to the theatre for his evening's work. 

He was back at Scarhaven by eleven o'clock the next morning, with hisneat packet under his arm and he held it up significantly to Audrey whoopened the door of the cottage to him. 

"Something to show you, " he said with a quiet smile as he walked in. "To show you and your mother. " He stopped short on the threshold of thelittle parlour, where Copplestone was just then talking to Mrs. Greyle. "Oh!" he said, a little disappointedly, "I hoped to find youalone--I'll wait. "

Mrs. Greyle explained who Copplestone was, and Mr. Dennie immediatelybrightened. "Of course--of course!" he explained. "I know! Glad to meetyou, Mr. Copplestone--you don't know me, but I know you--or yourwork--well enough. It was I who read and recommended your play to ourpoor dear friend. It's a little secret, you know, " continued Mr. Dennie, laying his packet on the table, "but I have acted for a great many yearsas Bassett Oliver's literary adviser--taster, you might say. You know, hehad a great number of plays sent to him, of course, and he was a verybusy man, and he used to hand them over to me in the first place, to takea look at, a taste of, you know, and if I liked the taste, why, then hetook a mouthful himself, eh? And that brings me to the very point, mydear ladies and my dear young gentleman, that I have come specially toScarhaven this morning to discuss. It's a very, very serious matterindeed, " he went on as he untied his packet of papers, "and I fear thatit's only the beginning of something more serious. Come round me here atthis table, all of you, if you please. "

The other three drew up chairs, each wondering what was coming, andthe old actor resumed his eyeglasses and gave obvious signs ofmaking a speech. 

"Now I want you all to attend to me, very closely, " he said. "I shallhave to go into a detailed explanation, and you will very soon see whatI am after. As you may be aware, I have been a personal friend ofBassett Oliver for some years, and a member of his company without breakfor the last eight years. I accompanied Oliver Bassett on his two tripsto the United States--therefore, I was with him when he was last there, years ago. 

"Now, while we were at Chicago that time, Bassett came to me one day withthe typescript of a one-act play and told me that it had been sent to himby a correspondent signing himself Marston Greyle; who in a coveringletter, said that he sprang from an old English family, and that the playdealt with a historic, romantic episode in its history. The principalpart, he believed, was one which would suit Bassett--therefore he beggedhim to consider the matter. Bassett asked me to read the play, and I tookit away, with the writer's letter, for that purpose. But we were justthen very busy, and I had no opportunity of reading anything for a time. Later on, we went to St. Louis, and there, of course, Bassett, as usual, was much fêted and went out a great deal, lunching with people and so on. One day he came to me, 'By-the-bye, Dennie!' he said, 'I met that Mr. Marston Greyle today who sent me that romantic one-act thing. He wantedto know if I'd read it, and I had to confess that it was in your hands. Have you looked at it?' I, too, had to confess--I hadn't. 'Well, ' saidhe, 'read it and let me know what you think--will it suit me?' I madetime to read the little play during the following week, and I toldBassett that I didn't think it would suit him, but I felt sure it mightsuit Montagu Gaines, who plays just such parts. Bassett thereupon wroteto the author and said what I, his reader, thought, and kindly offered, as he knew Gaines intimately, to show the little work to him on hisreturn to England. And this Mr. Marston Greyle wrote back, thankingBassett warmly and accepting his kind offer. Accordingly, I brought theplay with me to England. Montagu Gaines, however, had just set off on atwo years' tour to Australia--consequently, the play and the author's twoletters have remained in my possession ever since. And--here they are!"

Mr. Dennie laid his hand dramatically on his packet, looked significantlyat his audience, and went on. 

"Now, when I heard all that I did hear at that inquest yesterday, " hesaid, "I naturally remembered that I had in my possession two letterswhich were undoubtedly written to Bassett Oliver by a young man namedMarston Greyle, whom Oliver--just as undoubtedly!--had personally met inSt. Louis. And so when the inquest was over, Mr. Copplestone, I recalledmyself to Mrs. Greyle here, whom I had known many years ago, and I walkedback to this house with her and her charming daughter, and--don't beangry, Mrs. Greyle--while the mother's back was turned--on hospitablethoughts intent--I got the daughter to lend me--secretly--a letterwritten by the present Squire of Scarhaven. Armed with that, I went hometo my lodgings in Norcaster, found the letter written by the AmericanMarston Greyle, and compared it with them. And--here is the result!"

The old actor selected the two American letters from his papers, laidthem out on the table, and placed the letter which Audrey had given himbeside them. 

"Now!" he said, as his three companions bent eagerly over these exhibits, "Look at those three letters. All bear the same signature, MarstonGreyle--but the hand-writing of those two is as different from that ofthis one as chalk is from cheese!"

CHAPTER XIV

BY PRIVATE TREATY

There was little need for the three deeply interested listeners to looklong at the letters--one glance was sufficient to show even a carelesseye that the hand which had written one of them had certainly not writtenthe other two. The letter which Audrey had handed to Mr. Dennie waspenned in the style commonly known as commercial--plain, commonplace, utterly lacking in the characteristics which are supposed to denoteimagination and a sense of artistry. It was the sort of caligraphy whichone comes across every day in shops and offices and banks--there wasnothing in any upstroke, downstroke or letter which lifted it from thevery ordinary. But the other two letters were evidently written by a manof literary and artistic sense, possessing imagination and a liking foreffect. It needed no expert in handwriting to declare that two totallydifferent individuals had written those letters. 

"And now, " observed Mr. Dennie, breaking the silence and putting intowords what each of the others was vaguely feeling, "the question is--whatdoes all this mean? To start with, Marston Greyle is a most uncommonname. Is it possible there can be two persons of that name? That, at anyrate, is the first thing that strikes me. "

"It is not the first thing that strikes me, " said Mrs. Greyle. She tookup the typescript which the old actor had brought in his packet, and heldits title-page significantly before him. "That is the first thing thatstrikes me!" she exclaimed. "The Marston Greyle who sent this to BassettOliver said according to your story--that he sprang from a very oldfamily in England, and that this is a dramatization of a romantic episodein its annals. Now there is no other old family in England named Greyle, and this episode is of course, the famous legend of how Prince Rupertonce sought refuge in the Keep yonder and had a love-passage with a ladyof the house. Am I right, Mr. Dennie?"

"Quite right, ma'am, quite correct, " replied the old actor. "It isso--you have guessed correctly!"

"Very well, then--the Marston Greyle who wrote this, and those letters, and who met Bassett Oliver was without doubt the son of Marcus Greyle, who went to America many years ago. He was the same Marston Greyle, who, his father being dead, of course succeeded his uncle, Stephen JohnGreyle--that seems an absolute certainty. And in that case, " continuedMrs. Greyle, looking earnestly from one to the other, "in that case--whois the man now at Scarhaven Keep?"

A dead silence fell on the little room. Audrey started and flushed at hermother's eager, pregnant question; Mr. Dennie sat up very erect and tooka pinch of snuff from his old-fashioned box. Copplestone pushed his chairaway from the table and began to walk about. And Mrs. Greyle continued tolook from one face to the other as if demanding a reply to her question. 

"Mother!" said Audrey in a low voice. "You aren't suggesting--"

"Ahem!" interrupted Mr. Dennie. "A moment, my dear. There is nothing, Ibelieve, " he continued, waxing a little oracular, "nothing like plainspeech. We are all friends--we have a common cause--justice! It may bethat justice demands our best endeavours not only as regards our deceasedfriend, Bassett Oliver, but in the interests of--this young lady. So--"

"I wish you wouldn't, Mr. Dennie!" exclaimed Audrey. "I don't like thisat all. Please don't!"

She turned, almost instinctively, to seek Copplestone's aid in repressingthe old man. But Copplestone was standing by the window, staring moodilyat the wind-swept quay beyond the garden, and Mr. Dennie waved hissnuff-box and went on. 

"An old man's privilege!" he said. "In your interests, my dear. Allowme. " He turned again to Mrs. Greyle. "In plain words, ma'am, you arewondering if the present holder of the estates is really what he claimsto be. Plain English, eh?"

"I am!" answered Mrs. Greyle with a distinct ring of challenge anddefiance. "And now that it comes to the truth, I have wondered that eversince he came here. There!"

"Why, mother?" asked Audrey, wonderingly. 

"Because he doesn't possess a single Greyle characteristic, " replied Mrs. Greyle, readily enough, "I ought to know--I married Valentine Greyle, and I knew Stephen John, and I saw plenty of both, and something of theirfather, too, and a little of Marcus before he emigrated. This man doesnot possess one Single scrap of the Greyle temperament!"

Mr. Dennie put away his snuff-box and drumming on the table with hisfingers looked out of his eye corners at Copplestone who still stood withhis back to the rest, staring out of the window. 

"And what, " said Mr. Dennie, softly, "what--er, does our good friend Mr. Copplestone say?"

Copplestone turned swiftly, and gave Audrey a quick glance. 

"I say, " he answered in a sharp, business-like fashion, "that Gilling, who's stopping at the inn, you know, is walking up and down outside here, evidently looking out for me, and very anxious to see me, and with yourpermission, Mrs. Greyle, I'd like to have him in. Now that things havegot to this pitch, I'd better tell you something--I don't see any good inconcealing it longer. Gilling isn't an invalid curate at all!--he's aprivate detective. Sir Cresswell Oliver and Petherton, the solicitor, sent him down here to watch Greyle--the Squire, you know--that'sGilling's job. They suspect Greyle--have suspected him from the veryfirst--but of what I don't know. Not--not of this, I think. Anyway, theydo suspect him, and Gilling's had his eye on him ever since he came here. And I'd like to fetch Gilling in here, and I'd like him to know all thatMr. Dennie's told us. Because, don't you see, Sir Cresswell andPetherton ought to know all that, immediately, and Gilling's their man. "

Audrey's brows had been gathering in lines of dismay and perplexityall the time Copplestone was talking, but her mother showed nosigns of anything but complete composure, crowned by something verylike satisfaction, and she nodded a ready acquiescence inCopplestone's proposal. 

"By all means!" she responded. "Bring Mr. Gilling in at once. "

Copplestone hurried out into the garden and signalled to thepseudo-curate, who came hurrying across from the quay. One glance at himshowed Copplestone that something had happened. 

"Gad!--I thought I should never attract your attention!" said Gillinghastily. "Been making eyes at you for ten minutes. I say--Greyle's off!"

"Off!" exclaimed Copplestone. "How do you mean--off?"

"Left Scarhaven, anyhow--for London, " replied Gilling. "An hour ago Ihappened to be at the station, buying a paper, when he drove up--luggageand man with him, so I knew he was off for some time. And I took goodcare to dodge round by the booking-office when the man took the tickets. King's Cross. So that's all right, for the time being. "

"How do you mean--all right?" asked Copplestone. "I thought you were tokeep him in sight?"

"All right, " repeated Gilling. "I have more eyes than these, my boy! I'vea particularly smart partner in London--name of Swallow--and he and Ihave a cypher code. So soon as the gentleman had left, I repaired to thenearest post office and wired a code message to Swallow. Swallow willmeet that train when it strikes King's Cross. And it doesn't matter ifGreyle hides himself in one of the spikes on top of the Monument orinside the lion house at the Zoo--Swallow will be there! No man ever gotaway from Swallow--once Swallow had set eyes on him. "

Copplestone looked, listened, and laughed. 

"Professional pride!" he said. "All right. I want you to come in herewith me--to Mrs. Greyle's. Something's happened here, too. And of such aserious nature that I've taken the liberty of telling them who and whatyou really are. You'll forgive me when you hear what it is that we'velearnt here this morning. "

Gilling had looked rather doubtful at Copplestone's announcement, but heimmediately turned towards the cottage. 

"Oh, well!" he said good-naturedly. "I'm sure you wouldn't have told ifyou hadn't felt there was good reason. What is this fresh news?--somethingabout--him?"

"Very much about him, " answered Copplestone. "Come in. "

He himself, at Mrs. Greyle's request, gave Gilling a brief account ofMr. Dennie's revelations, the old actor supplementing it with a shrewdremark or two. And then all four turned to Gilling as to an expert inthese matters. 

"Queer!" observed Gilling. "Decidedly queer! There may be someexplanation, you know: I've known stranger things than that turn out tobe perfectly straight and plain when they were gone into. But--puttingall the facts together--I don't think there's much doubt that there'ssomething considerably wrong in this case. I should like to repeat it tomy principals--I must go up to town in any event this afternoon. Betterlet me have all those documents, Mr. Dennie--I'll give you a properreceipt for them. There's something very valuable in them, anyhow. "

"What?" asked Copplestone. 

"The address in St. Louis from which that Marston Greyle wrote to BassettOliver. " replied Gilling. "We can communicate with that address--at once. We may learn something there. But, " he went on, turning to Mrs. Greyle, "I want to learn something here--and now. I want to know where and underwhat circumstances the Squire came to Scarhaven. You were here then, ofcourse, Mrs. Greyle? You can tell me?"

"He came very quietly, " replied Mrs. Greyle. "Nobody in Scarhaven--unlessit was Peter Chatfield--knew of his coming. In fact, nobody in theseparts, at any rate--knew he was in England. The family solicitors inLondon may have known. But nothing was ever said or written to me, thoughmy daughter, failing this man, is the next in succession. "

"I do wish you'd leave all that out, mother!" exclaimed Audrey. "Idon't like it. "

"Whether you like it or not, it's the fact, " said Mrs. Greyleimperturbably, "and it can't be left out. Well, as I say, no one knew theSquire had come to England, until one day Chatfield calmly walked downthe quay with him, introducing him right and left. He brought him here. "

"Ah!" said Gilling. "That's interesting. Now I wonder if you found out ifhe was well up in the family history?"

"Not then, but afterwards, " answered Mrs. Greyle. "He is particularlywell up in the Greyle records--suspiciously well up. "

"Why suspiciously?" asked Cobblestone. 

"He knows more--in a sort of antiquarian and historian fashion--thanyou'd suppose a young man of his age would, " said Mrs. Greyle. "He givesyou the impression of having read it up--studied it deeply. And--hisusual tastes don't lie in that direction. "

"Ah!" observed Mr. Dennie, musingly. "Bad sign, ma'am, --bad sign! Looksas if he had been--shall we say put up to overstudying his part. That'spossible! I have known men who were so anxious to be what one callsletter-perfect, Mr. Copplestone, that though they knew their parts, theydidn't know how to play them. Fact, sir!"

While the old actor was chuckling over this reminiscence, Gilling turnedquietly to Mrs. Greyle. 

"I think you suspect this man?" he said. 

"Frankly--yes, " replied Mrs. Greyle. "I always have done, though I havesaid so little--"

"Mother!" interrupted Audrey. "Is it really worth while saying so muchnow! After all, we know nothing, and if this is all meresupposition--however, " she broke off, rising and going away from thegroup, "perhaps I had better say nothing. "

Copplestone too rose and followed her into the window recess. 

"I say!" he said entreatingly. "I hope you don't think me interfering? Iassure you--"

"You!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no!--of course. I think you're anxious toclear things up about Mr. Oliver. But I don't want my mother dragged intoit--for a simple reason. We've got to live here--and Chatfield is avindictive man. "

"You're frightened of him?" said Copplestone incredulously. "You!"

"Not for myself, " she answered, giving him a warning look and glancingapprehensively at Mrs. Greyle, who was talking eagerly to Mr. Dennie andGilling. "But my mother is not as strong as she looks and it would be ablow to her to leave this place and we are the Squire's tenants, andtherefore at Chatfield's mercy. And you know that Chatfield does as helikes! Now do you understand?"

"It maddens me to think that you should be at Chatfield's mercy!"muttered Copplestone. "But do you really mean to say that if--ifChatfield thought you--that is, your mother--were mixed up in anythingrelating to the clearing up of this affair he would--"

"Drive us out without mercy, " replied Audrey. "That's dead certain. "

"And that your cousin would let him?" exclaimed Copplestone. "Surely not!"

"I don't think the Squire has any control over Chatfield, " she answered. "You have seen them together. "

"If that's so, " said Copplestone, "I shall begin to think there issomething queer about the Squire in the way your mother suggests. Itlooks as if Chatfield had a hold on him. And in that case--"

He suddenly broke off as a smart automobile drove up to the cottage doorand set down a tall, distinguished-looking man who after a glance at thelittle house walked quickly up the garden. Audrey's face showed surprise. 

"Mother!" she said, turning to Mrs. Greyle. "There's Lord Altmore here!He must want you. Or shall I go?"

Mrs. Greyle quitted the room hastily. The others heard her welcome thevisitor, lead him up the tiny hall; they heard a door shut. Audrey lookedat Copplestone. 

"You've heard of Lord Altmore, haven't you?" she said. "He's ourbiggest man in these parts--he owns all the country at the back, mountains, valleys, everything. The Greyle land shuts him off from thesea. In the old days, Greyles and Altmores used to fight over theirboundaries, and--"

Mrs. Greyle suddenly showed herself again and looked at her daughter. 

"Will you come here, Audrey?" she said. "You gentlemen will excuse bothof us for a few minutes?"

Mother and daughter went away, and the two young men drew up theirchairs to the table at which Mr. Dennie sat and exchanged views with himon the curious situation. Half-an-hour went by; then steps and voiceswere heard in the hall and the garden; Mrs. Greyle and Audrey were seeingtheir visitor out to his car. In a few minutes the car sped away, andthey came back to the parlour. One glance at their faces showed Gillingthat some new development had cropped up and he nudged Copplestone. 

"Here is remarkable news!" said Mrs. Greyle as she went back to herchair. "Lord Altmore called to tell me of something that he thought Iought to know. It is almost unbelievable, yet it is a fact. MarstonGreyle--if he is Marston Greyle!--has offered to sell Lord Altmore theentire Scarhaven estate, by private treaty. Imagine it!--the estate whichhas belonged to the Greyles for five hundred years!"

CHAPTER XV

THE CABLEGRAM FROM NEW YORK

The two younger men received this announcement with no more than looksof astonished inquiry, but the elder one coughed significantly, hadfurther recourse to his snuff-box and turned to Mrs. Greyle with aknowing glance. 

"My dear lady!" he said impressively. "Now this is a matter in which Ibelieve I can be of service--real service! You may have forgotten thefact--it is all so long ago--and perhaps I never mentioned it in the olddays--but the truth is that before I went on the stage, I was in the law. The fact is, I am a duly and fully qualified solicitor--though, " headded, with a dry chuckle, "it is a good five and twenty years since Ipaid the six pounds for the necessary annual certificate. But I have notforgotten my law--or some of it--and no doubt I can furbish up a littlemore, if necessary. You say that Mr. Marston Greyle, the present owner ofScarhaven, has offered to sell his estate to Lord Altmore? But--is notthe estate entailed?"

"No!" replied Mrs. Greyle. "It is not. "

Mr. Dennie's face fell--unmistakably. He took another pinch of snuff andshook his head. 

"Then in that case, " he said dryly, "all the lawyers in the world can'thelp. It's his--absolutely--and he can do what he pleases with it. Fivehundred years, you say? Remarkable!--that a man should want to sell landhis forefathers have walked over for half a thousand years!Extraordinary!"

"Did Lord Altmore say if any reason had been given him as to why Mr. Greyle wished to sell?" asked Gilling. 

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Greyle, who was obviously greatly upset by the recentnews. "He did. Mr. Greyle gave as his reason that the north does not suithim, and that he wishes to buy an estate in the south of England. Heapproached Lord Altmore first because it is well-known that the Altmoreshave always been anxious to extend their own borders to the coast. "

"Does Lord Altmore want to buy?" asked Gilling. 

"It is very evident that he would be quite willing to buy, " saidMrs. Greyle. 

"What made him come to you, " continued Gilling. "He must have hadsome reason?"

"He had a reason, " Mrs. Greyle answered, with a glance at Audrey. "Heknows the family history, of course--he is very well aware that mydaughter is at present the heir apparent. He therefore thought we oughtto know of this offer. But that is not quite all. Lord Altmore has, ofcourse, read the accounts of the inquest in this morning's paper. Alsohis steward was present at the inquest. And from what he has read, andfrom what his steward told him, Lord Altmore thinks there is somethingwrong--he thinks, for instance, that Marston Greyle should explain thismystery about the meeting with Bassett Oliver in America. At any rate, he will go no further in any negotiations until that mystery isproperly cleared up. Shall I tell you what Lord Altmore said on thatpoint? He said--"

"Is it worth while, mother?" interrupted Audrey. "It was only hisopinion. "

"It is worth while--amongst ourselves--" insisted Mrs. Greyle. "Why not?Lord Altmore said--in so many words--'I have a sort of uneasy feeling, after reading the evidence at that inquest, and hearing what mysteward's impressions were, that this man calling himself Marston Greylemay not be Marston Greyle at all and I shall want good proof that he isbefore I even consider the proposal he has made to me. ' There!So--what's to be done?"

"The law, ma'am, " observed Mr. Dennie, solemnly, "the law must step in. You must get an injunction, ma'am, to prevent Mr. Marston Greyle fromdealing with the property until his own title to it has been established. That, at any rate, is my opinion. "

"May I ask a question?" said Copplestone who had been listeningand thinking intently. "Did Lord Altmore say when this offer wasmade to him?"

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Greyle. "A week ago. "

"A week ago!" exclaimed Copplestone. "That is, before last Sunday--beforethe Bassett Oliver episode. Then--the offer to sell is quite independentof that affair!"

"Strange--and significant!" muttered Gilling. 

He rose from his chair and looked at his watch. 

"Well, " he went on, "I am going off to London. Will you give me leave, Mrs. Greyle, to report all this to Sir Cresswell Oliver and Mr. Petherton? They ought to know. "

"I'm going, too, " declared Copplestone, also rising. "Mrs. Greyle, I'msure will entrust the whole matter to us. And Mr. Dennie will trust uswith those papers. "

"Oh, certainly, certainly!" asserted Mr. Dennie, pushing his packetacross the table. "Take care of 'em, my boy!--ye don't know how importantthey may turn out to be. "

"And--Mrs. Greyle?" asked Copplestone. 

"Tell whatever you think it best to tell, " replied Mrs. Greyle. "My ownopinion is that a lot will have to be told--and to come out, yet. "

"We can catch a train in three-quarters of an hour, Copplestone, " saidGilling. "Let's get back and settle up with Mrs. Wooler and be off. "

Copplestone contrived to draw Audrey aside. 

"This isn't good-bye, " he whispered, with a meaning look. "You'llsee me back here before many days are over. But listen--if anythinghappens here, if you want anybody's help--in any way--you know whatI mean--promise you'll wire to me at this address. Promise!--or Iwon't go. "

"Very well, " said Audrey, "I promise. But--why shall you come back?"

"Tell you when I come, " replied Copplestone with another look. "But--I shall come--and soon. I'm only going because I want to be ofuse--to you. "

An hour later he and Gilling were on their way to London, and fromopposite corners of a compartment which they had contrived to get tothemselves, they exchanged looks. 

"This is a queer business, Copplestone!" said Gilling. "It strikes meit's going to be a big one, too. And--it's coming to a point roundSquire Greyle. "

"Do you think your man will have tracked him?" asked Copplestone. 

"It will be the first time Swallow's ever lost sight of anybody if hehasn't, " answered Gilling. "He's a human ferret! However, I wired to himjust before we left, telling him to meet me at King's Cross, so we'llget his report. Oh, he'll have followed him all right--I don't imaginefor a moment that Greyle is trying to evade anybody, at this juncture, at any rate. "

But when--four hours later--the train drew into King's Cross--andGilling's partner, a young and sharp-looking man, presented himself, itwas with a long and downcast face and a lugubrious shake of the head. 

"Done!--for the first time in my life!" he growled in answer toGilling's eager inquiry. "Lost him! Never failed before--as you know. Well, it had to come, I suppose--can't go on without an occasionaldefeat. But--I'm a bit licked as to the whole thing--unless your man isdodging somebody. Is he?"

"Tell your tale, " commanded Gilling, motioning Copplestone to follow himand Swallow aside. 

"I was up here in good time this afternoon to meet his train, " reportedSwallow. "I spotted him and his man at once; no difficulty, as yourdescription of both was so full. They were together while the luggagewas got out; then he, Greyle, gave some instructions to the man and lefthim. He himself got into a taxi-cab; I got into another close behind andgave its driver certain orders. Greyle drove straight to the FragonardClub--you know. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Gilling. "Did he, now? That's worth knowing. "

"What's the Fragonard Club?" asked Copplestone. "Never heard of it. "

"Club of folk connected with the stage and the music-halls, " answeredGilling, testily. "In a side street, off Shaftesbury Avenue--tell youmore of it, later. Go on, Swallow. "

"He paid off his driver there, and went in, " continued Swallow. "I paidmine and hung about--there's only one entrance and exit to that spot, asyou know. He came out again within five minutes, stuffing some lettersinto his pocket. He walked away across Shaftesbury Avenue into WardourStreet--there he went into a tobacconist's shop. Of course, I hung aboutagain. But this time he didn't come. So at last I walked in--to buysomething. He wasn't there!"

"Pooh!--he'd slipped out--walked out--when you weren't looking!" saidGilling. "Why didn't you keep your eye on the ball, man?--you!"

"You be hanged!" retorted Swallow. "Never had an eyelash off that shopdoor from the time he entered until I, too, entered. "

"Then there's a side-door to that shop--into some alley or passage, "said Gilling. 

"Not that I could find, " answered Swallow. "Might be at the rear of thepremises perhaps, but I couldn't ascertain, of course. Remember!--there'sanother thing. He may have stopped on the premises. There's that in it. However, I know the shop and the name. "

"Why didn't you bring somebody else with you, to follow the man and theluggage?" demanded Gilling, half-petulantly. 

Swallow shook his head. 

"There I made a mess of it, I confess, " he admitted. "But it never struckme they'd separate. I thought, of course, they'd drive straight to somehotel, and--"

"And the long and the short of it is, Greyle's slipped you, " saidGilling. "Well--there's no more to be done tonight. The only thing ofvalue is that Greyle called at the Fragonard. What's a countrysquire--only recently come to England, too!--to do with the Fragonard?That is worth something. Well--Copplestone, we'd better meet in themorning at Petherton's. You be there at ten o'clock, and I'll get SirCresswell Oliver to be there, too. "

Copplestone betook himself to his rooms in Jermyn Street; it seemed anage--several ages--since he had last seen the familiar things in them. During the few days which had elapsed since his hurried setting-off tomeet Bassett Oliver so many things had happened that he felt as if hehad lived a week in a totally different world. He had met death, andmystery, and what appeared to be sure evidence of deceit and cunning andperhaps worse--fraud and crime blacker than fraud. But he had also metAudrey Greyle. And it was only natural that he thought more about herthan of the strange atmosphere of mystery which wrapped itself aroundScarhaven. She, at any rate, was good to think upon, and he thought muchas he looked over the letters that had accumulated, changed his clothes, and made ready to go and dine at his club, Already he was counting thehours which must elapse before he would go back to her. 

Nevertheless, Copplestone's mind was not entirely absorbed by thispleasant subject; the events of the day and of the arrival in Londonkept presenting themselves. And coming across a fellow club-memberwhom he knew for a thorough man about town, he suddenly plumped himwith a question. 

"I say!" he said. "Do you know the Fragonard Club?"

"Of course!" replied the other man. "Don't you?"

"Never even heard of it till this evening, " said Copplestone. "What is it?"

"Mixed lot!" answered his companion. "Theatrical and music-hall folk--menand women--both. Lively spot--sometimes. Like to have a look in when theyhave one of their nights?"

"Very much, " assented Copplestone. "Are you a member?"

"No, but I know several men who are members, " said the other. "I'll fixit all right. Worth going to when they've what they call ahouse-dinner--Sunday night, of course. "

"Thanks, " said Copplestone. "I suppose membership of that's confined tothe profession, eh?"

"Strictly, " replied his friend. "But they ain't at all particular abouttheir guests--you'll meet all sorts of people there, from judges tojockeys, and millionairesses to milliners. "

Copplestone was still wondering what the Squire of Scarhaven could haveto do with the Fragonard Club when he went to Mr. Petherton's office thenext morning. He was late for the appointment which Gilling had made, andwhen he arrived Gilling had already reported all that had taken place theday before to the solicitor and to Sir Cresswell Oliver. And on thatCopplestone produced the papers entrusted to him by Mr. Dennie and theyall compared the handwritings afresh. 

"There is certainly something wrong, somewhere, " remarked Petherton, after a time. "However, we are in a position to begin a systematicinquiry. Here, " he went on, drawing a paper from his desk, "is acablegram which arrived first thing this morning from New York--from anagent who has been making a search for me in the shipping lists. This iswhat he says: 'Marston Greyle, St. Louis, Missouri, booked first-classpassenger from New York to Falmouth, England, by S. S. _Araconda_, September 28th, 1912. ' There--that's something definite. And the nextthing, " concluded the old lawyer, with a shrewd glance at Sir Cresswell, "is to find out if the Marston Greyle who landed at Falmouth is the sameman whom we have recently seen!"

CHAPTER XVI

IN TOUCH WITH THE MISSING

Sir Cresswell Oliver took the cablegram from Petherton and read it overslowly, muttering the precise and plain wording to himself. 

"Don't you think, Petherton, that we had better get a clear notion of ourexact bearings?" he said as he laid it back on the solicitor's desk. "Seems to me that the time's come when we ought to know exactly where weare. As I understand it, the case is this--rightly or wrongly we suspectthe present holder of the Scarhaven estates. We suspect that he is notthe rightful owner--that, in short, he is no more the real Marston Greylethan you are. We think that he's an impostor--posing as Marston Greyle. Other people--Mrs. Valentine Greyle, for example--evidently think so, too. Am I right?"

"Quite!" responded Petherton. "That's our position--exactly. "

"Then--in that case, what I want to get at is this, " continued SirCresswell. "How does this relate to my brother's death? What's theconnection? That--to me at any rate--is the first thing of importance. Ofcourse I have a theory. This, that the impostor did see my brother lastSunday afternoon. That he knew that my brother would at once know thathe, the impostor, was not the real Marston Greyle, and that thediscovery would lead to detection. And therefore he put him out of theway. He might accompany him to the top of the tower and fling him down. It's possible. Do you follow me?"

"Precisely, " replied Petherton. "I, too, incline to that notion, thoughI've worked it out in a different fashion. My reconstruction of what tookplace at Scarhaven Keep is as follows--I think that Bassett Oliver metthe Squire--we'll call this man that for the sake of clearness--when heentered the ruins. He probably introduced himself and mentioned that hehad met a Marston Greyle in America. Then the Squire saw theprobabilities of detection--and what subsequently took place was mostlikely what you suggest. It may have been that the Squire recognizedBassett Oliver, and knew that he'd met Marston Greyle; it may have beenthat he didn't know him and didn't know anything until Bassett Oliverenlightened him. But--either way--I firmly believe that Bassett Olivercame to his death by violence--that he was murdered. So--there's the casein a nutshell! Murdered!--to keep his tongue still. "

"What's to be done, then?" asked Sir Cresswell as Petherton tapped thecablegram. 

"The first thing, " he answered, "is to make use of this. We now know thatthe real Marston Greyle--who certainly did live in St. Louis, where hisfather had settled--left New York for England to take up his inheritance, on September 28th, 1912, and booked a passage to Falmouth. He would landat Falmouth from the _Araconda_ about October 5th. Probably there issome trace of him at Falmouth. He no doubt stayed a night there. Anyway, somebody must go to Falmouth and make inquiries. You'd better go, Gilling, and at once. While you're away your partner had better resumehis search for the man we know as the Squire. You've two good clues--thefact that he visited the Fragonard Club and that particular tobacconist'sshop. Urge Swallow to do his best--the man must be kept in sight. See toboth these things immediately. "

"Swallow is at work already, " replied Gilling. "He's got good help, too, and his failure yesterday has put him on his mettle. As for me, I'll goto Falmouth by the next express. Let me have that cablegram. "

"I'll go with you, " said Copplestone. "I may be of some use--and I'minterested. But, " he paused and looked questioningly at the oldsolicitor. "What about the other news we brought you?" he asked. "Aboutthis sale of the estate, you know? If this man is an impostor--"

"Leave that to me, " replied Petherton, with a shrewd glance at SirCresswell. "I know the Greyle family solicitors--highly respectablepeople--only a few doors away, in fact--and I'm going round to have aquiet little chat with them in a few minutes. There will be no sale!Leave me to deal with that matter--and if you young men are going toFalmouth, off you go!"

It was late that night when Copplestone and Gilling arrived at thisfar-off Cornish seaport, and nothing could be done until the followingmorning. To Copplestone it seemed as if they were in for a difficulttask. Over twelve months had elapsed since the real Marston Greyle leftAmerica for England; he might not have stayed in Falmouth, might not haveheld any conversation with anybody there who would recollect him! howwere they going to trace him? But Gilling--now free of his clericalattire and presenting himself as a smart young man of the professionalclasses type--was quick to explain that system, accurate and definitesystem, would expedite matters. 

"We know the approximate date on which the _Araconda_ would touch here, "he said as they breakfasted together. "As things go, it would be fromOctober 4th to 6th, according to the quickness of her run across theAtlantic. Very well--if Marston Greyle stayed here, he'd have to stay atsome hotel. Accordingly, we visit all the Falmouth hotels and examinetheir registers of that date--first week of October, 1912. If we find hisname--good! We can then go on to make inquiries. If we don't find anytrace of him, then we know it's all up--he probably went straight away bytrain after landing. We'll begin with this hotel first. "

There was no record of any Marston Greyle at that hotel, nor at the nexthalf-dozen at which they called. A visit to the shipping office of theline to which the _Araconda_ belonged revealed the fact that she reachedFalmouth on October 5th at half-past ten in the evening, and that thename of Marston Greyle was on the list of first-class passengers. Gilling left the office in cheery mood. 

"That simplifies matters, " he said. "As the _Araconda_ reached here latein the evening, the passengers who landed from her would be almostcertain to stay the night in Falmouth. So we've only to resume our roundof these hotels in order to hit something pertinent. This is plain andeasy work, Copplestone--no corners in it. We'll strike oil before noon. "

They struck oil at the very next hotel they called at--an old-fashionedhouse in close proximity to the harbour. There was a communicativelandlord there who evidently possessed and was proud of a retentivememory, and he no sooner heard the reason of Gilling's call upon him thanhe bustled into activity, and produced the register of the previous year. 

"But I remember the young gentleman you're asking about, " he remarked, ashe took the book from a safe and laid it open on the table in his privateroom. "Not a common name, is it? He came here about eleven o'clock of thenight you've mentioned--there you are!--there's the entry. Andthere--higher up--is the name of the man who came to meet him. He camethe day before--to be here when the _Araconda_ got in. "

The two visitors, bending over the book, mutually nudged each other astheir eyes encountered the signatures on the open page. There, in thehandwriting of the letters which Mr. Dennie had so fortunately preserved, was the name Marston Greyle. But it was not the sight of that whichsurprised them; they had expected to see it. What made them both thrillwith the joy of an unexpected discovery was the sight of the signatureinserted some lines above it, under date October 4th. Lest they shouldexhibit that joy before the landlord, they mutually stuck their elbowsinto each other and immediately affected the unconcern of indifference. 

But there the signature was--_Peter Chatfield_. Peter Chatfield!--theyboth knew that they were entering on a new stage of their quest; that thefact that Chatfield had travelled to Falmouth to meet the new owner ofScarhaven meant much--possibly meant everything. 

"Oh!" said Gilling, as steadily as possible. "That gentleman came to meetthe other, did he? Just so. Now what sort of man was he?"

"Big, fleshy man--elderly--very solemn in manner and appearance, "answered the landlord. "I remember him well. Came in about five o 'clockin the afternoon of the 4th just after the London train arrived--andbooked a room. He told me he expected to meet a gentleman from New York, and was very fidgety about fixing it up to go off in the tender to the_Araconda_ when she came into the Bay. However, I found out for him thatshe wouldn't be in until next evening, so of course he settled down towait. Very quiet, reserved old fellow--never said much. "

"Did he go off on the tender next night?" asked Gilling. 

"He did--and came back with this other gentleman and his baggage--thisMr. Greyle, " answered the landlord. "Mr. Chatfield had booked a room forMr. Greyle. "

"And what sort of man was Mr. Greyle?" inquired Gilling. "That's reallythe important thing. You've an exceptionally good memory--I can see that. Tell us all you can recollect about him. "

"I can recollect plenty, " replied the landlord, shaking his head. "As forhis looks--a tallish, slightly-built young fellow, between, I should say, twenty-five and twenty-eight. Stooped a good bit. Very dark hair andeyes--eyes a good deal sunken in his face. Very pale--good-looking--goodfeatures. But ill--my sakes! he was ill!"

"Ill!" exclaimed Gilling, with a glance at Copplestone. "Really ill!"

"He was that ill, " said the landlord, "that me and my wife never expectedto see him get up that next morning. We wanted them to have a doctor butMr. Greyle himself said that it was nothing, but that he had some hearttrouble and that the voyage had made it worse. He said that if he tooksome medicine which he had with him, and a drop of hot brandy-and-water, and got a good night's sleep he'd be all right. And next morning heseemed better, and he got up to breakfast--but my wife said to me that ifshe'd seen death on a man's face it was on his! She's a bit of apersuasive tongue, has my wife, and when she heard that these twogentlemen were thinking of going a long journey--right away to the farnorth, it was, I believe--she got 'em to go and see the doctor first, forshe felt that Mr. Greyle wasn't fit for the exertion. "

"Did they go?" asked Gilling. 

"They did! I talked, myself, to the old gentleman, " replied the landlord. "And I showed them the way to our own doctor--Dr. Tretheway. And as aresult of what he said to them, I heard them decide to break up theirjourney into stages, as you might term it. They left here for Bristolthat afternoon--to stay the night there. "

"You're sure of that?--Bristol?" asked Gilling. 

"Ought to be, " replied the landlord, with laconic assurance. "Iwent to the station with them and saw them off. They booked toBristol--anyway--first class. "

Gilling looked at his companion. 

"I think we'd better see this Dr. Tretheway, " he remarked. 

Dr. Tretheway, an elderly man of grave manners and benevolent aspect, remembered the visit of Mr. Marston Greyle well enough when he had turnedup its date in his case book. He also remembered the visitor's companion, Mr. Chatfield, who seemed unusually anxious and concerned about Mr. Greyle's health. 

"And as to that, " continued Dr. Tretheway, "I learnt from Mr. Greyle thathe had been seriously indisposed for some months before setting out forEngland. The voyage had been rather a rough one; he had suffered muchfrom sea-sickness, and, in his state of health, that was unfortunate forhim. I made a careful examination of him, and I came to the conclusionthat he was suffering from a form of myocarditis which was rapidlyassuming a very serious complexion. I earnestly advised him to take asmuch rest as possible, to avoid all unnecessary fatigue and allexcitement, and I strongly deprecated his travelling in one journey tothe north, whither I learnt he was bound. On my advice, he and Mr. Chatfield decided to break that journey at Bristol, at Birmingham, and atLeeds. By so doing, you see, they would only have a short journey eachday, and Mr. Greyle would be able to rest for a long time at a stretch. But--I formed my own conclusions. "

"And they were--what?" asked Gilling. 

"That he would not live long, " said the doctor. "Finding that he wasgoing to the neighbourhood of Norcaster, where there is a most excellentschool of medicine, I advised him to get the best specialist he couldfrom there, and to put himself under his treatment. But my impression wasthat he had already reached a very, very serious stage. "

"You think he was then likely to die suddenly?" suggested Gilling. 

"It was quite possible. I should not have been surprised to hear of hisdeath, " answered Dr. Tretheway. "He was, in short, very ill indeed. "

"You never heard anything?" inquired Gilling. 

"Nothing at all--though I often wondered. Of course, " said the doctorwith a smile, "they were only chance visitors--I often havetrans-atlantic passengers drop in--and they forget that a physician wouldsometimes like to know how a case submitted to him in that way hasturned out. No, I never heard any more. "

"Did they give you any address, either of them?" asked Copplestone, seeing that Gilling had no more to ask. 

"No, " replied the doctor, "they did not. I knew of course, from whatthey told me that Mr. Greyle had come off the _Araconda_ the nightbefore, and that he was passing on. No--I only gathered that they weregoing to the neighbourhood of Norcaster from the fact that Mr. Greyleasked if a journey to that place would be too much for him--he saidwith a laugh, that over there in the United States a journey of fivehundred miles would be considered a mere jaunt! He was very plucky, poor fellow, but--"

Dr. Tretheway ended with a significant shake of the head, and his twovisitors left him and went out into the autumn sunlight. 

"Copplestone!" said Gilling as they walked away. "That chap--the realMarston Greyle--is dead! That's as certain as that we're alive! And nowthe next thing is to find out where he died and when. And by George, that's going to be a big job!"

"How are you going to set about it?" asked Copplestone. "It seems as ifwe were up against a blank wall, now. "

"Not at all, my son!" retorted Gilling, cheerfully. "One step at atime--that's the sure thing to go on, in my calling. We've found out alot here, and quickly, too. And--we know where our next step lies. Bristol! Like looking for needles in a bundle of hay? Not a bit of it. If those two broke their journey at Bristol, they'd have to stop at anhotel. Well, now we'll adjourn to Bristol--bearing in mind that we're onthe track of Peter Chatfield!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE OLD PLAYBILL

Gilling's cheerful optimism was the sort of desirable quality that is agood thing to have, but all the optimism in the world is valueless inface of impregnable difficulty. And the difficulty of tracing Chatfieldand his sick companion in a city the size of Bristol did indeed seemimpregnable when Gilling and Copplestone had been attacking it fortwenty-four hours. They had spent a whole day in endeavouring to getnews; they had gone in and out of hotels until they were sick of thesight of one; they had made exhaustive inquiries at the railway stationand of the cabmen who congregated there; nobody remembered anything atall about a big, heavy-faced man and a man in his company who seemed tobe very ill. And on the second night Copplestone intimated plainly thatin his opinion they were wasting their time. 

"How do we even know that they ever came to Bristol?" he asked, as he andGilling refreshed themselves with a much needed dinner. "The Falmouthlandlord saw Chatfield take tickets for Bristol! That's nothing to go on!Put it to yourself in this way. Greyle may have found even that journeytoo much for him. They may, in that case, have left the train atPlymouth--or at Exeter--or at Taunton: it would stop at each place. Seemsto me we're wasting time here--far better get nearer more tangiblethings. Chatfield, for instance. Or, go back to town and find out whatyour friend Swallow has done. "

"Swallow, " replied Gilling, "has done nothing so far, or I should haveheard. Swallow knows exactly where I am, and where I shall be until Igive him further notice. Don't be discouraged, my friend--one is oftenon the very edge of a discovery when one seems to be miles away from it. Give me another day--and if we haven't found out something by tomorrowevening I'll consult with you as to our next step. But I've a plan fortomorrow morning which ought to yield some result. "

"What?" demanded Copplestone, doubtfully. 

"This! There is in every centre of population an official who registersbirths, marriages, and deaths. Now we believe the real Marston Greyle tobe dead. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that he did die here, inBristol, whither he and Chatfield certainly set off when they leftFalmouth. What would happen? Notice of his death would have to be givento the Registrar--by the nearest relative or by the person in attendanceon the deceased. That person would, in this case, be Chatfield. If thedeath occurred suddenly, and without medical attendance, an inquest wouldhave to be held. If a doctor had been in attendance he would give asigned certificate of the cause of death, which he would hand to therelatives or friends in attendance, who, in their turn, would have tohand it to the Registrar. Do you see the value of these points? What wemust do tomorrow morning is to see the Registrar--or, as there will bemore than one in a place this size--each of them in turn, in theendeavour to find out if, early in October, 1912, Peter Chatfieldregistered the death of Marston Greyle here. But remember--he may nothave registered it under that name. He may, indeed, not have used his ownname--he's deep enough for anything. That however, is our next bestchance--search of the registers. Let's try it, anyway, first thing in themorning. And as we've had a stiff day, I propose we dismiss all thoughtof this affair for the rest of the evening and betake ourselves to someplace of amusement--theatre, eh?"

Copplestone made no objection to that, and when dinner was over, theywalked round to the principal theatre in time for the first act of a playwhich having been highly successful in London had just started on a roundof the leading provincial theatres. Between the second and third acts ofthis production there was a long interval, and the two companionsrepaired to the foyer to recuperate their energies with a drink and acigarette. While thus engaged, Copplestone encountered an old schoolfriend with whom he exchanged a few words: Gilling, meanwhile strolledabout, inspecting the pictures, photographs and old playbills on thewalls of the saloon and its adjacent apartments. And suddenly, he turnedback, waited until Copplestone's acquaintance had gone away, and thenhurried up and smacked his co-searcher on the shoulder. 

"Didn't I tell you that one's often close to a thing when one seemsfurthest off it!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Come here, my son, and lookat what I've just found. "

He drew Copplestone away to a quiet corner and pointed out an oldplaybill, framed and hung on the wall. Copplestone stared at it and sawnothing but the title of a well-known comedy, the names of one or twofairly celebrated actors and actresses and the usual particulars whichappear on all similar announcements. 

"Well?" he asked. "What of this?"

"That!" replied Gilling, flicking the tip of his finger on a line in thebill. "That my boy!"

Copplestone looked again. He started at what he read. 

_Margaret Sayers_. . . . . . . MISS ADELA CHATFIELD. 

"And now look at that!" continued Gilling, with an accentuation of histriumphal note. "See! These people were here for a fortnight--fromOctober 3rd to 17th--1912. Therefore--if Peter Chatfield brought MarstonGreyle to Bristol on October 6th, Peter Chatfield's daughter would alsobe in the town!"

Copplestone looked over the bill again, rapidly realizing possibilities. 

"Would Chatfield know that?" he asked reflectively. 

"It's only likely that he would, " replied Gilling. "Even if father anddaughter don't quite hit things off in their tastes, it's only reasonableto suppose that Peter would usually know his daughter's whereabouts. Andif he brought Greyle here, ill, and they had to stop, it's only likelythat Peter would turn to his daughter for help. Anyway, Copplestone, hereare two undoubted facts:--Chatfield and Greyle booked from Falmouth forBristol on October 6th, 1912, and may therefore be supposed to have comehere. That's one fact. The other is--Addie Chatfield was certainly inBristol on that date and for eleven days after it. "

"Well--what next?" asked Copplestone. 

"I've been thinking that over while you stared at the bill, " answeredGilling. "I think the best thing will be to find out where AddieChatfield put herself up during her stay. I daresay you know that in mostof these towns there are lodgings which are almost exclusively devoted tothe theatrical profession. Actors and actresses go to them year afteryear; their owners lay themselves out for their patrons--what's more, your theatrical landlady always remembers names and faces, and has herfavourites. Now, in my stage experience, I never struck Bristol, so Idon't know much about it, but I know where we can get information--thestage door-keeper. He'll tell us where the recognized lodgings are--andthen we must begin a round of inquiry. When? Just now, my boy!--and agood time, too, as you'll see. "

"Why?" asked Copplestone. 

"Best hour of the evening, " replied Gilling with glib assurance. "Landladies enjoying an hour of ease before beginning to cook supperfor their lodgers, now busy on the stage. Always ready to talk, theatrical landladies, when they've nothing to do. Trust me forknowing the ropes!--come round to the stage door and let's ask thekeeper a question or two. "

But before they had quitted the foyer an interruption came in the shapeof a shrewd-looking gentleman in evening dress, who wore his opera hat ata rakish angle and seemed to be very much at home as he strolled about, hands in pockets, looking around him at all and sundry. He suddenlycaught sight of Gilling, smiled surprisedly and expansively, and cameforward with outstretched hand. 

"Bless our hearts, is it really yourself, dear boy!" exclaimed thisapparition. "Really, now? And what brings you here--God bless my soul andeyes--why I haven't seen you this--how long is it, dear boy!"

"Three years, " answered Gilling, promptly clasping the outstretched hand. "But what are you doing here--boss, eh?"

"Lessee's manager, dear boy--nice job, too, " whispered the other. "Beenhere two years--good berth. " He deftly steered Gilling towards therefreshment bar, and glanced out of his eye corner at Copplestone. "Friend of yours?" he suggested hospitably. "Introduce us, dear boy--myname is the same as before, you know!"

"Mr. Copplestone, Mr. Montmorency, " said Gilling. "Mr. Montmorency, Mr. Copplestone. "

"Servant, sir, " said Mr. Montmorency. "Pleased to meet any friend of myfriend! And what will you take, dear boys, and how are things withyou, Gilling, old man--now who on earth would have thought of seeingyou here?"

Copplestone held his peace while Gilling and Mr. Montmorency heldinteresting converse. He was sure that his companion would turn thisunexpected meeting to account, and he therefore felt no surprise whenGilling, after giving him a private nudge, plumped the manager with adirect question. 

"Did you see Addie Chatfield when she was here about a year ago?" heasked. "You remember--she was here in _Mrs. Swayne's Necklace_--here afortnight. "

"I remember very well, dear boy, " responded Mr. Montmorency, with ajudicial sip at the contents of his tumbler. "I saw the lady severaltimes. More by token, I accidentally witnessed a curious little scenebetween Miss Addie and a gentleman whom Nature appeared to have speciallymanufactured for the part of heavy parent--you know the type. One morningwhen that company was here, I happened to be standing in the vestibule, talking to the box-office man, when a large, solemn-faced individual, Quakerish in attire, and evidently not accustomed to the theatre walkedin and peered about him at our rich carpets and expensivefittings--pretty much as if he was appraising their value. At the sametime, I observed that he was in what one calls a state--a little, perhapsa good deal, upset about something. Wherefore I addressed myself to himin my politest manner and inquired if I could serve him. Thereupon heasked if he could see Miss Adela Chatfield on very important business. Now, I wasn't going to let him see Miss Addie, for I took him to be a manwho might have a writ about him, or something nasty of that sort. But atthat very moment, Miss Addie, who had been rehearsing, and had come outby the house instead of going through the stage door, came tripping intothe vestibule and let off a sharp note of exclamation. After which sheand old wooden-face stepped into the street together, and immediatelyexchanged a few words. And that the old man told her something veryserious was abundantly evident from the expression of their respectivecountenances. But, of course, I never knew what it was, nor who he was, dear boy--not my business, don't you know. "

"They went away together, those two?" asked Gilling, favouringCopplestone with another nudge. 

"Up the street together, certainly, talking most earnestly, " replied Mr. Montmorency. 

"Ever see that old chap again?" asked Gilling. 

"I never did, dear boy, --once was sufficient, " said Mr. Montmorency, lightly. "But, " he continued, dropping his bantering tone, "are thesequestions pertinent?--has this to do with this new profession of yours, dear boy? If so--mum's the word, you know. "

"I'll tell you what, Monty, " answered Gilling. "I wish you'd find out forme where Addie Chatfield lodged when she was here that time. Can it bedone? Between you and me, I do want to know about that, old chap. Nevermind why, now--I will tell you later. But it's serious. "

Mr. Montmorency tapped the side of his handsome nose. 

"All right, my boy!" he said. "I understand--wicked, wicked world! Done?Dear boy, it shall be done! Come down to the stage door--our man knowsevery landlady in the town!"

By various winding ways and devious passages he led the two young mendown to the stage door. Its keeper, not being particularly busy at thattime, was reading the evening newspaper in his glass-walled box, andglanced inquiringly at the strangers as Mr. Montmorency pulled them upbefore him. 

"Prickett, " said Mr. Montmorency, leaning into the sanctum over itshalf-door and speaking confidentially. "You keep a sort of register oflodgings don't you, Prickett? Now I wonder if you could tell me whereMiss Adela Chatfield, of the _Mrs. Swayne's Necklace_ Company stoppedwhen she was last here?--that's a year ago or about it. Prickett, " hewent on, turning to Gilling, "puts all this sort of thing down, methodically, so that he can send callers on, or send up urgent lettersor parcels during the day--isn't that it, Prickett?"

"That's about it, sir, " answered the door-keeper. He had taken down asort of ledger as the manager spoke, and was now turning over its leaves. He suddenly ran his finger down a page and stopped its course at aparticular line. 

"Mrs. Salmon, 5, Montargis Crescent--second to the right outside, " heannounced briefly. "Very good lodgings, too, are those. "

Gilling promised Mr. Montmorency that he would look him up later on, and went away with Copplestone to Montargis Crescent. Within fiveminutes they were standing in a comfortably furnished, old-fashionedsitting-room, liberally ornamented with the photographs of actors andactresses and confronting a stout, sharp-eyed little woman wholistened intently to all that Gilling said and sniffed loudly when hehad finished. 

"Remember Miss Chatfield being here!" she exclaimed. "I should think I doremember! I ought to! Bringing mortal sickness into my house--and thendeath--and then a funeral--and her and her father going away never givingme an extra penny for the trouble!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LIE ON THE TOMBSTONE

Gilling's glance at his companion was quiet enough, but it spoke volumes. Here, by sheer chance, was such a revelation as they had never dreamed ofhearing!--here was the probable explanation of at least half the mystery. He turned composedly to the landlady. 

"I've already told you who and what I am, " he said, pointing to the cardwhich he had handed to her. "There are certain mysterious circumstancesabout this affair which I want to get at. What you've said just now isabundant evidence that you can help. If you do and will help, you'll bewell paid for your trouble. Now, you speak of sickness--death--a funeral. Will you tell us all about it?"

"I never knew there was any mystery about it, " answered the landlady, asshe motioned her visitors to seat themselves. "It was all above-board asfar as I knew. Of course, I've always been sore about it--I'd a greatdeal of trouble, and as I say, I never got anything for it--that is, anything extra. And me doing it really to oblige her and her father!"

"They brought a sick man here?" suggested Gilling. 

"I'll tell you how it was, " said Mrs. Salmon, seating herself and showingsigns of a disposition to confidence. "Miss Chatfield, she'd been here, Ithink, three days that time--I'd had her once before a year or twoprevious. One morning--I'm sure it was about the third day that the_Swayne Necklace_ Company was here--she came in from rehearsal in aregular take-on. She said that her father had just called on her at thetheatre. She said he'd been to Falmouth to meet a relation of theirswho'd come from America and had found him to be very ill on landing--soill that a Falmouth doctor had given strict orders that he mustn't travelany further than Bristol, on his way wherever he wanted to go. They'd gotto Bristol and the young man was so done up that Mr. Chatfield had had todrive him to another doctor--one close by here--Dr. Valdey--as soon asthey arrived. Dr. Valdey said he must go to bed at once and have at leasttwo days' complete rest in bed, and he advised Mr. Chatfield to get quietrooms instead of going to a hotel. So Mr. Chatfield, knowing that hisdaughter was here, do you see, sought her out and told her all about it. She came to me and asked me if I knew where they could get rooms. Wellnow, I had my drawing-room floor empty that week, and as it was only fortwo or three days that they wanted rooms I offered to take Mr. Chatfieldand the young man in. Of course, if I'd known how ill he was, Ishouldn't. What I understood--and mind you, I don't say they wilfullydeceived me, for I don't think they did--what I understood was that theyoung man simply wanted a real good rest. But he was evidently a dealworse than what even Dr. Valdey thought. He'd stopped at Dr. Valdey'ssurgery while Mr. Chatfield went to see about rooms, and they moved himfrom there straight in here. And as I say, he was a deal worse than theythought, much worse, and the doctor had to be fetched to him more thanonce during the afternoon. Still Dr. Valdey himself never said to me thatthere was any immediate danger. But that's neither here nor there--theyoung fellow died that night. "

"That night!" exclaimed Gilling, "the night he came here?"

"Very same night, " assented Mrs. Salmon. "Brought in here about two inthe afternoon and died just before midnight--soon after Miss Chatfieldcame in from the theatre. Went very suddenly at the end. "

"Were you present?" asked Copplestone. 

"I wasn't. Nobody was with him but Mr. Chatfield--Miss Chatfield wasgetting her supper down here, " replied Mrs. Salmon. "And I was busyelsewhere. "

"Was there an inquest then, inquired Gilling?"

"Oh, no!" said Mrs. Salmon, shaking her head. "Oh, no!--there was no needfor that--the doctor, ye see, had been seeing him all day. Oh, no--thecause of death was evident enough, in a way of speaking. Heart. "

"Did they bury him here, then?" asked Gilling. 

"Two days after, " replied Mrs. Salmon. "Kept everything very quiet, theydid. I don't believe Miss Chatfield told any of the theatre people--shewent to her work just the same, of course. The old gentleman saw toeverything--funeral and all. I'll say this for them. --they gave me nounnecessary trouble, but still, there's trouble that is necessary whenyou've death in a house and a funeral at the door, and they ought to havegiven me something for what I did. But they didn't, so I considered itvery mean. Mr. Chatfield, he stayed two days after the funeral, and whenhe left he just said that his daughter would settle up with me. But whenshe came to pay she added nothing to my bill, and she walked outremarking that if her father hadn't given me anything extra she was sureshe shouldn't. Shabby!"

"Very shabby!" agreed Gilling. "Well, you won't find my clients quite somean, ma'am. But just a word--don't mention this matter to anybody untilyou hear from me. And as I like to give some earnest of payment here's abank-note which you can slip into your purse--on account, you understand. Now, just a question or two:--Did you hear the young man's name?"

The landlady, whose spirits rose visibly on receipt of the bank-note, appeared to reflect on hearing this question, and she shook her head asif surprised at her own inability to answer it satisfactorily. 

"Well, now, " she said, "it may seem a queer thing to say, but I don'trecollect that I ever did! You see, I didn't see much of him after heonce got here. I was never in his room with them, and they didn't mentionhis name--that I can remember--when they spoke about him before me. Iunderstood he was a relative--cousin or something of that sort. "

"Didn't you see any name on the coffin?" asked Gilling. 

"I didn't, " replied Mrs. Salmon. "You see, the undertaker fetched himaway when him and his men brought the coffin--the next day. He tookcharge of the coffin for the second night, and the funeral took placefrom there. But I'll tell you what--the undertaker'll know the name, andof course the doctor does. They're both close by. "

Gilling took names and addresses and once more pledging the landlady tosecrecy, led Copplestone away. 

"That's the end of another chapter, " he said when they were clear of thatplace. "We know now that Marston Greyle died there--in that very house, Copplestone!--and that Peter Chatfield was with him. That's fact!"

"And it's fact, too, that the daughter knows, " observed Copplestone in alow voice. 

"Fact, too, that Addie Chatfield was in it, " agreed Gilling. "Well--butwhat happened next? However, before we go on to that, there are threethings to do in the morning. We must see this Dr. Valdey, and theundertaker--and Marston Greyle's grave. "

"And then?" asked Copplestone. 

"Stiff, big question, " sighed Gilling. "Go back to town and report, Ithink--and find out if Swallow has discovered anything. And egad! there'sa lot to discover! For you see we're already certain that at the stage atwhich we've arrived a conspiracy began--conspiracy between Chatfield, hisdaughter, and the man who's been passing himself off as Marston Greyle. Now, who is the man? Where did they get hold of him? Is he some relationof theirs? All that's got to be found out. Of course, their object isvery clear, Marston Greyle, the real Simon Pure, was dead on their hands. His legal successor was his cousin, Miss Audrey. Chatfield knew that whenMiss Audrey came into power his own reign as steward of Scarhaven wouldbe brief. And so--but the thing is so plain that one needn't waste breathon it. And I tell you what's plain too, Copplestone--Miss Audrey Greyleis the lady of Scarhaven! Good luck to her! You'll no doubt be glad tocommunicate the glad tidings!"

Copplestone made no answer. He was utterly confounded by the recentrevelations and was wondering what the mother and daughter in the littlecottage so far away in the grey north would say when all these thingswere told them. 

"Let's make dead certain of everything, " he said after a long pause. "Don't let's leave any loophole. "

"Oh, we'll leave nothing--here at any rate, " replied Gilling, confidently. "But you'll find in the morning that we already know almosteverything. "

In this he was right. The doctor's story was a plain one. The young manwas very ill indeed when brought to him, and though he did not anticipateso early or sudden an end, he was not surprised when death came, and hadof course, no difficulty about giving the necessary certificate. Just asplain was the undertaker's account of his connection with the affair--avery ordinary transaction in his eyes. And having heard both stories, there was nothing to do but to visit one of the adjacent cemeteries andfind a certain grave the number of which they had ascertained from theundertaker's books. It was easily found--and Copplestone and Gillingfound themselves standing at a new tombstone, whereon the monumentalmason had carved four lines:--

MARK GREY

BORN APRIL 12TH, 1884

DIED OCTOBER 6TH, 1912

AGED 28 TEARS. 

"Short, simple, eminently suited to the purpose, " murmured Gilling as thetwo turned away. "Somebody thought things out quickly and well, Copplestone, when this poor fellow died. Do you know I've been thinkingas we walked up here that if Bassett Oliver had never taken it into hishead to visit Scarhaven that Sunday this fraud would never have beenfound out! The chances were all against its ever being found out. Consider them! A young man who is an absolute stranger in England comesto take up an inheritance, having on him no doubt, the necessary proofsof identification. He's met by one person only--his agent. He dies nextday. The agent buries him, under a false name, takes his effects andpapers, gets some accomplice to personate him, introduces that accompliceto everybody as the real man--and there you are! Oh, Chatfield knew whathe was doing! Who on earth, wandering in this cemetery, would everconnect Mark Grey with Marston Greyle?"

"Just so--but there was one danger-spot which must have given Chatfieldand his accomplices a good many uneasy hours, " answered Copplestone. "Youknow that Marston Greyle actually registered in his own name at Falmouthand was known to the land lord and the doctor there. "

"Yes--and Falmouth is three hundred miles from London and five hundredfrom Scarhaven, " replied Gilling dryly. "And do you suppose that whoeversaw Marston Greyle at Falmouth cared two pins--comparatively--what becameof him after he left there? No--Chatfield was almost safe from detectionas soon as he'd got that unfortunate young fellow laid away in thatgrave. However we know now--what we do know. And the next thing, now thatwe know Marston Greyle lies behind us there, is to get back to town andcatch the chap who took his place. We'll wire to Swallow and toPetherton and get the next express. "

Sir Cresswell Oliver and Petherton were in conference with Swallow at thesolicitor's office when Gilling and Copplestone arrived there in theearly afternoon. Gilling interrupted their conversation to tell theresult of his investigations. Copplestone, watching the effect, saw thatneither Sir Cresswell nor Petherton showed surprise. Petherton indeed, smiled as if he had anticipated all that Gilling had to say. 

"I told you that I knew the Greyle family solicitors, " he observed. "Ifind that they have only once seen the man whom we will call the Squire. Chatfield brought him there. He produced proofs of identification--paperswhich Chatfield no doubt took from the dead man. Of course, thesolicitors never doubted for a moment that he was the real MarstonGreyle!--never dreamed of fraud: Well--the next step. We must concentrateon finding this man. And Swallow has nothing to tell--yet. He has neverseen anything more of him. You'd better turn all your attention to that, Gilling--you and Swallow. As for Chatfield and his daughter, I suppose weshall have to approach the police. "

Copplestone presently went home to his rooms in Jermyn Street, puzzledand wondering; And there, lying on top of a pile of letters, he found atelegram--from Audrey Greyle. It had been dispatched from Scarhaven at anearly hour of the previous day, and it contained but three words--_Canyon come?_

CHAPTER XIX

THE STEAM YACHT

Copplestone had seen and learned enough of Audrey Greyle during his briefstay at Scarhaven to make him assured that she would not have sent forhim save for very good and grave reasons. It had been with manifestreluctance that she had given him her promise to do so: her entirebehaviour during the conference with Mr. Dennie and Gilling had convincedhim that she had an inherent distaste for publicity and an instinctiverepugnance to calling in the aid of strangers. He had never expected thatshe would send for him--he himself knew that he should go back to her, but the return would be on his own initiative. There, however, was hersummons, definite as it was brief. He was wanted--and by her. And withoutopening one of his letters, he snatched up the whole pile, thrust it intohis pocket, hurriedly made some preparation for his journey and raced offto King's Cross. 

He fumed and fretted with impatience during the six hours' journey downto Norcaster. It was ten o'clock when he arrived there, and as he knewthat the last train to Scarhaven left at half-past-nine he hurried to geta fast motor-car that would take him over the last twenty miles of hisjourney. He had wired to Audrey from Peterborough, telling her that hewas on his way and should motor out from Norcaster, and when he hadfound a car to his liking he ordered its driver to go straight to Mrs. Greyle's cottage, close by Scarhaven church. And just then he heard avoice calling his name, and turning saw, running out of the station, ayoung, athletic-looking man, much wrapped and cloaked, who waved a handat him and whose face he had some dim notion of having seen before. 

"Mr. Copplestone?" panted the new arrival, coming up hurriedly. "I almostmissed you--I got on the wrong platform to meet your train. You don'tknow me, though you may have seen me at the inquest on Mr. Bassett Oliverthe other day--my name's Vickers--Guy Vickers. "

"Yes?" said Copplestone. "And--"

"I'm a solicitor, here in Norcaster, " answered Vickers. "I--at least, myfirm, you know--we sometimes act for Mrs. Greyle at Scarhaven. I got awire from Miss Greyle late this evening, asking me to meet you here whenthe London train got in and to go on to Scarhaven with you at once. Sheadded the words _urgent business_ so--"

"Then in heaven's name, let's be off!" exclaimed Copplestone. "It'll takeus a good hour and a quarter as it is. Of course, " he went on, as theymoved away through the Norcaster streets, "of course, you haven't anynotion of what this urgent business is?"

"None whatever!" replied Vickers. "But I'm quite sure that it is urgent, or Miss Greyle wouldn't have said so. No--I don't know what her exactmeaning was, but of course, I know there's something wrong about thewhole thing at Scarhaven--seriously wrong!"

"You do, eh?" exclaimed Copplestone. "What now?"

"Ah, that I don't know!" replied Vickers, with a dry laugh. "I wish Idid. But--you know how people talk in these provincial places--ever sincethat inquest there have been all sorts of rumours. Every club and publicplace in Norcaster has been full of talk--gossip, surmise, speculation. Naturally!"

"But--about what?" asked Copplestone. 

"Squire Greyle, of course, " said the young solicitor; "that inquest wasenough to set the whole country talking. Everybody thinks--they couldn'tthink otherwise--that something is being hushed up. Everybody's agog toknow if Sir Cresswell Oliver and Mr. Petherton are applying for are-opening of the inquest. You've just come from town, I believe! Did youhear anything?"

Copplestone was wondering whether he ought to tell his companion of hisown recent discoveries. Like all laymen, he had an idea that you can tellanything to a lawyer, and he was half-minded to pour out the whole storyto Vickers, especially as he was Mrs. Greyle's solicitor. But on secondthoughts he decided to wait until he had ascertained the state of affairsat Scarhaven. 

"I didn't hear anything about that, " he replied. "Of course, that inquestwas a mere travesty of what such an inquiry should have been. "

"Oh, an utter farce!" agreed Vickers. "However, it produced just theopposite effect to that which the wire-pullers wanted. Of course, Chatfield had squared that jury! But he forgot the press--and the localreporters were so glad to get hold of what was really spicy news that allthe Norcaster and Northborough papers have been full of it. Everybody'stalking of it, as I said--people are asking what this evidence fromAmerica is; why was there such mystery about the whole thing, and so on. And, since then, everybody knows that Squire Greyle has left Scarhaven. "

"Have you seen Mrs. Or Miss Greyle since the inquest?" asked Copplestone, who was anxious to keep off subjects on which he might be supposed topossess information. "Have you been over there?"

"No--not since that day, " replied Vickers. "And I don't care how soon wedo see them, for I'm a bit anxious about this telegram. Something musthave happened. "

Copplestone looked out of the window on his side of the car. Already theywere clear of the Norcaster streets and on the road which led toScarhaven. That road ran all along the coast, often at the very edge ofthe high, precipitous cliffs, with no more between it and the rocks farbeneath than a low wall. It was a road of dangerous curves and cornerswhich needed careful negotiation even in broad daylight, and this was ablack, moonless and starless night. But Copplestone had impressed uponhis driver that he must get to Scarhaven as quickly as possible, and heand his companion were both so full of their purpose that they paid noheed to the perpetual danger which they ran as the car tore roundpropections and down deep cuts at a speed which at other times they wouldhave considered suicidal. And at just under the hour they ran on thelevel stretch by the "Admiral's Arms" and looking down at the harbour sawthe lighted port-holes of some ship which lay against the south quay, andon the quay itself men moving about in the glare of lamps. 

"What's going on there?" said Vickers. "Late for a vessel to be loadingat a place like this where time's of no great importance. "

Copplestone offered no suggestion. He was hotly impatient to reach thecottage, and as soon as the car drew up at its gate he burst out, badethe driver wait, and ran eagerly up to the path to Audrey, who opened thedoor as he advanced. In another second he had both her hands in hisown--and kept them there. 

"You're all right?" he demanded in tones which made clear to the girl howanxious he had been. "There's nothing wrong--with you or yourmother--personally, I mean? You see, I didn't get your wire until thisafternoon, and then I raced off as quick--"

"I know, " she said, responding a little to the pressure of his hands. "Iunderstand. You may be sure I shouldn't have wired if I hadn't felt itabsolutely necessary. Somebody was wanted--and you'd made me promise, andso--Yes, " she continued, drawing back as Vickers came up, "we are allright, personally, but--there's something very wrong indeed somewhere. Will you both come in and see mother?"

Mrs. Greyle, looking worn and ill, appeared just then in the hall, andcalled to them to come in. She preceded them into the parlour and turnedto the young men as soon as Audrey closed the door. 

"I'm more thankful to see you gentlemen than I've ever been in mylife--for anything!" she said. "Something is happening here which needsthe attention of men--we women can't do anything. Let me tell you what itis. Yesterday morning, very early the Squire's steam-yacht, the _Pike_, was brought into the inner harbour and moored against the quay justopposite the park gates. We, of course, could see it, and as we knew hehad gone away we wondered why it was brought in there. After it had beenmoored, we saw that preparations of some sort were being made. Thenmen--estate labourers--began coming down from the house, carryingpacking-cases, which were taken on board. And while this was going on, Mrs. Peller, the housekeeper, came hurrying here, in a state of greatconsternation. She said that a number of men, sailors and estate men, were packing up and removing all the most valuable things in thehouse--the finest pictures, the old silver, the famous collection ofchina which Stephen John Greyle made--and spent thousands upon thousandsof pounds in making!--the rarest and most valuable books out of thelibrary--all sorts of things of real and great value. Everything wasbeing taken down to the _Pike_--and the estate carpenter, who was incharge of all this, said it was by the Squire's orders, and produced toMrs. Peller his written authority. Of course, Mrs. Peller could donothing against that, but she came hurrying to tell us, because she, likeeverybody else, is much exercised by these recent events. And so Audreyand I pocketed our pride, and went to see Peter Chatfield. But PeterChatfield, like his master, had gone! He had left home the previousevening, and his house was locked up. "

Copplestone and Vickers exchanged glances, and the young solicitor signedMrs. Greyle to proceed. 

"Then, " she added, "to add to that, as we came away from Chatfield'shouse, we met Mr. Elkin, the bank-manager from Norcaster. He had comeover in a motor-car, to see me--privately. He wanted to tell me--inrelation to all these things--that within the last few days, the Squireand Peter Chatfield had withdrawn from the bank the very large balancesof two separate accounts. One was the Squire's own account, in hisname--the other was an estate account, on which Chatfield could draw. Inboth cases the balances withdrawn were of very large amount. Of course, as Mr. Elkin pointed out, it was all in order, and no objection could beraised. But it was unusual, for a large balance had always existed onboth these accounts. And, Mr. Elkin added, so many strange rumours aregoing about Norcaster and the district, that he felt seriously uneasy, and thought it his duty to see me at once. And now--what is to be done?The house is being stripped of the best part of its valuables, and in myopinion when that yacht sails it will be for some foreign port. Whatother object can there be in taking these things away? Of course, asnothing is entailed, and there are no heirlooms, everything is absolutelythe Squire's property, so--"

Copplestone, who had been realizing the serious significance of thesestatements, saw that it was time to speak, if energetic methods were tobe taken at once. 

"I'd better tell you the truth, " he said interrupting Mrs. Greyle. "Imight have told you, Vickers, as we came along, but I decided to wait, until we got here and found out how things were. Mrs. Greyle, the man youspeak of as the Squire, is no more the owner of Scarhaven than I am! Heis not Marston Greyle at all. The real Marston Greyle who came over fromAmerica, died the day after he landed, in lodgings at Bristol to whichPeter Chatfield and his daughter had taken him, and he is buried in aBristol cemetery under the name of Mark Grey; Gilling and I found thatout during these last few days. It's an absolute fact. So the man who hasbeen posing here as the rightful owner is--an impostor!"

A dead silence followed this declaration. The mother and daughter afterone long look at Copplestone turned and looked at each other. ButVickers, quick to realize the situation, started from his seat, withevident intention of doing something. 

"That's--the truth?" he exclaimed, turning to Copplestone. "No possibleflaw in it?"

"None, " replied Copplestone. "It's sheer fact. "

"Then in that case, " said Vickers, "Miss Greyle is the owner ofScarhaven, of everything in the house, of every stick, stone and pebble, about the place! And we must act at once. Miss Greyle, you will have toassert yourself. You must do what I tell you to do. You must get ready atonce--this minute!--and come down with me and Mrs. Greyle to that yachtand stop all these proceedings. In our presence you must lay claim toeverything that's been taken from the house--yes, and to the yachtitself. Come, let's hurry!"

Audrey hesitated and looked at Mrs. Greyle. 

"Very well, " she said quietly. "But--not my mother. "

"No need!" said Vickers. "You will have us with you. "

Audrey hurried from the room, and Mrs. Greyle turned anxiously toVickers. 

"What shall you do?" she asked. 

"Warn all concerned, " answered Vickers, with a snap of the jaw whichshowed Copplestone that he was a man of determination. "Warn them, ifnecessary, that the man they have known as Marston Greyle is an impostor, and that everything they are handling belongs to Miss Greyle. TheScarhaven people know me, of course--there ought not to be any greatdifficulty with them--and as regards the yacht people--"

"You know, " interrupted Mrs. Greyle, "that this man--the impostor--hasmade himself very popular with the people here? You saw how they cheeredhim after the inquest? You don't think there is danger in Audrey goingdown there?"

"Wouldn't it be enough if you and I went?" suggested Copplestone. "It'svery late to drag Miss Greyle out. "

"I'm sorry, but it's absolutely necessary, " said Vickers. "If yourstory is true--I mean, of course, since it is true--Miss Greyle isowner and mistress, and she must be on the spot. It's all we can do, anyway, " he continued, as Audrey, wrapped in a big ulster, came back tothe parlour. "Even now we may be too late. And if that yacht once sailsaway from here--"

There were signs that the yacht's departure was imminent when they wentdown to the south quay and came abreast of her. The lights on the shorewere being extinguished; the estate labourers were gone; only two orthree sailors were busy with ropes and gear. And Vickers hurried hislittle party up a gangway and on to the deck. A hard-faced, keen-eyed, man, evidently in authority, came forward. 

"Are you the captain of this vessel?" demanded Vickers in tones ofauthority. "You are? I am Mr. Vickers, solicitor, of Norcaster. I giveyou formal warning that the man you have known as Marston Greyle isnot Marston Greyle at all, but an impostor. All the property which youhave removed from the house, and now have on this vessel, belongs tothis lady, Miss Audrey Greyle, Lady of the Manor of Scarhaven. It isat your peril that you move it, or that you cause this vessel toleave this harbour. I claim the vessel and all that is on it on behalfof Miss Greyle. "

The man addressed listened in silent attention, and showed no sign of anysurprise. As soon as Vickers had finished he turned, hurried down astairway, remained below for a few minutes, and came up again. 

"Will you kindly step this way, Miss Greyle and gentlemen?" he saidpolitely. "You must remember that I am only a servant. If you will comedown--"

He led them down the stairs, along a thickly-carpeted passage, and openedthe door of a lighted saloon. All unthinking, the three stepped in--tohear the door closed and locked behind them. 

CHAPTER XX

THE COURTEOUS CAPTAIN

Vickers sprang back at that door as the sharp click of the turning keycaught his ear, and Copplestone, preceding him and following Audrey, whohad advanced fearlessly into the cabin, pulled himself up with a sudden, sickening sense of treachery. The two young men looked at each other, anda dead silence fell on them and the girl. Then Vickers laid his hand onthe door and shook it. 

"Locked in!" he muttered with a queer glance at his companions. "Whatdoes that mean?"

"Nothing good!" growled Copplestone who was secretly cursing his ownfolly in allowing Audrey to leave the quay. "We're trapped!--that's whatit means. Why we're trapped isn't a question that matters very much underthe circumstances--the serious thing is that we certainly are trapped. "

Vickers turned to Audrey. 

"My fault!" he said contritely. "All my fault! But I meant it for thebest--it was the thing to do--and who on earth could have foreseen this. Look here!--we've got to think pretty quick, Copplestone, that captain, now? Has he done this on his own hook, or--is there somebody on boardwho's at the top of things?"

"I don't see any good in thinking quick, or asking one's selfquestions, " replied Copplestone. "We're locked in here. We've got MissGreyle into this mess--and her mother will be anxious and alarmed. I wishwe'd let this confounded yacht go where it liked before ever we'd--"

"Don't!" broke in Audrey. "That's no good. Mr. Vickers certainly did whathe felt to be best--and who could foresee this? And I'm not afraid--andas for my mother, if we don't return very soon, why, she knows where weare and there are police in Scarhaven, and--"

"How long are we going to be where we are?" asked Copplestone, grimly. "The thing's moving!"

There was no doubt of that very pertinent fact. Somewhere beneath them, machinery began to work; above them there was hurry and scurry as ropesand stays were thrown off. But so beautifully built was that yacht, andso almost sound-proof the luxurious cabin in which they were prisoners, that little of the noise of departure came to them. However, there was nomistaking the increasing throb of the engines nor the fact that thevessel was moving, and Vickers suddenly sprang on a lounge seat and movedaway a silken screen which curtained a port-hole window. 

"There's no doubt of that!" he exclaimed. 

"We're going through the outer harbour--we've passed the light at the endof the quay. What do these people mean by carrying us out to sea?Copplestone!--with all submission to you--whether it's relevant or not, Iwish we knew more of that captain chap!"

"I know him, " remarked Audrey. "I have been on this yacht before. Hisname is Andrius. He's an American--or American-Norwegian, or somethinglike that. "

"And the crew?" asked Vickers. "Are they Scarhaven men?"

"No, " replied Audrey. "There isn't a Scarhaven man amongst them. Mycousin--I mean--you know whom I mean--bought this yacht just as it stood, from an American millionaire early this spring, and he took over thecaptain, crew, and everything. "

"So--we're in the hands of strangers!" exclaimed Vickers, whileCopplestone dug his hands into his pockets and began to stamp about. "Iwish I'd known all that before we came on board. "

"But what harm can they do us?" said Audrey, incredulous of danger. "Youdon't suppose they'll want to murder us, surely! My own belief is that wenever should have been locked up here if you hadn't let them know howmuch we know, Mr. Vickers. "

"Let them--I don't understand, " said Vickers, turning a puzzledglance on her. 

"Why, " replied Audrey with a laugh which convinced both men of herfearlessness, "you let the captain see that we know a great deal and hethereupon ran downstairs--presumably to tell somebody of what you said. And--here's the result!"

"You think, then--" suggested Vickers. "You think that--"

"I think the somebody--whoever he is--wants to know exactly how much wedo know, " answered Audrey with another laugh. "And so we're being carriedoff to be cross-examined--at somebody's leisure. Let's hope they won'tuse thumb-screws and that sort of thing. And anyway, " she continued, looking from one to the other, "hadn't we better make the best of it?We're going out to sea, that's certain--here's the bar!"

A sudden lifting of the thickly-carpeted floor, a dip to the left, another to the right, a plunge forward, a drop back, then a settling downto a steady persistent roll, showed her companions that Audrey wasright--the yacht was crossing the bar which lay at the mouth ofScarhaven Bay. Outside that lay the North Sea, and Copplestone suddenlywondered which course the vessel was going to take, north, east, orsouth. But before he could put his thoughts into words, the door wassuddenly unlocked, and Captain Andrius, suave, polite, deprecating, walked into the cabin. 

"A thousands pardons--and two words of explanation!" he exclaimed, as heexecuted a deep bow to his lady prisoner. "First--Miss Greyle, I havesent a message to your mother that you are quite safe and will join herin due course. Second--this is merely a temporary detention--you shallall be landed--all in good time. "

Vickers as a legal man, assumed his most professional air. 

"Do you know what you are rendering yourself liable to, sir, by detainingus at all?" he demanded. "An action--"

Captain Andrius bowed again; again assumed his deprecating smile. Hewaved the two men to seats and himself took a chair with his back to thedoor by which he entered. 

"My dear sir!" he said courteously. "You forget that I am but a servant. I am under orders. However, I give my word that no harm shall come toyou, that you shall be treated with every polite attention, and that youshall be landed. "

"When--and where?" asked Vickers. 

"Tomorrow, certainly, " replied Andrius. "As to where, I cannot exactlysay. But--where you will be in touch with--shall we say civilization?"

He showed a set of fine white teeth in such a curious fashion as he spokethe last word that Copplestone and Vickers instinctively glanced at eachother, with a mutual instinct of distrust. 

"Won't do!" said Vickers. "I insist that you put about and go intoScarhaven again. "

Andrius spread out his open palms and shook his head "Impossible!" heanswered. "We are already _en voyage_. Time presses. Beplacable--tomorrow you shall be released. "

Vickers was about to answer this appeal with an angry refusal to beeither placable or tractable, but he suddenly stopped the words whichrose to his tongue. There was something in all this--some mystery, somequeer game, and it might be worth while to find it out. 

"Where are you taking this yacht?" he demanded brusquely. "Come, now!"

"I am under--orders, " said Andrius, with another smile. 

"Whose orders?" persisted Vickers. "Look here--it's no use trying toburke facts. Who's on board this vessel? You know what I mean. Is the manwho calls himself Squire of Scarhaven here?"

Andrius shook his head quietly and gave his questioner a shrewd glance. 

"Mr. Vickers, " he said meaningly, "I know you! You are a lawyer--though ayoung one. Lawyers are guarded in their speech. Now--we are alone--wefour. No one can hear anything we say. Tell me--is that right what yousaid to me on deck, that the man who has called himself Marston Greyle isnot so at all?"

"Absolutely right, " replied Vickers. 

"An impostor?" demanded Andrius. 

"He is!"

"And never had any right to--anything?"

"No right whatever!"

"Then, " said Andrius, with a polite inclination of his head and shouldersto Audrey, "the truth is that everything of the Scarhaven propertybelongs to this lady?"

"Everything!" exclaimed Vickers. "Land, houses, furniture, valuables--everything. All the property which you have on thisyacht--pictures, china, silver, books, objects of art, as I aminstructed, removed from the house--are Miss Greyle's sole property. Oncemore I warn you of what you are doing, and I demand that you immediatelyreturn to Scarhaven. This very yacht belongs to Miss Greyle!"

Andrius nodded, looked fixedly at the young solicitor for a moment, andthen rose. 

"I am obliged to you, " he said. "That, of course, is your claim. But--theother one, eh? It seems to me there might be something to be said forthat, you know? So, all I can do is to renew my assurance of politeattention, offer you our best accommodation--which is luxurious--andpromise to land you--somewhere--tomorrow. Miss Greyle, we have two womenservants on board--I shall send them to you at once and they will attendto you--please consider them your own. You, gentlemen, will perhaps joinme in my quarters?--I have two spare cabins close to my own which are atyour service. "

Copplestone and Vickers looked at each other and at Audrey--undecided andvaguely suspicious. But Audrey was evidently neither alarmed noruneasy--she nodded a ready assent to the Captain's proposal. 

"Thank you, Captain Andrius, " she said coolly. "I know the two women. Youmay send one of them. Do what he suggests, " she murmured, turning toCopplestone, who had moved close to her, "I'm not one scrap afraid ofanything--and it's only until tomorrow. He'll land us--I'm sure of it. "

There was nothing for it, then, but to follow Andrius to his owncomfortable quarters. There, utterly ignoring the strange circumstancesunder which they met, he played the part of host with genuine desire tomake his guests feel at ease, and when he showed them to their berths, a little later, he emphasized his assurance of their absolute safetyand liberty. 

"You see, gentlemen, your movements are untrammelled, " he said. "You cango in and out of your quarters as you like. You can go where you like onthe yacht tomorrow morning. There is no restriction on you. Sleepwell--and tomorrow you are all free again, eh?"

Copplestone got a word or two with Vickers--alone. 

"What do you think?" he muttered. "Shall you sleep?"

"My impression--for I know what you're thinking about, " said Vickers, "isthat Miss Greyle's as safe as if she were in her mother's house! She's nofear, herself, anyway. There's some mystery, somewhere, and I can't makethis Andrius man out at all, but I believe all's right as regardspersonal safety. There's Miss Greyle's cabin, anyhow, right oppositeours--and I can keep an eye and an ear open even when I'm asleep!"

But in spite of these assurances, Copplestone slept little. He was up, dressed, and on deck by sunrise, staring around him in a fresh autumnmorning to get some notion of the yacht's whereabouts, and he had justmanaged to make out a mere filmy line of land far to the westward whenAudrey appeared at his elbow. There was no one of any importance nearthem and Copplestone impulsively seized her hands. 

"I've scarcely slept!" he blurted out, gazing intently at her. "Couldn't! Blaming myself for letting you get into this confounded mess!You're all right?"

Audrey responded a little to the pressure of his hands before shedisengaged her own. 

"It wasn't your fault, " she said. "It's nobody's fault. Don't blame Mr. Vickers--he couldn't foresee this. Yes, I'm all right--and I slept like atop. What's the use of worrying? Do you know, " she went on, lowering hervoice and drawing nearer to him, "I believe something's going to come ofall this--something that'll clear matters up once and for all. "

"Why?" asked Copplestone, wonderingly. "What makes you think that?"

"Don't know--instinct, intuitiveness, perhaps, " she answered. "Besides--I'm dead certain we're not the only people--I don't mean crewand Captain--aboard the _Pike_. I believe there's somebody else. There'ssome mystery, anyway. Keep that to yourself, " she said as Andrius andVickers appeared from below. "Don't show any sign--wait to see how thingsturn out. "

She turned away from him to greet the other two as unconcernedly as ifthere were nothing unusual in the situation, and Copplestone marvelled ather coolness. He himself, not so well equipped with patience, wasfeverishly anxious to know how things would turn out, and when. But theday went by and nothing happened, except that Captain Andrius was verypolite to his guests and that the yacht, a particularly fast sailer, continued to make headway through the grey seas, sometimes in bare sightof land and sometimes out of it. To one or two inquiries as to thefulfilment of his promise Andrius made no more answer than a reassuringnod; once when Vickers pressed him, he replied curtly that the day wasnot yet over. Vickers drew Copplestone aside on hearing that. 

"Look here!" he said. "I've been reckoning things up as near as I can. Imake out that we've been running due north, or north-east ever since weleft Scarhaven last night. I reckon, too, that this vessel makes quitetwenty-two or three, knots an hour. We must be off the extreme north-eastcoast of Scotland. And night's coming on!"

"There are ports there that he can put into, " said Copplestone. "Thething is--will he keep his promise? Remember!--he must know very wellthat if we once land anywhere within reach of a telegraph office, we canwire particulars about him to every port in the world if we like--andhe's got to go somewhere, eventually, you know. "

Vickers shook his head as if this were a problem he would give up. It wasbeyond him, he said, to even guess at what Andrius was after, or what wasgoing to happen. And nothing did happen until, as the three prisoners satat dinner with their polite gaoler, the _Pike_ came to a sudden stop andhung gently on a quiet sea. Andrius looked up and smiled. 

"A pleasant night for your landing, " he remarked. "Don't hurry--but therewill be a boat ready for you as soon as dinner is over. "

"And where are we?" asked Vickers. 

"That, my dear sir, you will see when you land. " replied Andrius. "You will, at any rate, be quite comfortable for the night, and inthe morning, I think, you will be able to journey--wherever you wishto go to. "

There was something in the smile which accompanied the last words whichmade Copplestone uneasy. But the prospect of regaining their liberty wastoo good--he kept his own counsel. And half-an-hour later, he, Audrey andVickers, stood on deck, looking down on a boat alongside, in which weretwo or three of the crew and a man holding a lanthorn. In front was thedark sea, and ahead a darker mass which they took to be land. 

"You won't tell us what this place is?" said Vickers as he was about tofollow the others into the boat. "It's on the mainland, of course?"

"The morning light, my good sir, will show you everything, " repliedAndrius. "Be content that I have kept my promise--you have come offluckily, " he added with a significant look. 

Vickers felt a strange sense of alarm as the boat left the yacht. Henoticed two or three suspicious circumstances. As soon as they got away, he saw that all the yacht's lights had been or were being darkened orentirely obscured; at a dozen boat lengths they could see her no more. Then a boat, swiftly pulled, passed them in the darkness, evidentlycoming from the shore to which they were being taken: it, too, carried nolight. Nor were there any lights on the shore itself; all there was inutter blackness. They were on the shingle within a quarter of an hour;within a minute or two the yachtsmen had helped all three on to thebeach, had carried up certain boxes and packages which had been placed inthe boat, had set down the lighted lanthorn, jumped into the boat againand vanished in the darkness. And in the silence, broken only by the dripof water from the retreating oars, and by the scarcely-noticed ripple ofthe waves, Audrey voiced exactly what her two companions felt. 

"Andrius has kept his word--and cheated us! We're stranded!"

Prom somewhere out of the darkness came a groan--deep and heartfelt, asif in entire agreement with Audrey's declaration. That it proceeded froma human being was evident enough, and Vickers hastily snatched up thelanthorn and strode in the direction from which it came. And there, seated on the shingle, his whole attitude one of utter dejection andmisery, the three castaways found a sharer of their sorrows--PeterChatfield!

CHAPTER XXI

MAROONED

To each of these three young people this was the most surprising momentwhich life had yet afforded. It was an astonishing thing to find a fellowmortal there at all, but to find that mortal was the Scarhaven estateagent was literally short of marvellous. What was also astounding was tosee Chatfield's only too evident distress. Swathed in a heavy, old-fashioned ulster, with a plaid shawl round his shoulders and adeerstalker hat tied over head and ears with a bandanna handkerchief hesat on the beach nursing his knees, slightly rocking his fleshy figure toand fro and moaning softly with the regularity of a minute bell. His eyeswere fixed on the dark expanse of waters at his feet; his lips, when hewas not moaning, worked incessantly; as he rocked his body he beat histoes on the shingle. Clearly, Chatfield was in a bad way, mentally. Thathe was not so badly off materially was made evident by the presence of ahalf-open kit bag which obviously contained food and a bottle of spirits. 

For any notice that he took of them, Audrey, Vickers, and Copplestonemight have been no more than the pebbles on which they stood. In spite ofthe fact that Vickers shone the light on his fat face, and that threeinquisitive pairs of eyes were trained on it, Chatfield continued tostare moodily and disgustedly out to sea and to take no notice of hisgratuitous company. And so utterly extraordinary was his behaviour andattitude that Audrey suddenly and almost involuntarily stepped forwardand laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"Mr. Chatfield!" she exclaimed. "What 's the matter? Are you ill?"

The emphasis which she gave to the last word roused some quality ofChatfield's subtle intellect. He flashed a swift look at hisquestioner--a look of mingled contempt and derision, spiced with a dashof sneering humour. And he found his tongue. 

"I'll!" he snorted. "I'll! She asks if I'm ill--me, a respectable manwhat's maltreated and robbed before his own eyes by them as ought to fallin humble gratitude at his feet! I'll!--aye, ill with something that'sworse nor any bodily aches and pains--let me tell you that! But not donefor, neither!"

"He's all right, " said Copplestone. "That's a flash of his old spirit. You're all right, Chatfield, aren't you? And who's robbed and maltreatedyou--and how and when--especially when--did you come here?"

Chatfield looked up at his old assailant with a glare of dislike. 

"You keep your tongue to yourself, young feller!" he growled. "Ishouldn't never ha' been here at all if it hadn't been for the likes ofyou--a pokin' your nose where it isn't wanted. It's 'cause o' you threecomin' aboard o' that there yacht last night as I am here--a castaway!"

"Well, we're castaways, too, Mr. Chatfield, " said Audrey. "And we can'thelp believing that it's all your naughty conduct that's made us so. Whydon't you tell the truth?"

Chatfield uttered a few grumpy and inarticulate sounds. 

"It'll be a bad day for more than one when I do that--as I will, " hemuttered presently. "Oh aye, I '11 tell the truth--when it suits me! ButI'll be out o' this first. "

"You'll never get out of this first or last, until you tell us how yougot in, " said Vickers, assuming a threatening tone. "You'd better tell usall about it, you know. Come now!--you know me and my firm. "

Chatfield laughed grimly and shook his much-swathed head. 

"I ought to, " he said. "I've given 'em more than one nice job and saidnaught about their bills o' costs, neither, my lad. You keep a civiltongue in your mouth--I ain't done for yet, noways! You let me get offthis here place, wherever it is, and within touch of a telegraph office, and I'll make somebody suffer!"

"Andrius, of course, " said Copplestone. "Come now, he put you ashorebefore he sent us off, didn't he? Why don't you own up?"

"Never you mind, young feller, " retorted Chat-field. "I was feeling verycast down, but I'm better. I've something that'll keep me going--revenge!I'll show 'em, once I'm off this place--I will so!"

"Look here, Chatfield, " said Vickers. "Do you know where this place is?What is it? Is it on the mainland, or is it an island, or where are we?It's all very well talking about getting off, but when and how are we toget off? Why don't you be sensible and tell us what you know?"

The estate agent arose slowly and ponderously, drawing his shawl abouthim. He looked out seawards. In that black waste the steady beat of theyacht's propellers could be clearly heard, but not a gleam of light camefrom her, and it was impossible to decide in which direction she wasgoing. And Chatfield suddenly shook his fist at the throbbing sound whichcame in regular pulsations through the night. 

"Never mind!" he said sneeringly. "We aren't at the North Poleneither--I ain't a seafaring man, but I've a good idea of where we are!And perhaps there won't be naught to take me off when it's daylight, andperhaps there won't be no telegraphs near at hand, nor within a hundredmiles, and perhaps there ain't such a blessed person as that thereMarconi and his wireless in the world--oh, no! Just you wait, my finefellers--that's all!"

"He's not addressing us, Vickers, " said Copplestone. "You're decidedlybetter, Chatfield--you're quite better. The notion of revenge and ofcircumvention has come to you like balm. But you'd a lot better tell uswho you're referring to, and why you were put ashore. Listen, Chatfield!--there's property of your own on that yacht, eh? That it?Come, now?"

Chatfield gave his questioner a look of indignant scorn. He stooped forthe kit-bag, picked it up, and turned away. 

"I don't want to have naught to do with you, " he remarked over hisshoulder. "You keep yourselves to yourselves, and I'll keep myself tomyself. If it hadn't been for what you blabbed out last night, themungrateful devils 'ud never have had such ideas put into their heads!"

As if he knew his way, Chatfield plodded heavily up the beach and waslost in the darkness, and the three left behind stood helplessly staringat each other. For a long time there was silence, broken only by theagent's heavy tread on the shingle--at last Vickers spoke. 

"I think I can see through all this, " he said. "Chatfield's crypticutterances were somewhat suggestive. 'Robbed'--'maltreated'--'them asought to have fallen in humble gratitude at his feet'--'vengeance'--'revenge'--'Marconi telegrams'--'ungrateful devils'--ah, I see it!Chatfield had associates on the _Pike_--probably the impostor himselfand Andrius--probably, too, he had property of his own, as you suggestedto him, Copplestone. The whole gang was doubtless off with their loot tofar quarters of the globe. Very good--the other members have shelvedChatfield. They've done with him. But--not if he knows it! That man willhunt the _Pike_ and her people--whoever they are--relentlessly when hegets off this. "

"I wish we knew what it is that we're on!" said Copplestone. 

"Impossible till daybreak, " replied Vickers. "But I've an idea--this isprobably one of the seventy-odd islands of the Orkneys: I've sailed roundhere before. If I'm right, it's most likely one of the outlying anduninhabited ones. Andrius--or his controlling power--has dropped us--andChatfield--here, knowing that we may have to spend a few days on thisisland before we succeed in getting off. Those few days will mean a greatdeal to the _Pike_. She can be run into some safe harbourage on thiscoast, given a new coat of paint and a new name, and be off before we cando anything to stop her. I allow Chatfield to be right in this--that myperhaps too hasty declaration to Andrius revealed to that gentleman howhe could make off with other people's property. "

"Nothing will make me believe that Andrius is the solely responsibleperson for this last development, " said Copplestone, moodily. "There wereother people on board--cleverly concealed. And what are we going to do?"

Audrey had stepped away from the circle of light made by the lanthorn andwas gazing steadily in the direction which Chatfield had taken. 

"Those are cliffs, surely, " she said presently. "Hadn't we better go upthe beach and see if we can't find some shelter until morning?Fortunately we're all warmly clad, and Andrius was considerate enough tothrow rugs and things into the boat, as well as provisions. Comealong!--after all, we're not so badly off. And we have the satisfactionof knowing that we can keep Chatfield under observation. Remember that!"

But in the morning, when the first gleam of light came across the sea, and Vickers, leaving his companions to prepare some breakfast from thestore of provisions which had been sent ashore with them, set out to makea first examination of their surroundings, the agent was not to be seen. What was to be seen was a breach of rock, sand, shingle, not a mile inlength, lying at the foot of high cliffs, and on the grey sea in frontnot a sign of a sail, nor a wisp of smoke from a passing steamer. Theapparent solitude and isolation of the place was as profound as thesilence which overhung everything. 

Vickers made his way up the cliffs to their highest point and from itssummit took a leisurely view of his surroundings. He saw at once thatthey were on an island, and that it was but one of many which lay spreadout over the sea towards the north and the west. It was a wedge-shapedisland this, and the cliffs on which he stood and the beach beneathformed the widest side of it; from thence its lines drew away to a pointin the distance which he judged to be two miles off. Between him and thatpoint lay a sloping expanse of rough land, never cultivated sincecreation, whereon there were vast masses of rock and boulder but no signof human life. No curling column of smoke went up from hut or cottage;his ears caught neither the bleating of sheep nor the cry ofshepherd--all was still as only such places can be still. Nor could heperceive any signs of life on the adjacent islands--which, to be sure, were not very near. From the sea mists which wrapped one of them he sawprojecting the cap of a mountainous hill--that hill he recognized asbeing on one of the principal islands of the group, and he then knew thathe and his companions had been set down on one of the outlying islandswhich, from its position, was not in the immediate way of passing vesselsnor likely to be visited by fishermen. 

He was turning away from the top of the cliff after a long and carefulinspection, when he caught sight of a man's figure crossing the rockyslope between him and this far-off point. That, he said to himself, wasChatfield. Did Chatfield know of any place at that point visited byfishing craft from the other islands? Had Chatfield ever been in theOrkneys before? Was there any method in his wanderings? Or was he, too, merely examining his surroundings--considering which was the likeliestpart of the island from which to attract attention? In the midst of thesespeculation a sudden resolution came to him--one or other of the threemust keep an eye on Chatfield. Night or day, Chatfield must be watched. And having already seen that Copplestone and Audrey had an unmistakableliking for each other's society and would certainly not object to beingleft together, he determined to watch Chatfield himself. Hurrying downthe cliffs, he hastily explained the situation to his companions, tooksome food in his hands, and set out to follow the agent wherever he went. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE OLD HAND

Half-an-hour later, when Vickers regained the top of the cliff and oncemore looked across the island towards the far-off point, the figure whichhe had previously seen making for it had turned back, and was ploddingsteadily across the coarse grass and rock-strewn moorland in his owndirection. Chatfield had evidently taken a bird's eye view of thesituation from the vantage point of the slope and had come to theconclusion that the higher part of the island was the most likely pointfrom which to attract attention. He came steadily forward, a big, lumbering figure in the light mist, and Vickers as he went on to meet himeyed him with a lively curiosity, wondering what secrets lay carefullylocked up in the man's heart and what happened on the _Pike_ that madeits captain or its owner bundle Chatfield out of it like a box of badgoods for which there was no more use. And as he speculated, they met, and Vickers saw at once that the old fellow's mood had changed during thenight. An atmosphere of smug oiliness sat upon Chatfield in the freshnessof the morning, and he greeted the young solicitor in tones which weresuggestive of a chastened spirit. 

"Morning, Mr. Vickers, " he said. "A sweetly pretty spot it is that wefind ourselves in, sir--nevertheless, one's affairs sometimes makes uslong to quit the side of beauty, however much we would tarry by it! Inplain words, Mr. Vickers, I want to get out o' this. And I've beenlooking round, and my opinion is that the best thing we can do is tostart as big a fire as we can find stuff for on yon bluff and keepa-feeding on it. In the meantime, while you're considering of that, I'llburn something of my own--I'm weary. "

He dropped down on a convenient boulder of limestone, settled his bigframe comfortably, and producing a pipe and a tobacco pouch, proceeded tosmoke. Vickers himself took another boulder and looked inquisitively athis strange companion. He felt sure that Chatfield was up to something. 

"You say 'we' now, " he remarked suddenly. "Last night you said you didn'twant to have anything to do with us. We were to keep to ourselves, and--"

"Well, well, Mr. Vickers, " broke in Chatfield. "One says things at onetime that one wouldn't say at another, you know. Facts is facts, sir, andProvidence has made us companions in distress. I've naught againstyou--nor against the girl--as for t'other young man, he's of ainterfering nature--but I forgive him--he's young. I don't bear no illwill--things being as they are. I've had time to reflect since lastnight--and I don't see no reason why Miss Greyle and me shouldn't come toterms--through you. "

Vickers lighted his own pipe, and took some time over it. 

"What are you after, Chatfield?" he asked at length. "Something, ofcourse. You say you want to come to terms with Miss Greyle. That, ofcourse, is because you know very well that Miss Greyle is the legal ownerof Scarhaven, and that--"

Chatfield waved his pipe. 

"I don't!" he answered, with what seemed genuine eagerness. "I don't knownaught of the sort. I tell you, Mr. Vickers, I do _not_ know that the manwhat we've known as the Squire of Scarhaven for a year gone by is _not_the rightful Squire--I do not! Fact, sir! But"--he lowered his voice, andhis sly eyes became slyer and craftier--"but I won't deny that duringthis last week or two I may have had my suspicions aroused, that therewas something wrong--I don't deny that, Mr. Vickers. "

Vickers heard this with amazement. Young as he was, he had had variousdealings with Peter Chatfield, and he had an idea that he knew somethingof him, subtle old fellow though he was, and he believed that Chatfieldwas now speaking the truth. But, in that case, what of Copplestone'srevelation about the Falmouth and Bristol affair and the dead man? Hethought rapidly, and then determined to take a strong line. 

"Chatfield!" he said. "You're trying to bluff me. It won't do. Thingsare known. I know 'em! I'll be candid with you--the time's come forthat. I'll tell you what I know--it'll all have to come out. You knowvery well that the real Marston Greyle's dead. You were with him when hedied. What's more, you buried him at Bristol under the name of MarkGrey. Hang it all, man, what's the use of lying about it?--you knowthat's all true!"

He was watching Chatfield's big face keenly, and he was astonished to seethat his dramatic impeachment produced no more effect than a slightlysuperior smile. Instead of being floored, Chatfield was distinctlyunimpressed. 

"Aye!" he said, reflectively. "Aye, I expected to hear that. That'sCopplestone's work, of course--I knew he was some sort of detective assoon as I got speech with him. His work and that there Sir CresswellOliver's as is making a mountain out of a molehill about his brother, who, of course, broke his neck quite accidental, poor man, and of thatLondon lawyer--Petherton. Aye--aye--but all the same, Mr. Vickers, itdon't alter matters--no-how!"

"Good heavens, man, what do you mean?" exclaimed Vickers, who wasbecoming more and more mystified. "Do you mean to tell me--come, come, Chatfield, I'm not a fool! Why--Copplestone has found it all out--there'sno need to keep it secret, now. You were with Marston Greyle when hedied--you registered his death as Marston Greyle--and--"

Chatfield laughed softly and gave his companion a swift glance out of onecorner of his right eye. 

"And put another name on a bit of a tombstone--six months afterwards, what?" he said quietly. "Mr. Vickers, when you're as old as I am, you'll know that this here world is as full o' puzzles as yon sea'sfull o'fish!"

Vickers could only stare at his companion in speechless silence afterthat. He felt that there was some mystery about which Chatfieldevidently knew a great deal while he knew nothing. The old fellow'scoolness, his ready acceptance of the Bristol facts, his almostcontemptuous brushing aside of them, reduced Vickers to a feeling ofhelplessness. And Chatfield saw it, and laughed, and drawing apocket-flask out of his garments, helped himself to a tot ofspirits--after which he good-naturedly offered like refreshment toVickers. But Vickers shook his head. 

"No, thanks, " he said. He continued to stare at Chatfield much as hemight have, stared at the Sphinx if she had been present--and in the endhe could only think of one word. "Well?" he asked lamely. "Well?"

"As to what, now?" inquired Chatfield with a sly smile. 

"About what you said, " replied Vickers. "Miss Greyle, you know. I'mabout thoroughly tied up with all this. You evidently know a lot. Ofcourse you won't tell! You're devilish deep, Chatfield. But, between youand me--what do you mean when you say that you don't see why you and MissGreyle shouldn't come to terms?"

"Didn't I say that during this last week or two I'd had my suspicionsabout the Squire?" answered Chatfield. "I did. I have had themsuspicions--got 'em stronger than ever since last night. So--what I sayis this. If things should turn out that Miss Greyle's the rightful ownerof Scarhaven, and if I help her to establish her claim, and if I help, too, to recover them valuables that are on the _Pike_--there's a goodsixty to eighty thousand pounds worth of stuff, silver, china, paintings, books, tapestry, on that there craft, Mr. Vickers!--if, I say, I do allthat, what will Miss Greyle give me? That's it--in a plain way ofspeaking. "

"I thought it was, " said Vickers dryly. "Of course! Very well--you'dbetter come and talk to Miss Greyle. Come on--now!"

Copplestone and Audrey, having made a breakfast from the box ofprovisions which Andrius had been good enough to send ashore with them, had climbed to the head of the cliff after Vickers, and they werepresently astonished beyond measure to see him returning with Chatfieldunder outward signs which suggested amity if not friendship. They pausedby a convenient nook in the rocks and silently awaited the approach ofthese two strangely assorted companions. Vickers, coming near, gave thema queer and a knowing look. 

"Mr. Chatfield, " he said gravely, "has had the night in which to reflect. Mr. Chatfield desires peaceable relations. Mr. Chatfield doesn'tsee--now, having reflected--why he and Miss Greyle shouldn't be on good'terms. Mr. Chatfield desires to discuss these terms. Is that right, Chatfield?"

"Quite right, sir, " assented the agent. He had been regarding the couplewho faced him benevolently and indulgently, and he now raised his hat tothem. "Servant, ma'am, " he said with a bow to Audrey. "Servant, sir, " hecontinued, with another bow to Copplestone. "Ah--it's far better to be atpeace one with another than to let misunderstandings exist for ever. Mr. Copplestone, sir, you and me's had words in times past--I brush 'em away, sir, like that there--the memory's departed! I desire naught but betterfeelings. Happen Mr. Vickers'll repeat what's passed between him and me. "

Copplestone stood rooted to the spot with amazement while Vickers hastilyepitomized the recent conversation; his mouth opened and his speechfailed him. But Audrey laughed and looked at Vickers as if Chatfield werea new sort of entertainment. 

"What do you say to this, Mr. Vickers?" she asked. 

"Well, if you want to know, " replied Vickers, "I believe Chatfield whenhe says that he does _not_ know that the Squire is _not_ the Squire. Mayseem strange, but I do! As a solicitor, I do. "

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Copplestone, finding his tongue. "You--believe that!"

"I've said so, " retorted Vickers. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Chatfield. "I'm obliged to you. Mr. Copplestone, sir, doesn't yet understand that there's a deal of conundrum in life. He'll know better--some day. He'll know, too, that the poet spoketruthful when he said that things isn't what they seem. "

Copplestone turned angrily on Vickers. 

"Is this a farce?" he demanded. "Good heavens, man! you know what Itold you!"

"Mr. Chatfield has a version, " answered Vickers. "Why not hear it?"

"On terms, Mr. Vickers, " remarked Chatfield. "On terms, sir. "

"What terms?" asked Audrey. "To Mr. Chatfield's personal advantage, of course. "

Chatfield, who was still the most unconcerned of the group, seatedhimself on the rocks and looked at his audience. 

"I've said to Mr. Vickers here that if I help Miss Greyle to the estate, I ought to be rewarded--handsome, " he said. "Mind you, I don't know thatI can, for as I say, I do not know, as a matter of strict fact, that thisman as we've called the Squire, isn't the Squire. But recent events--veryrecent events!--has made me suspicious that he isn't, and happen I can doa good bit--a very good bit--to turning him out. Now, if I help in thatthere work, will Miss Greyle continue me in my post of estate agent atScarhaven?"

"Not for any longer than it will take to turn you out of it, Mr. Chatfield, " replied Audrey with an energy and promptitude whichsurprised her companions. "So we need not discuss that. You will neverbe my agent!"

"Very good, ma'am--that's quite according to my expectations, " saidChatfield, meekly. "I was always a misunderstood man. However, this hereproposition will perhaps be more welcome. It's always been understoodthat I was to have a retiring pension of five hundred pounds per annum. The family has always promised it--I've letters to prove it. Will MissGreyle stand to that if she comes in? I've been a faithful servant fornigh on to fifty years, Mr. Vickers, as all the neighbourhood is aware. "

"If I come in, as you call it, you shall have your pension, " said Audrey. Chatfield slowly felt in a capacious inner pocket and produced a largenotebook and a fountain pen. He passed them to Vickers. 

"We'll have that there in writing, signed and witnessed, " he said. "Put, if you please, Mr. Vickers, 'I agree that if I come into the Scarhavenestate, Peter Chatfield shall at once be pensioned off with five hundredpounds a year, to be paid quarterly. Same to be properly assured to himfor his life. ' And then if Miss Greyle'll sign that document, and yougentlemen'll witness it, I shall consider that henceforth I'm in MissGreyle's service. And, " he added, with a significant glance all round, "Ishall be a deal more use as a friend nor what I should be as what youmight term an enemy--Mr. Vickers knows that. "

Vickers held a short consultation with Audrey, the result of which wasthat the paper was duly signed, Witnessed, and deposited in Chatfield'spocket. And Chatfield nodded his satisfaction. 

"All right, " he said. "Now then, ma'am, and gentlemen, the next thing isto get away out o' this, and get on the track of them as put us here. We'd better start a big fire out o' this dry stuff--"

"But what about these revelations you were going to make?" said Vickers. "I understood you were to tell us--"

"Sir, " replied Chatfield, "I'll tell and I'll reveal in due course, andin good order. Events, sir, is the thing! Let me get to the nearesttelegraph office, and we'll have some events, right smart. Let meattract attention. I've sailed in these seas before. There's steamersgoes out of Kirkwall yonder frequent--we must get hold of one. Atelegraph office!--that's what I want. I'm a-going to set up ablaze--and I'll set up a blaze elsewhere as soon as I can lay hands on abundle o' telegraph forms!"

He leisurely took off his shawl and overcoat, laid them on a shelf ofrock, and moved away to collect the dry stuff which lay to hand. Thethree young people exchanged glances. 

"What's this new mystery?" asked Audrey. 

"All bluff!--some deep game of his own, " growled Copplestone. "He's themost consummate old liar I ever--"

"You're wrong this time, old chap!" interrupted Vickers. "He's a bad'un--but he's on our side now--I'm convinced. It is a game he's playing, and a deep one, and I don't know what it is, but it's for ourbenefit--Chatfield's simply transferred his interest and influence tous--that's all. For his own purposes, of course. And"--he suddenlypaused, gazed seaward, and then jumped to his feet. "Chatfield!" hecalled quietly. "You needn't light any fire. Here's a steamer!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE YACHT COMES BACK

Chatfield, his arms filled with masses of dried bracken and coarse grass, turned sharply on hearing Vickers's call and stared hard and long in thedirection which the young solicitor pointed out. His small, crafty eyesbecame dilated to their full extent--suddenly they contracted again witha look of cunning satisfaction, and throwing away his burdens he drew outa big many-coloured handkerchief and mopped his high forehead as if theperspiration which burst out were the result of intense mental relief. 

"Didn't I know we should be rescued from this here imprisonment!" hecried with unctuous joy. "Thought they'd pinned me here for best part ofa week, no doubt, while they could get theirselves quietly away--faraway! But it's my experience 'ut them as has served the Lord's neverdeserted, Mr. Vickers, and if you live as long as--"

"Don't be blasphemous, Chatfield!" said Vickers, curtly. "None of that!What we'd better think about is the chance of that steamer sighting us. We'll light that fire, anyway!"

"She's coming straight on for the island, " remarked Copplestone, who hadbeen narrowly watching the approaching vessel. "So straight that you'dthink she was actually making for it. "

"She'll be some craft bound for Kirkwall, " said Vickers, pointingnorthward to the main group of islands. "And in that case she'll probablytake this channel on our west; that fire, now! Come on all of you, andlet's make as big a smoke as we can get out of this stuff. "

The weather being calm and the grass and bracken which they heapedtogether as dry as tinder, there was little difficulty about raising athick column of smoke which presently rose high in the sky. But Audrey, turning away from the successful result of their labours, suddenlyglanced at Copplestone with a look that challenged an answer to her ownthoughts. They were standing a little apart from the others and shelowered her voice. 

"I say!" she murmured. "I don't think we need have bothered ourselves tolight that fire. That vessel, whatever it is, is making for us. Look!"

Copplestone shaded his eyes and stared out across the sea. The steamerwas by that time no more than two or three miles away. But she was comingtowards them in a dead straight line, and as she was accordingly bow on, and as her top deck and lamps were obscured by clouds of black smoke, pouring furiously from her funnels, they could make little out of herappearance. Copplestone's first notion was that she was a naval patrolboat, or a torpedo destroyer. Whatever she was it seemed certain that shewas heading direct for the island, at that very point on which thefugitives had been landed the previous night. And it was very evidentthat she was in a great hurry to make her objective. 

"I think you're right, " he said, turning to Audrey. "But it's strangethat any vessel should be making for an uninhabited island like this. What--but you've got some notion in your mind?" he broke off suddenly, seeing her glance at him again. "What is it?"

Audrey shook her head, with a cautious look at Chatfield. 

"I was wondering if that's the _Pike_?--come back!" she whispered. "Andif it is--why?"

Copplestone started, and took a longer and keener look at thevessel. Before he could speak again, Vickers called out cheerilyacross the rocks. 

"Come on, you two!" he cried. "She's seen us--she's coming in. They'llhave to send off a boat. Let's get down to the beach, so that they'llknow where there's a safe landing. "

He sprang over the edge of the cliff and hurried down the rough path;Chatfield, picking up his coat and shawl, prepared to follow him; Audreyand Copplestone lingered until he, too, had begun to lumber downward. 

"If that is the _Pike_, " said Audrey, "there is something--wrong. Whoeverit is that is on the _Pike_ wouldn't come back to take us!"

"You think there is somebody on the _Pike_--somebody other than Andrius?"suggested Copplestone. 

"I believe the man who calls himself Marston Greyle was on the _Pike_, "announced Audrey. "I've always thought so. Whether Chatfield knew thator not, I don't know. My own belief is that Chatfield did know. I believeChatfield was in with them, as the saying is. I think they were allrunning away with as much of the Scarhaven property as they could layhands on and that having got it, they bundled Chatfield out and dumpedhim down here, having no further use for him. And, if that's the _Pike_, and they're returning here, it's because they want Chatfield!"

Copplestone suddenly recognized that feminine instinct had solved aproblem which masculine reason had so far left unsolved. 

"By gad!" he exclaimed softly. "Then, if that is so, this is merelyanother of Chatfield's games. You don't believe him?"

"I would think myself within approachable distance of lunacy if Ibelieved a word that Peter Chatfield said, " she answered calmly. "Ofcourse, he is playing a game of his own all through. He shall have hispension--if I have the power to give it--but believe him--oh, no!"

"Let's follow them, " said Copplestone. "Something's going to happen--ifthat is the _Pike_. "

"Look there, then, " exclaimed Audrey as they began to descend the cliff. "Chatfield's already uneasy. "

She pointed to the beach below, where Chatfield, now fully overcoated andshawled again, had mounted a ridge of rock, and while gazing intently atthe vessel, was exchanging remarks with Vickers, who had evidently saidsomething which had alarmed him. They caught Chatfield's excitedejaculations as they hurried over the sand. 

"Don't say that, Mr. Vickers!" he was saying imploringly. "For God'ssake, Mr. Vickers, don't suggest them there sort of thoughts. You make mefeel right down poorly, Mr. Vickers, to say such! It's worse than a baddream, Mr. Vickers--no, sir, no, surely you're mistaken!"

"Bet you a fiver to a halfpenny it's the _Pike_, " retorted Vickers. "Iknow her lines. Besides she's heading straight here. Copplestone!" hecried, turning to the advancing couple. "Do you know, I believe that'sthe _Pike!_"

Copplestone gave Audrey's elbow a gentle squeeze. 

"Look at old Chatfield!" he whispered. "By gad!--look at him. Yes, " hecalled out loudly, "We know it's the _Pike_--we saw that from the top ofthe cliffs. She's coming straight in. "

"Oh, yes, it's the _Pike_, " exclaimed Audrey. "Aren't you delighted, Mr. Chatfield. "

The agent suddenly turned his big fat face towards the three youngpeople, with such an expression of craven fear on it that the sardonicjest which Copplestone was about to voice died away on his lips. Chatfield's creased cheeks and heavy jowl had become white as chalk;great beads of sweat rolled down them; his mouth opened and shutsilently, and suddenly, as he raised his hands and wrung them, his kneesbegan to quiver. It was evident that the man was badly, terriblyafraid--and as they watched him in amazed wonder his eyes began tosearch the shore and the cliffs as if he were some hunted animal seekingany hole or cranny in which to hide. A sudden swelling of the light windbrought the steady throb of the oncoming engines to his ears and heturned on Vickers with a look that made the onlookers start. 

"For goodness sake, Mr. Vickers!" he said in a queer, strained voice. "For heaven's sake, let's get ourselves away! Mr. Vickers--it ain't safefor none of us. We'd best to run, sir--let's get to the other side of theisland. There's caves there--places--let's hide till something comes fromthe other islands, or till these folks goes away--I tell you it'sdangerous for us to stop here!"

"We're not afraid, Chatfield, " replied Vickers. "What ails you! Why man, you couldn't be more afraid if you'd murdered somebody! What do yousuppose these people want? You, of course. And you can't escape--if theywant you, they'll search the island till they get you. You've beendeceiving us, Chatfield--there's something you've kept back. Now, what isit? What have they come back for?"

"Yes, Mr. Chatfield, what has the _Pike_ come back for?" repeated Audrey, coming nearer. "Come now--hadn't you better tell?"

"It is the _Pike_, " remarked Copplestone. "Look there! And they're goingto send in a boat. Better be quick, Chatfield. "

The agent turned an ashen face towards the yacht. She had swung round andcome to a halt, and the rattle of a boat being let down came menacinglyto the frightened man's ears. He tittered a deep groan and his eyes againsought the cliffs. 

"It's not a bit of good, Chatfield, " said Vickers. "You can't get away. Good heavens, man!--what are you so frightened for!"

Chatfield moaned and drew haltingly nearer to the other three, as if hefound some comfort in their mere presence. 

"It's the money!" he whispered. "The money as was in the NorcasterBank--two lots of it. He--the Squire--gave me authority to get out hislot what was standing in his name, you know--and the other--the estatelot--that was standing in mine--some fifty thousand pounds in all, Mr. Vickers. I had it all in gold, packed in sealed chests--and they--thoseon board there--thought I took them chests aboard the _Pike_ with me. Idid take chests, d'ye see--but they'd lead in 'em. The real stuff ishidden--buried--never mind where. And I know what they've come backfor!--they've opened the chests I took on board, and they've foundthere's naught but lead. And they want me--me!--me! They'll torture me tomake me tell where the real chests, the money is--torture me! Oh, forGod's sake, keep 'em away from me--help me to hide--help me to getaway--and I'll tell Miss Greyle then where the money's hid, and--oh, Lord, they're coming! Mr. Vickers--Mr. Vickers--"

He cast himself bodily at Vickers, as if to clutch him, but Vickersstepped agilely aside, and Chatfield fell on the sand, where he laygroaning while the others looked from him to each other. 

"Ah!" said Vickers at last. "So that's it, is it, Chatfield? Trying tocheat everybody all round, eh? I suppose you'd have told Miss Greylelater that these people had collared all that gold--and then you'd havehelped yourself to it? And now I know what you were doing on that yachtwhen we boarded it--you were one of the gang, and you meant to hook itwith them--"

"I didn't--I didn't!" screamed Chatfield, beating the sand with his handsand feet. "I meant to slip away from 'em at a Scotch port we was to callat, and then--"

"Then you'd have gone back to the hidden chests and helpedyourself, " sneered Vickers. "Chatfield, you're a wicked oldscoundrel, and an unmitigated liar! Give me that paper that MissGreyle signed, this instant!"

"No!" interjected Audrey. "Let him keep it. He'll have trouble enoughpresently. It's very evident they mean to have him. "

Chatfield heard the last few words and looked round at the edge of thesurf. The boat had grounded on the shingle, and half a dozen men hadleapt from it and were coming rapidly up the beach. 

"Armed, by George!" exclaimed Copplestone. "No chance for you, Chatfield!"

The agent suddenly sprang to his feet with a howl of terror. He gave onemore glance at the men and then he ran, clumsily, but with a speed madedesperate by terror. He made straight for the rocks--and at that, two ofthe men, at a word from their leader, raised their rifles and fired. Andwith a shriek that set all the echoes ringing, the sea-birds screaming, and made Audrey clap her hands to her ears, Chatfield threw up his armsand dropped heavily on the sands. 

"That's sheer murder!" exclaimed Vickers, as the yachtsmen camerunning up. "You'll answer for that, you know. Unless you mean tomurder all of us. "

The leader, a smiling-faced fellow, touched his cap respectfully, andgrinned from ear to ear. 

"Lor' bless you, sir, we shot twenty feet over his head!" he said. "He'stoo precious to shoot: they want him badly on board there. Now then, men, pick him up and get him into the boat--hell come round quick enough whenhe finds he hasn't even a pellet in him. Handy, now! Captain'scompliments, sir, " he went on, turning again to Vickers, and pointing tocertain things which were being unloaded from the boat, "and as heunderstands that no vessel will pass here for two more days, sir, he'ssent you further provisions, some more wraps, and some books and papers. "

CHAPTER XXIV

THE TORPEDO-BOAT DESTROYER

Before Vickers and his companions had recovered from the surprise whichthis extraordinary cool message had given them, the men had bundledChatfield across the beach and into the boat and were pulling quicklyback to the _Pike_. 

Audrey broke the silence with a ringing laugh. 

"Captain Andrius is certainly the perfection of polite pirates, " sheexclaimed. "More food--more wraps--and books and papers! Was any maroonedmariner ever one-half so well treated?"

"What's the fellow mean about no vessel passing here for two more days?"growled Copplestone, who was glaring angrily at the yacht. "What's he someticulously correct for?"

"I should say that he's referring to some weekly or bi-weekly steamerwhich runs between Kirkwall and the mainland, " replied Vickers. "Well--it's good to know that, anyhow. But wait until the _Pike's_vamoosed again, and we'll make up such a column of smoke that it'll beseen for many a mile. In fact, I'll go and gather a lot of dried stuffnow--you two can drag those boxes and things up the beach and see whatour gaolers have been good enough to send us. "

He went away up the cliffs, and Audrey and Copplestone, once more leftalone, looked at each other and laughed. 

"That's right, " said Copplestone. "What I like about you is that youtake things that way. "

"Is it any use taking them any other way?" she asked. "Besides I've neverbeen at all frightened nor particularly concerned. I've always felt thatwe were only put here so that we should be out of the way while ourcaptors got safely away with their booty, and as regards my mother, Iknow her well enough to feel sure that she quickly sized things up, andthat she'll have taken measures of her own. Don't be surprised if we'rerescued through her means or if she has set somebody to work to catch thepredatory _Pike_. "

"Good!" said Copplestone. "But as regards the _Pike_, I wonder if youobserved something during the few minutes she was here. I'm sure Vickersdidn't--he was too busy, watching Chatfield. "

"So was I, " replied Audrey. "What was it?"

"I believe I'm unusually observant, " answered Copplestone. "I seem to seethings--all at once, don't you know. I saw that since we made heracquaintance--and were unceremoniously bundled off her--the _Pike_ hasgot a new and quite different coat of paint. And I daresay she's changedher name, too. From all of which I argue that when they got rid of ushere, the people who are working all this slipped quietly back to somecove or creek on the Scotch coast, did a stiff turn at repainting, andmeant to be off to the other side of the world under new colours. Andwhile this was going on, Andrius, or his co-villain, found time toexamine those chests that Chatfield told us of, and when they found thatChatfield had done them, they came back here quick. Now they're off tomake him reveal the whereabouts of the real chests. "

"Won't they be rather running their necks into a noose?" suggestedAudrey. "I'm dead certain that my mother will have raised a hue and cryafter them. "

"They're cute enough, " said Copplestone. "Anyway, they'll run a good manyrisks for the sake of fifty thousand pounds. What they may do is to runinto some very quiet inlet--there are hundreds on these northerncoasts--and take Chatfield to his hiding-place. Chatfield's like allscoundrels of his type--a horrible coward if a pistol's held to his head. Now they've got him, they'll force him to disgorge. Hang this compulsoryinactivity!--my nerves are all a-tingle to get going at things!"

"Let's occupy ourselves with the things our generous gaolers have beenkind enough to send us, then, " suggested Audrey. "We'd better carry themup to our shelter. "

Copplestone went down to the things which the boat's crew had depositedon the beach--a couple of small packing-cases, a bundle of wraps andcushions, and some books, magazines and newspapers. He picked up a paperwith a cry which suggested a discovery of importance. 

"Look at that!" he exclaimed. "Do you see? A _Scotsman!_ Today's date!And here--_Aberdeen Free Press_--same date!"

"Well?" asked Audrey. "And what then?"

"What then?" demanded Copplestone. "Where are your powers of deduction?Why, that shows that the _Pike_ was somewhere this morning where shecould get the morning papers from Aberdeen and Edinburgh--therefore, she's been, as I suggested, somewhere on the Scotch coast all night. It'snow noon--she's a fast sailer--I guess she's been within sixty miles ofus ever since she left us. "

"Isn't it more pertinent to speculate on where she'll be when we want tofind her?" asked Audrey. 

"More pertinent still to wonder when somebody will come to find us, "answered Copplestone as he shouldered one of the cases. "However, there'sa certain joy in uncertainty, so they say--we're tasting it. "

The joys of uncertainty, however, were not to endure. They had scarcelycompleted the task of carrying up the newly-arrived stores to the shelterwhich they had made in an angle of the rocks when Vickers hailed themfrom a spur of the cliffs and waved his arms excitedly. 

"I say, you two!" he shouted. "There's a craft coming--from thesouth-west. Come up! There!" he added, a few minutes later, when theyarrived, breathless, at his side. "Out yonder--a mere black blot--butunmistakable! Do you know what that is, either of you? You don't? Allright, I do--ought to, because I'm a R. N. V. R. Man myself. That's aT. B. D. , my friends!--torpedo-boat destroyer. What's more, far off as sheis, my experienced eye and sure knowledge tell me exactly what she is. She's a class H. Boat built last year--oil fuel--turbines--runs up tothirty knots--and she's doing 'em, too, just now! Come on, Copplestone--more stuff on this fire!"

"I don't think we need be uneasy, " said Copplestone. "Miss Greyle thinksthat her mother will have raised a hue and cry after the _Pike_. Thistorpedo thing is probably looking round for us. She--what's that?"

The sudden sharp crack of a gun came across the calm surface of the sea, and the watchers turning from their fire towards the black object in thedistance saw a cloud of white smoke drifting away from it. 

"Hooray!" shouted Vickers. "She's seen our smoke-pillar! Shove more on, just to let her know we understand. Saved!--this time, anyway. "

Half-an-hour later, a spick and span and eminently youthful-looking navallieutenant raised his cap to the three folk who stood eagerly awaitinghis approach at the edge of the surf. 

"Miss Greyle? Mr. Vickers? Mr. Copplestone?" he asked as he sprang fromhis boat and came up. "Right!--we're searching for you--had wirelessmessages this morning. Where's the pirate, or whatever he is?"

"Somewhere away to the southward, " answered Vickers, pointing into thehaze. "He was here two hours ago--but he's about as fast as they make'em, and he's good reason to show a clean pair of heels. However, we'veample grounds for believing him to have gone due south again. Where areyou from?"

"Got the message off Dunnett Head, and we'll run you to Thurso, " repliedthe rescuer, motioning them to enter the boat. "Come on--our commander'sgot some word or other for you. What's all this been?" he went on, gazingat Audrey with youthful assurance as they moved away from the shore. "Youdon't mean to say you've actually been kidnapped?"

"Kidnapped and marooned, " replied Vickers. "And I hope you'll catch ourkidnapper--he's got a tremendous amount of property on him which belongsto this lady, and hell make tracks for the other side of the Atlantic assoon as he gets hold of some more which he's gone to collect. "

The lieutenant regarded Audrey with still more interest. "Oh, all right, "he said confidently. "He'll not get away. I guess they've wirelessed allover the place--our message was from the Admiralty!"

"That's Sir Cresswell's doing, " said Copplestone, turning to Audrey. "Your mother must have wired to him. I wonder what the message is?" heasked, facing the lieutenant. "Do you know?"

"Something about if you're found to tell you to get south as fast aspossible, " he answered. "And we've worked that out for you. You can geton by train from Thurso to Inverness, and from Inverness, of course, you'll get the southern express. Well put you off at Thurso by twoo'clock--just time to give you such lunch as our table affords--bitrough, you know. So you've really been all night on that island?" he wenton with unaffected curiosity. "What a lark!"

"You'd have had an opportunity of studying character if you'd beenwith us, " replied Vickers. "We lost a fine specimen of humanity twohours ago. "

"Tell about it aboard, " said the lieutenant. "We'll be thankful--we'vebeen round this end-of-everywhere coast for a month and we're tired. It'squite a Godsend to have a little adventure. "

Copplestone had been right in surmising that Sir Cresswell Oliver hadbestirred himself to find him and his companions. They were presentlyshown his message. They were to get to Norcaster as quickly as possible, and to wire their whereabouts as soon as they were found. If, as seemedlikely, they were picked up on the north coast of Scotland, they were toask at Inverness railway station for telegrams. And to Inverness afterbeing landed at Thurso they betook themselves, while the torpedo-boatdestroyer set off to nose round for the _Pike_, in case she came that wayback from wherever she had gone to. 

Copplestone came out of the station-master's office at Inverness with acouple of telegrams and read their contents over to his companions in thedining-room to which they adjourned. 

"This is from Mrs. Greyle, " he said. "'All right and much relieved bywire from Thurso. Bring Audrey home as quick as possible. ' That's good!And this--Great Scott! This is from Gilling! Listen!--'Just heard fromPetherton of your rescue. Come straight and sharp Norcaster. Meet me atthe "Angel. " Big things afoot. Spurge most anxious see you. Importantnews. Gilling. ' So things have been going on, " he concluded, turningthe second telegram over to Vickers. "I suppose we'll have to travelall night?"

"Night express in an hour, " replied Vickers. "We shall make Norcasterabout five-thirty tomorrow morning. "

"Then let us wire the time of our arrival to Gilling. I'm anxious to knowwhat has brought him up there, " said Copplestone. "And well wire to Mrs. Greyle, too, " he added, turning to Audrey. "She'll know then that you'reabsolutely on the way. "

"I wonder what we're on the way to?" remarked Vickers with a grim smile. "It strikes me that our recent alarms and excursions will have been asnothing to what awaits us at Norcaster. "

What did await them on a cold, dismal morning at Norcaster was Gilling, stamping up and down a windswept platform. And Gilling seized onCopplestone almost before he could alight from the train. 

"Come to the 'Angel' straight off!" he said. "Mrs. Greyle's thereawaiting her daughter. I've work for you and Vickers at once--that chapSpurge is somewhere about the 'Angel, ' too--been hanging round theresince yesterday, heavy with news that he'll give to nobody but you. "

CHAPTER XXV

THE SQUIRE

Such of the folk of the "Angel" hotel--a night porter, a waiter, achamber-maid--as were up and about that grey morning, wondered why thetwo old gentlemen who had arrived from London the day before should risefrom their beds to hold a secret and mysterious conference with thethree young ones who, with a charming if tired-looking young lady, droveup before the city clocks had struck six. But Sir Cresswell Oliver andMr. Petherton knew that there was no time to be lost, and as soon asAudrey had been restored to and carried off by her mother to Mrs. Greyle's room, they summoned Vickers and Copplestone to a privateparlour and demanded their latest news. Sir Cresswell listened eagerly, and in silence, until Copplestone described the return of the _Pike_; atthat he broke his silence. 

"That's precisely what I feared!" he exclaimed. "Of course, if she's beenhurriedly repainted and renamed, she stands a fair chance of gettingaway. Our instructions to the patrol boats up there are to look for acertain vessel, the _Pike_--naturally they won't look for anything else. We must get the wireless to work at once. "

"But there's this, " said Copplestone. "They certainly fetched oldChatfield to make him hand over the gold! They won't go away withoutthat! And he said that he'd hidden the gold somewhere near Scarhaven. Therefore, they'll have to come down this coast to get it. "

"Not necessarily, " replied Sir Cresswell, with a knowing shake of thehead. "You may be sure they're alive to all the exigencies of thesituation. They could do several things once they'd got Chatfield onboard again. Some of them could land with him at some convenient port andmake him take them to where he's hidden the money; they could recapturethat and go off to some other port, to which the yacht had meanwhile beenbrought round. If we only knew where Chatfield had planted thatmoney--"

"He said near Scarhaven, unmistakably, " remarked Vickers. 

"Near Scarhaven!" repeated Sir Cresswell, laughing dismally. "That's awide term--a very wide one. Behind Scarhaven, as you all know, are hillsand moors and valleys and ravines in which one could hide a Dreadnought!Well, that's all I can think of--getting into communication with patrolboats and coastguard stations all along the coast between here and Wick. And that mayn't be the least good. Somebody may have escorted Chatfieldashore after they left you yesterday, brought him hereabouts by rail ormotor-car, and the yacht may have made a wide detour round the Shetlandsand be now well on her way to the North Atlantic. "

"But in that case--the money?" asked Copplestone. 

"They would get hold of the money, take it clean away, and ship it fromLiverpool, or Glasgow, or--anywhere, " replied Sir Cresswell. "You may besure they've plenty of resources at command, and that they'll worksecretly. Of course, we must keep a look out round about here for anysign or reappearance of Chatfield, but, as I say, this country is so wildthat he and his companions can easily elude observation, especially asthey're sure to come by night. Still, we must do what we can, and atonce. But first, there are one or two things I want to ask you youngmen--you said, Mr. Vickers, that Chatfield solemnly insisted to you thathe did not know that the man who had posed as Marston Greyle was notMarston Greyle?"

"He did, " replied Vickers, "and though Chatfield is an unmitigated oldscoundrel, I believe him. "

"You do!" exclaimed Gilling, who was listening eagerly. "Oh, come!"

"I do--as a professional man, " answered Vickers, stoutly, and with anappealing glance at his brother solicitor. "Mr. Petherton will tell youthat we lawyers have a curious gift of intuition. With all Chatfield'sbadness, I do really believe that the old fellow does not know whetherthe man we'll call the Squire is Marston Greyle or not! He'sdoubtful--he's puzzled--but he doesn't know. "

"Odd!" murmured Sir Cresswell, after a minute's silence. "Odd! Very, veryodd! That shows that there's still some extraordinary mystery about thiswhich we haven't even guessed at. Well, now, another question--you gotthe idea that some one else was aboard the yacht?"

"Some one other than Andrius--in authority--yes!" answered Vickers. "Wecertainly thought that. "

"Did you think it was the man we know as the Squire?" asked SirCresswell. 

"We had a notion that he might be there, " replied Vickers, with a glanceat Copplestone. "Especially after what happened to Chatfield. Of course, we never saw him, or heard his voice, or saw a sign of him. Still, wefancied--"

Sir Cresswell rose from his chair and motioned to Petherton. 

"Well, " he said, "I think you and I, Petherton, had better complete ourtoilets, and then give a look in at the authorities here and find out ifanything has been received by wireless or from the coastguard stationsabout the yacht. In the meantime, " he added, turning to Vickers andCopplestone, "Gilling can tell you what's been going on in yourabsence--you'll learn from it that our impression is that the Squire, aswe call him, was on the _Pike_ with you. "

The two elder men went away, and Copplestone turned to Gilling. 

"What have you got?" he asked eagerly. "Live news!"

"Might have been livelier and more satisfactory, " answered Gilling, "ifit hadn't been for the factor which none of us can help--luck! We trackedthe Squire. "

"You did?" exclaimed Copplestone. "Where?"

"When I said we I should have said Swallow, " continued Gilling. "Youremember that afternoon of our return from Bristol, Copplestone? It seemsages away now, though as a matter of time it's only four days ago!--Well, that afternoon Swallow, who had had two or three more keeping a sharplook out for the Squire, got a telephone message from one of 'em sayingthat he'd tracked his man to the Fragonard Club. I'd gone home to mychambers, to rest a bit after our adventures at Bristol and Falmouth, soSwallow had to act on his own initiative. He set off for the FragonardClub, and outside it met his man. This particular man had been keeping awatch for days on that tobacconist's shop in Wardour Street. Thatafternoon he suddenly saw the Squire leave it, by a side door. Hefollowed him to the Fragonard Club, watched him enter; then he himselfturned into a neighbouring bar and telephoned to Swallow. The Squire wasstill in the Fragonard when Swallow got there: from that time he kept awatch. The Squire remained in the Club for an hour--"

"Which proves, " interrupted Copplestone, "that he's a member, and that Iought to have followed up my attempt to get in there. "

"Well, anyway, " continued Gilling, "there he was, and thence heeventually emerged, with a kit-bag. He got into a taxi, and Swallow heardhim order its driver to go to King's Cross. Now Swallow was therealone--and he had just before that met his man scooting round to see ifthere was a rear exit from the Fragonard, and he hadn't returned. Swallow, of course, couldn't wait--every minute was precious. Hefollowed the Squire to King's Cross, and heard him book forNorthborough. "

"Northborough!" exclaimed Copplestone, in surprise. "Not Norcaster? Ah, well, Northborough's a port, too, isn't it?"

"Northborough is as near to Scarhaven as Norcaster is, you know, " saidGilling. "To Northborough he booked, anyhow. So did Swallow, who, nowthat he'd got him, was going to follow him to the North Pole, if need be. The train was just starting--Swallow had no time to communicate with me. Also, the train didn't stop until it reached Grantham. There he sent me awire, saying he was on the track of his man. Well, they went on toNorthborough, where they arrived late in the evening. There--what is it, Copplestone, " he broke off, seeing signs of a desire to speak onCopplestone's part. 

"You're talking of the very same afternoon and evening that I camedown--four evenings ago, " said Copplestone. "My train was the fouro'clock--I got to Norcaster at ten--surely they didn't come on thesame train!"

"I feel sure they did, but anyhow, these trains to the North are usuallyvery long ones, and you were probably in a different part, " repliedGilling. "Anyway, they got to Northborough soon after nine. Swallowfollowed his man on to the platform, out to some taxi-cabs, and heard himcommission one of the chauffeurs to take him to Scarhaven. When they'dgone Swallow got hold of another taxi, and told its driver to take himto Scarhaven, too. Off they went--in a pitch-black night, I'm told--"

"We know that!" said Vickers with a glance at Copplestone. "We motoredfrom Norcaster--just about the same time. "

"Well, " continued Gilling, "it was at any rate so dark that Swallow'sdriver, who appears to have been a very nervous chap, made very poorprogress. Also he took one or two wrong turnings. Finally he ran his carinto a guide post which stood where two roads forked--and there Swallowwas landed, scarcely halfway to Scarhaven. They couldn't get the car tomove, and it was some time before Swallow could persuade the landlord atthe nearest inn to hire out a horse and trap to him. Altogether, it wasnear or just past midnight when he reached Scarhaven, and when he did getthere, it was to see the lights of a steamer going out of the bay. "

"The _Pike_, of course, " muttered Copplestone. 

"Of course--and some men on the quay told him, " continued Gilling. "Well, that put Swallow in a fix. He was dead certain, of course, that his manwas on that yacht. However, he didn't want to rouse suspicion, so hedidn't ask any of those quayside men if they'd seen the Squire. Instead, remembering what I'd told him about Mrs. Greyle he asked for her houseand was directed to it. He found Mrs. Greyle in a state of great anxiety. Her daughter had gone with you two to the yacht and had never returned;Mrs. Greyle, watching from her windows, had seen the yacht go out tosea. Swallow found her, of course, seriously alarmed as to what hadhappened. Of course, he told her what he had come down for and theyconsulted. Next morning--"

"Stop a bit, " interrupted Vickers. "Didn't Mrs. Greyle get any messagefrom the yacht about her daughter--Andrius said he'd sent one, anyway. "

"A lie!" replied Gilling. "She got no message. The only consolation shehad was that you and Copplestone were with Miss Greyle. Well, first thingnext morning Swallow and Mrs. Greyle set every possible means to work. They went to the police--they wired to places up the coast and down thecoast to keep a look out--and Swallow also wired full particulars to SirCresswell Oliver, with the result that Sir Cresswell went to the navalauthorities and got them to set their craft up north to work. Having doneall this, and finding that he could be of no more service at Scarhaven, Swallow returned to town to see me and to consult. Now, of course, wewere in a position by then to approach that Fragonard Club--"

"Ah!" exclaimed Copplestone. "Just so!"

"The man, whoever he is, had been there an hour on the day Swallow andhis man tracked him, " continued Gilling. "Therefore, something must beknown of him. Swallow and I, armed with certain credentials, went there. And--we could find out next to nothing. The hall porter there said hedimly remembered such a gentleman coming in and going upstairs, but hehimself was new to his job, didn't know all the members--there arehundreds of 'em--and he took this man for a regular habitue. A waiteralso had some sort of recollection of the man, and seeing him inconversation with another man whom he, the waiter, knew better, though hedidn't know his name. Swallow is now moving everything to find thatman--to find anybody who knows our man--and something will come of it, inthe end--must do. In the meantime I came down here with Sir Cresswell andMr. Petherton, to be on the spot. And, from your information, things willhappen here! That hidden gold is the thing--they'll not leave thatwithout an effort to get it. If we could only find out where that is andwatch it--then our present object would be achieved. "

"What is the present object?" asked Copplestone. 

"Why, " replied Gilling, "we've got warrants out against both Chatfieldand the Squire for the murder of Bassett Oliver!--the police here havethem in hand. Petherton's seen to that. And if they can only be laidhands on--What is it?" he asked turning to a sleepy-eyed waiter who, after a gentle tap at the door, put a shock head into the room. "Somebody want me?"

"That there man, sir--you know, " said the waiter. "Here again, sir--stable-yard, sir. "

Gilling jumped up and gave Copplestone a look. 

"That's Spurge!" he muttered. "He said he'd be back at day-break. Waithere--I'll fetch him. "

CHAPTER XXVI

THE REAVER'S GLEN

Zachary Spurge, presently ushered in by Gilling, who carefully closedthe door behind himself and his companion, looked as if his recentlodging had been of an even rougher nature than that in whichCopplestone had found him at their first meeting. The rough horseman'scloak in which he was buttoned to the edge of a red neckerchief and astubbly chin was liberally ornamented with bits of straw, scraps offurze and other odds and ends picked up in woods and hedge-rows. Spurge, indeed, bore unmistakable evidence of having slept out in wild placesfor some nights and his general atmosphere was little more respectablethan that of a scarecrow. But he grinned cheerfully at Copplestone--andthen frowned at Vickers. 

"I didn't count for to meet no lawyers, gentlemen, " he said, pausing onthe outer boundaries of the parlour, "I ain't a-goin' to talk before'em, neither!"

"He's a grudge against me--I've had to appear against him once or twice, "whispered Vickers to Copplestone. "You'd better soothe him down--I wantto know what he's got to tell. "

"It's all right, Spurge, " said Copplestone. "Come--Mr. Vickers is on ourside this time; he's one of us. You can say anything you like beforehim--or Mr. Gilling either. We're all in it. Pull your chair up--here, alongside of me, and tell us what you've been doing. "

"Well, of course, if you puts it that way, Mr. Copplestone, " repliedSpurge, coming to the table a little doubtfully. "Though I hadn't meantto tell nobody but you what I've got to tell. However, I can see thatthings is in such a pretty pass that this here ain't no one-man job--it'sa job as'll want a lot o' men! And I daresay lawyers and such-like is asuseful men in that way as you can lay hands on--no offence to you, Mr. Vickers, only you see I've had experience o' your sort before. But if youare taking a hand in this here--well, all right. But now, gentlemen, " hecontinued dropping into a chair at the table and laying his fur cap onits polished surface, "afore ever I says a word, d'ye think that I couldbe provided with a cup o' hot coffee, or tea, with a stiff dose o' rum init? I'm that cold and starved--ah, if you'd been where I been this lasttwelve hours or so, you'd be perished. "

The sleepy waiter was summoned to attend to Spurge's wants--until theywere satisfied the poacher sat staring fixedly at his cap andoccasionally shaking his head. But after a first hearty gulp of stronglyfortified coffee the colour came back into his face, he sighed withrelief, and signalled to the three watchful young men to draw theirchairs close to his. 

"Ah!" he said, setting down his cup. "And nobody never wanted aught morebadly than I wanted that! And now then--the door being shut on us quitesafe, ain't it, gentlemen?--no eavesdroppers?--well, this here it is. Idon't know what you've been a-doing of these last few days, nor what mayhave happened to each and all--but I've news. Serious news--as I reckonsit to be. Of--Chatfield!"

Copplestone kicked Vickers under the table and gave him a look. 

"Chatfield again!" he murmured. "Well, go on, Spurge. "

"There's a lot to go on with, too, guv'nor, " said Spurge, after takinganother evidently welcome drink. "And I'll try to put it all in order, asit were--same as if I was in a witness-box, " he added, with a sly glanceat Vickers. "You remember that day of the inquest on the actor gentleman, guv'nor? Well, of course, when I went to give evidence at Scarhaven, atthat there inquest, I never expected but what the police 'ud collar me atthe end of it. However, I didn't mean that they should, if I could helpit, so I watched things pretty close, intending to slip off when I saw achance. Well, now, you'll bear in mind that there was a bit of a dust-upwhen the thing was over--some on 'em cheering the Squire and some on 'emgrousing about the verdict, and between one and t'other I popped out andoff, and you yourself saw me making for the moors. Of course, me, knowingthem moors back o' Scarhaven as I do, it was easy work to make myselfscarce on 'em in ten minutes--not all the police north o' the Tees couldha' found me a quarter of an hour after I'd hooked it out o' thatschoolroom! Well, but the thing then was--where to go next? 'Twasn't nogood going to Hobkin's Hole again--now that them chaps knew I was in theneighbourhood they'd soon ha' smoked me out o' there. Once I thought ofmaking for Norcaster here, and going into hiding down by the docks--I'veone or two harbours o' refuge there. But I had reasons for wishing tostop in my own country--for a bit at any rate. And so, after reckoningthings up, I made for a spot as Mr. Vickers there'll know by name of theReaver's Glen. "

"Good place, too, for hiding, " remarked Vickers with a nod. 

"Best place on this coast--seashore and inland, " said Spurge. "And as youtwo London gentlemen doesn't know it, I'll tell you about it. If you wasto go out o' Scarhaven harbour and turn north, you'd sail along our coastline up here to the mouth of Norcaster Bay and you'd think there wasnever an inlet between 'em. But there is. About half-way betweenScarhaven and Norcaster there's a very narrow opening in the cliffs thatyou'd never notice unless you were close in shore, and inside thatopening there's a cove that's big enough to take a thousand-tonvessel--aye, and half-a-dozen of 'em! It was a favourite place forsmugglers in the old days, and they call it Darkman's Dene to this day inmemory of a famous old smuggler that used it a good deal. Well, now, atthe land end of that cove there's a narrow valley that runs up to themoorland and the hills, full o' rocks and crags and precipices and suchlike--something o' the same sort as Hobkin's Hole but a deal wilder, andthat's known as the Reaver's Glen, because in other days thecattle-lifters used to bring their stolen goods, cattle and sheep, downthere where they could pen 'em in, as it were. There's piles o' places inthat glen where a man can hide--I picked out one right at the top, at theedge of the moors, where there's the ruins of an old peel tower. I couldget shelter in that old tower, and at the same time slip out of it ifneed be into one of fifty likely hiding places amongst the rocks. I gotinto touch with my cousin Jim Spurge--the one-eyed chap at the'Admiral's Arms, ' Mr. Copplestone, that night--and I got in a supply ofmeat and drink, and there I was. And--as things turned out, Chatfield hadgot his eye on the very same spot!"

Spurge paused for a minute, and picking out a match from a stand whichstood on the table, began to trace imaginary lines on the mahogany. 

"This is how things is there, " he said, inviting his companions'attention. "Here, like, is where this peel tower stands--that's a thickwood as comes close up to its walls--that there is a road as crosses themoors and the wood about, maybe, a hundred yards or so behind the toweron the land side. Now, there, one afternoon as I was in that there tower, a-reading of a newspaper that Jim had brought me the night before, Ihears wheels on that moorland road, and I looked out through a convenientloophole, and who should I see but Peter Chatfield in that old pony trapof his. He was coming along from the direction of Scarhaven, and when hegot abreast of the tower he pulled up, got out, left his pony to crop thegrass and came strolling over in my direction. Of course, I wasn'tafraid of him--there's so many ways in and out of that old peel as thereis out of a rabbit-warren--besides, I felt certain he was there on somejob of his own. Well, he comes up to the edge of the glen, and he looksinto it and round it, and up and down at the tower, and he wanders aboutthe heaps of fallen masonry that there is there, and finally he putsthumbs in his armhole and went slowly back to his trap. 'But you'll becoming back, my old swindler!' says I to myself. 'You'll be back again Idoubt not at all!' And back he did come--that very night. Oh, yes!"

"Alone?" asked Copplestone. 

"A-lone!" replied Spurge. "It had got to be dark, and I was thinking ofgoing to sleep, having nought else to do and not expecting cousin Jimthat night, when I heard the sound of horses' feet and of wheels. So Icleared out of my hole to where I could see better. Of course, it wasChatfield--same old trap and pony--but this time he came from Norcasterway. Well, he gets out, just where he'd got out before, and he leads thepony and trap across the moor to close by the tower. I could tell by theway that trap went over the grass that there was some sort of a load init and it wouldn't have surprised me, gentlemen, if the old reptile hadbrought a dead body out of it. After a bit, I hear him taking somethingout, something which he bumped down on the ground with a thump--I countednine o' them thumps. And then after a bit I heard him begin a moving ofsome of the loose masonry what lies in such heaps at the foot o' the peeltower--dark though it was there was light enough in the sky for him tosee to do that. But after he'd been at it some time, puffing and groaningand grunting, he evidently wanted to see better, and he suddenly flasheda light on things from one o' them electric torches. And then I see--mebeing not so many yards away from him--nine small white wood boxes, allclamped with metal bands, lying in a row on the grass, and I see, too, that Chatfield had been making a place for 'em amongst the stones. Yes--that was it--nine small white wood boxes--so small, considering, that I wondered what made 'em so heavy. "

Copplestone favoured Vickers with another quiet kick. They were, without doubt, hearing the story of the hidden gold, and it wasbecoming exciting. 

"Well, " continued Spurge. "Into the place he'd cleared out them boxeswent, and once they were all in he heaped the stones over 'em as naturalas they were before, and he kicked a lot o' small loose stones roundabout and over the place where he'd been standing. And then the oldsinner let out a great groan as if something troubled him, and he fetcheda bottle out of his pocket and took a good pull at whatever was in it, after which, gentlemen, he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief andgroaned again. He'd had his bit of light on all that time, but he dousedit then, and after that he led the old pony away across the bit of moorto the road, and presently in he gets and drives slowly away towardsScarhaven. And so there was I, d'ye see, Mr. Copplestone, left, as itwere, sold guardian of--what?"

The three young men exchanged glances with each other while Spurgerefreshed himself with his fortified coffee, and their eyes asked similarquestions. 

"Ah!" observed Copplestone at last. "You don't know what, Spurge? Youhaven't examined one of those boxes?"

Spurge set his cup down and gave his questioner a knowing look. 

"I'll tell you my line o' conduct, guv'nor, " he said. "So certain surehave I been that something 'ud come o' this business of hiding them boxesand that something valuable is in 'em that I've taken partiklar care eversince Chatfield planted 'em there that night never to set foot within adozen yards of 'em. Why? 'Cause I know he'll ha' left footprints of hisown there, and them footprints may be useful. No, sir!--them boxes hasbeen guarded careful ever since Chatfield placed 'em where he did. For--Chatfield's never been back!"

"Never back, eh?" said Copplestone, winking at the other two. 

"Never been back--self nor spirit, substance nor shadow!--since thatnight, " replied Spurge. "Unless, indeed, he's been back since fouro'clock this morning, when I left there. However, if he's been 'twixtthen and now, my cousin Jim Spurge, he was there. Jim's been helping meto watch. When I first came in here to see if I could hear anything aboutyou--Jim having told me that some London gentlemen was up here again--Ileft him in charge. And there he is now. And now you know all I can tellyou, gentlemen, and as I understand there's some mystery about Chatfieldand that he's disappeared, happen you'll know how to put two and twotogether. And if I'm of any use--"

"Spurge, " said Gilling. "How far is it to this Reaver's Glen--or, ratherto that peel tower?"

"Matter of eight or nine miles, guv'nor, over the moors, " replied Spurge. 

"How did you come in then?" asked Gilling. 

"Cousin Jim Spurge's bike--down in the stable-yard, now, " answeredSpurge. "Did it comfortable in under the hour. "

"I think we ought to go out there--some of us, " said Gilling. "Weought--"

At that moment the door opened and Sir Cresswell Oliver came in, holdinga bit of flimsy paper in his hand. He glanced at Spurge and then beckonedthe three young men to join him. 

"I've had a wireless message from the North Sea--and it puzzles me, " hesaid. "One of our ships up there has had news of what is surely the_Pike_ from a fishing vessel. She was seen late yesterday afternoon goingdue east--due east, mind you! If that was she--and I'm sure of it!--ourquarry's escaping us. "

CHAPTER XXVII

THE PEEL TOWER

Gilling took the message from Sir Cresswell and thoughtfully readit over. Then he handed it back and motioned the old seaman to lookat Spurge. 

"I think you ought to know what this man has just told us, sir, " he said. "We've got a story from him that exactly fits in with what Chatfield toldMr. Vickers when the _Pike_ returned to carry him off yesterday. Chatfield, you'll remember, said that the gold he'd withdrawn from thebank is hidden somewhere--well, there's no doubt that this man ZacharySpurge knows where it is hidden. It's there now--and the presumption is, of course, that these people on the _Pike_ will certainly come in to thiscoast--somehow!--to get it. So in that case--eh?"

"Gad!--that's valuable!" said Sir Cresswell, glancing again at Spurge, and with awakened interest. "Let me hear this story. "

Copplestone epitomized Spurge's account, while the poacher listenedadmiringly, checking off the main points and adding a word or two wherehe considered the epitome lacking. 

"Very smart of you, my man, " remarked Sir Cresswell, nodding benevolentlyat Spurge when the story was over. "You're in a fair way to find yourselfwell rewarded. Now gentlemen!" he continued, sitting down at the table, and engaging the attention of the others, "I think we had better have acouncil of war. Petherton has just gone to speak to the policeauthorities about those warrants which have been taken out againstChatfield and the impostor, but we can go on in his absence. Now thereseems to be no doubt that those chests which Spurge tells us of containthe gold which Chatfield procured from the bank, and concerning which heseems to have played his associates more tricks than one. However, hisassociates, whoever they are--and mind you, gentlemen, I believe thereare more men than Chatfield and the Squire in all this!--have now got atight grip on Chatfield, and they'll force him to show them where thatgold is--they'll certainly not give up the chances of fifty thousandpounds without a stiff try to get it. So--I'm considering all thepossibilities and probabilities--we may conclude that sooner orlater--sooner, most likely--somebody will visit this old peel tower thatSpurge talks of. But--who? For we're faced with this wireless message. I've no doubt the vessel here referred to is the _Pike_--no doubt at all. Now she was seen making due east, near this side of the Dogger Bank, latelast night--so that it would look as if these men were making forDenmark, or Germany, rather than for this coast. But since receiving thismessage, I have thought that point out. The _Pike_ is, I believe, a veryfast vessel?"

"Very, " answered Vickers. "She can do twenty-seven or eight knots anhour. "

"Exactly, " said Sir Cresswell. "Then in that case they may have put inat some Northern port, landed Chatfield and two or three men to keep aneye on him and to accompany him to this old tower, while the _Pike_herself has gone off till a more fitting opportunity arises of dodging insomewhere to pick up the chests which Chatfield and his party will in themeantime have removed. From what I have seen of it this is such a wildpart of the coast that Chatfield and such a small gang as I am imagining, could easily come back here, keep themselves hidden and recover thechests without observation. So our plain duty is to now devise some planfor going to the Reaver's Glen and keeping a watch there until somebodycomes. Eh?"

"There's another thing that's possible, sir, " said Vickers, who hadlistened carefully to all that Sir Cresswell had said. "The _Pike_ isfitted for wireless telegraphy. "

"Yes?" said Sir Cresswell expectantly. "And you think--?"

"You suggested that there may be more people than Chatfield and theSquire in at this business, " continued Vickers. "Just so! We--Copplestoneand myself--know very well that the skipper of the _Pike_, Andrius, is init: that's undeniable. But there may be others--or one other, or two--onshore here. And as the _Pike_ can communicate by wireless, those on boardher may have sent a message to their shore confederates to remove thosechests. So--"

"Capital suggestion!" said Sir Cresswell, who saw this point at once. "Sowe'd better lose no time in arranging our expedition out there. Spurge--you're the man who knows the spot best--what ought we to do aboutgetting there--in force?"

Spurge, obviously flattered at being called upon to advise a great man, entered into the discussion with enthusiasm. 

"Your honour mustn't go in force at all!" he said. "What's wanted, gentlemen, is--strategy! Now if you'll let me put it to you, me knowingthe lie of the land, this is what had ought to be done. A small partyought to go--with me to lead. We'll follow the road that cuts across themoorland to a certain point; then we'll take a by-track that gets you toHigh Nick; there we'll take to a thick bit o' wood and coppice that runsright up to the peel tower. Nobody'll track us, nor see us from anypoint, going that way. Three or four of us--these here young gentlemen, now, and me--'ll be enough for the job--if armed. A revolver apiece yourhonour--that'll be plenty. And as for the rest--what you might call areserve force--your honour said something just now about some warrants. Is the police to be in at it, then?"

"The police hold warrants for the two men we've been chiefly talkingabout, " replied Sir Cresswell. 

"Well let your honour come on a bit later with not more than three policeplain-clothes fellows--as far as High Nick, " said Spurge. "The police'llknow where that is. Let 'em wait there--don't let 'em come further untilI send back a message by my cousin Jim, You see, guv'nor, " he added, turning to Copplestone, whom he seemed to regard as his own specialassociate, "we don't know how things may be. We might have to wait hours. As I view it, me having listened careful to what his honour the Admiralthere says--best respects to your honour--them chaps'll never come a-nighthat place till it's night again, or at any rate, dusk, which'll be aboutseven o'clock this evening. But they may watch, during the day, and it'ud be a foolish thing to have a lot of men about. A small force such asI can hide in that wood, and another in reserve at High Nick, which, guv'nor, is a deep hole in the hill-top--that's the ticket!"

"Spurge is right, " said Sir Cresswell. "You youngsters go with him--get amotor-car--and I'll see about following you over to High Nick with thedetectives. Now, what about being armed?"

"I've a supply of service revolvers at my office, down this very street, "replied Vickers. "I'll go and get them. Here! Let's apportion our duties. I'll see to that. Gilling, you see about the car. Copplestone, you ordersome breakfast for us--sharp. "

"And I'll go round to the police, " said Sir Cresswell. "Now, be carefulto take care of yourselves--you don't know what you've got to deal with, remember. "

The group separated, and Copplestone went off to find the hotel peopleand order an immediate breakfast. And passing along a corridor on his waydownstairs he encountered Mrs. Greyle, who came out of a room near by andstarted at sight of him. 

"Audrey is asleep, " she whispered, pointing to the door she had justleft. "Thank you for taking care of her. Of course I was afraid--butthat's all over now. And now the thing is--how are things?"

"Coming to a head, in my opinion, " answered Copplestone. "But how or inwhat way, I don't know. Anyway, we know where that gold is--and they'llmake an attempt on it--that's sure! So--we shall be there. "

"But what fools Peter Chatfield and his associates must be--from theirown villainous standpoint--to have encumbered themselves with all thatweight of gold!" exclaimed Mrs. Greyle. "The folly of it seems incrediblewhen they could have taken it in some more easily portable form!"

"Ah!" laughed Copplestone. "But that just shows Chatfield's extraordinarydeepness and craft! He no doubt persuaded his associates that it wasbetter to have actual bullion where they were going, and tricked theminto believing that he'd actually put it aboard the _Pike_! If it hadn'tbeen that they examined the boxes which he put on the _Pike_ and foundthey contained lead or bricks, the old scoundrel would have collared thereal stuff for himself. "

"Take care that he doesn't collar it yet, " said Mrs. Greyle with a laughas she went into her own room. "Chatfield is resourceful enoughfor--anything. And--take care of yourselves!"

That was the second admonition to be careful, and Copplestone thought ofboth, as, an hour later, he, Gilling, Vickers and Spurge sped along thedesolate, wind-swept moorland on their way to the Reaver's Glen. It wasa typically North Country autumnal morning, cold, raw, rainy; the tops ofthe neighbouring hills were capped with dark clouds; sea-birds calleddismally across the heather; the sea, seen in glimpses through vistas offir and pine, looked angry and threatening. 

"A fit morning for a do of this sort!" exclaimed Gilling suddenly. "Is itpretty bare and bleak at this tower of yours, Spurge?"

"You'll be warm enough, guv'nor, where I shall put you, " answered Spurge. "One as has knocked about these woods and moors as much as I've had toknows as many places to hide his nose in as a fox does! I'll put you bythat tower where you'll be snug enough, and warm enough, too--and wherenobody'll see you neither. And here's High Nick and out we get. "

Leaving the car in a deep cutting of the hills and instructing the driverto await the return of one or other of them at a wayside farmstead a mileback, the three adventurers followed Spurge into the wood which led tothe top of the Beaver's Glen. The poacher guided them onward by narrowand winding tracks through the undergrowth for a good half-mile; then heled them through thickets in which there was no paths at all; finally, after a gradual and cautious advance behind a high hedge of denseevergreen, he halted them at a corner of the wood and motioned them tolook out through a loosely-laced network of branches. 

"Here we are!" he whispered. "Tower--Reaver's Glen--sea in the distance. Lone spot, ain't it, gentlemen?"

Copplestone and Gilling, who had never seen this part of the coastbefore, looked out on the scene with lively interest. It was certainly aprospect of romance and of wild, almost savage beauty on which theygazed. Immediately in front of them, at a distance of twenty to thirtyyards, stood the old peel tower, a solid square mass of grey stone, intact as to its base and its middle stories, ruinous and crumbling fromthence to what was left of its battlements and the turret tower at oneangle. The fallen stone lay in irregular heaps on the ground at its foot;all around it were clumps of furze and bramble. From the level plateau onwhich it stood the Glen fell away in horseshoe formation graduallynarrowing and descending until it terminated in a thick covert of fir andpine that ran down to the land end of the cove of which Spurge had toldthem. And beyond that stretched the wide expanse of sea, with here andthere a red-sailed fishing boat tossing restlessly on the white-cappedwaves, and over that and the land was a chill silence, broken only by theoccasional cry of the sea-birds and the bleating of the mountain sheep. 

"A lone spot indeed!" said Gilling in a whisper. "Spurge, where is thatstuff hidden?"

"Other side of the tower--in an angle of the old courtyard, " repliedSpurge, "Can't see the spot from here. "

"And where's that road you told us about?" asked Copplestone. "Themoor road?"

"Top o' the bank yonder--beyond the tower, " said Spurge. "Runs roundyonder corner o' this wood and goes right round it to High Nick, wherewe've cut across from. Hush now, all of you, gentlemen--I'm going tosignal Jim. "

Screwing up his mobile face into a strange contortion, Spurge emittedfrom his puckered lips a queer cry--a cry as of some trapped animal--soshrill and realistic that his hearers started. 

"What on earth's that represent?" asked Gilling. "It's blood-curdling?"

"Hare, with a stoat's teeth in its neck, " answered Spurge. "H'sh--I'llcall him again. "

No answer came to the first nor to the second summons--after a third, equally unproductive, Spurge looked at his companions with a scared face. 

"That's a queer thing, guv'nors!" he muttered. "Can't believe as how ourJim 'ud ever desert a post. He promised me faithfully as how he'd stickhere like grim death until I came back. I hope he ain't had a fit, noraught o' that sort--he ain't a strong chap at the best o' times, and--"

"You'd better take a careful look round, Spurge, " said Vickers. "Here--shall I come with you?"

But Spurge waved a hand to them to stay where they were. He himself creptalong the back of the hedge until he came to a point opposite the nearestangle of the tower. And suddenly he gave a great cry--human enough thistime!--and the three young men rushing forward found him standing by thebody of a roughly-clad man in whom Copplestone recognized the one-eyedodd-job man of the "Admiral's Arms. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE FOOTPRINTS

The man was lying face downwards in the grass and weeds which clusteredthickly at the foot of the hedgerow, and on the line of rough, weatherbeaten neck which showed between his fur cap and his turned-upcollar there was a patch of dried blood. Very still and apparentlylifeless he looked, but Vickers suddenly bent down, laid strong hands onhim and turned him over. 

"He's not dead!" he exclaimed. "Only unconscious from a crack on hisskull. Gilling!--where's that brandy you brought?--hand me the flask. "

Zachary Spurge watched in silence as Vickers and Gilling busiedthemselves in reviving the stricken man. Then he quickly pulledCopplestone's sleeve and motioned him away from the group. 

"Guv'nor!" he muttered. "There's been foul play here--and all along ofthem nine boxes--that I'll warrant. Look you here, guv'nor--Jim's beendragged to where we found him--dragged through this here gap in the hedgeand flung where he's lying. See--there's the plain marks, all through thegrass and stuff. Come on, guv'nor--let's see where they lead. "

The marks of a heavy, inanimate body having been dragged through the wetgrass were evidence enough, and Copplestone and Spurge followed them to acorner of the old tower where they ceased. Spurge glanced round thatcorner and uttered a sharp exclamation. 

"Just what I expected!" he said. "Leastways, what I expected as soon as Isee Jim a-lying there. Guv'nor, the stuff's gone!"

He drew Copplestone after him and pointed to a corner of the weed-growncourtyard where a cavity had been made in the mass of fallen masonry andthe stones taken from it lay about just as they had been displaced andthrown aside. 

"That's where the nine boxes were, " he continued. "Well, there ain't oneof 'em there now! Naught but the hole where they was! Well--this must ha'been during the early morning--after I left Jim to go into Norcaster. Andof course him as put the stuff there must be him as fetched itaway--Chatfield. Let's see if there's footmarks about, guv'nor. "

"Wait a bit, " said Copplestone. "We must be careful about that. Movewarily. We 'd better do it systematically. There'd have to be some sortof a trap, a vehicle, to carry away those chests. Where's the nearestpoint of that road you spoke of?"

"Up there, " replied Spurge, pointing to a flanking bank of heather. "Butthey--or him--wasn't forced to come that way, guv'nor. He--or them--couldcome up from that cove down yonder. It wouldn't surprise me if that thereyacht--the _Pike_, you know--had turned on her tracks and come in hereduring the night. It's not more than a mile from this tower down to theshore, and--"

At that moment Vickers called to them, and they went back to find JimSpurge slowly opening his eyes and looking round him with consciousnessof his company. His one eye lightened a little as he caught sight ofZachary, and the poacher bent down to him. 

"Jim, old man!" he said soothingly. "How are yer, Jim? Yer been hit bysomebody. Who was it, Jim?"

"Give him a drop more brandy and lift him up a bit, " counselled Gilling. "He's improving. "

But it needed more than a mere drop of brandy, more than cousinly wordsof adjuration, to bring the wounded man back to a state of speech. Andwhen at last he managed to make a feeble response, it was only to muttersome incoherent and disjointed sentences about and being struck down frombehind--after which he again relapsed into semi-unconsciousness. 

"That's it guv'nor, " muttered Spurge, nudging Copplestone. "That's theticket! Struck down from behind--that's what happened to him. Unawares, so to speak, I can reckon of it up--easy. They comes in thedarkness--after I'd left him here. He hears of 'em, as he says, a-moving about. Then he no doubt Starts moving about--watching 'em, asfar as he can see. Then one of 'em gives him this crack on theskull--life-preserver if you ask me--and down he goes! And then--theydrag him in here and leaves him. Don't care whether he's a goner ornot--not they! Well, an' what does it prove? That there's been morethan one of 'em, guv'nor. And in my opinion, where they've come fromis--down there!"

He pointed down the glen in the direction of the sea, and the threeyoung men who were considerably exercised by this sudden turn of eventsand the disappearance of the chests, looked after his out-stretched handand then at each other. 

"Well, we can't stand here doing nothing, " said Gilling at last. "Lookhere, we'd better divide forces. This chap'll have to be removed and gotto some hospital. Vickers!--I guess you're the quickest-footed of thelot--will you run back to High Nick and tell that chauffeur to bring hiscar round here? If Sir Cresswell and the police are there, tell themwhat's happened. Spurge--you go down the glen there, and see if you cansee anything of any suspicious-looking craft in that bay you told us of. Copplestone, we can't do any more for this man just now--let's lookround. This is a queer business, " he went on when they had all departed, and he and Copplestone were walking towards the tower. "The gold's gone, of course?"

"No sign of it here, anyway, " answered Copplestone, leading him into theruinous courtyard and pointing to the cavity in the fallen masonry. "That's where it was placed by Chatfield, according to Zachary Spurge. "

"And of course Chatfield's removed it during the night, " remarkedGilling. "That message which Sir Cresswell read us must have been allwrong--the _Pike's_ come south and she's been somewhere about--maybe beenin that cove at the end of the glen--though she'll have cleared out of ithours ago!" he concluded disappointedly. "We're too late!"

"That theory's not necessarily correct, " replied Copplestone. "SirCresswell's message may have been quite right. For all we know the folkson the Pike had confederates on shore. Go carefully, Gilling--let's seeif we can make out anything in the way of footprints. "

The ground in the courtyard was grassless, a flooring of grit and loosestone, on which no impression could well be made by human foot. ButCopplestone, carefully prospecting around and going a little way up thebank which lay between the tower and the moorland road, suddenly sawsomething in the black, peat-like earth which attracted his attention andhe called to his companion. 

"I say!" he exclaimed. "Look at this! There!--that's unmistakable enough. And fresh, too!"

Gilling bent down, looked, and stared at Copplestone with a questionin his eyes. 

"By Gad!" he said. "A woman!"

"And one who wears good and shapely footwear, too, " remarked Copplestone. "That's what you'd call a slender and elegant foot. Here it isagain--going up the bank. Come on!"

There were more traces of this wearer of elegant foot-gear on the softearth of the bank which ran between the moorland and the stone-strewncourtyard--more again on the edges of the road itself. There, too, wereplain signs that a motor-car of some sort had recently been pulled upopposite the tower--Gilling pointed to the indentations made by thestudded wheels and to droppings of oil and petrol on the gravelly soil. 

"That's evident enough, " he said. "Those chests have been fetched awayduring the night, by motor, and a woman's been in at it! Confederates, ofcourse. Now then, the next thing is, which way did that motor go with itscontents?"

They followed the tracks for a short distance along the road, until, coming to a place where it widened at a gateway leading into the wood, they saw that the car had there been backed and turned. Gilling carefullyexamined the marks. 

"That car came from Norcaster and it's gone back to Norcaster, " heaffirmed presently. "Look here!--they came up the hill at the side of thewood--here they backed the car towards that gate, and then ran itbackwards till they were abreast of the tower--then, when they'd loadedup with those chests they went straight off by the way they'd come. Lookat the tracks--plain enough. "

"Then we'd better get down towards Norcaster ourselves, " saidCopplestone. "Call Spurge back--he'll find nothing in that cove. This jobhas been done from land. And we ought to be on the track of thesepeople--they've had several hours start already. "

By this time Zachary Spurge had been recalled, Vickers had brought thecar round from High Nick, and the injured man was carefully lifted intoit and driven away. But at High Nick itself they met another car, hurrying up from Norcaster, and bringing Sir Cresswell Oliver and threeother men who bore the unmistakable stamp of the police force. In one ofthem Copplestone recognized the inspector from Scarhaven. 

The two cars met and stopped alongside each other, and Sir Cresswell, with one sharp glance at the rough bandage which Vickers had fastenedround Jim Spurge's head, rapped out a question. 

"Gone!" replied Gilling, with equal brusqueness. "Came in a motor, duringthe night, soon after Zachary Spurge left Jim. They hit him pretty hardover his head and left him unconscious. Of course they've carried off theboxes. Car appears to have gone to Norcaster. Hadn't you better turn?"

Sir Cresswell pointed to the Scarhaven police inspector. 

"Here's news from Scarhaven, " he said, bending forward to the other car, "The inspector's just brought it. The Squire--whoever he was--is dead. They found his body this morning, lying at the foot of a cliff near theKeep. Foul play?--that's what you don't know, eh, inspector?"

"Can't say at all, sir, " answered the inspector. "He might have beenthrown down, he might have fallen down--it's a bad place. Anyway, whatthe doctor said, just before I hurried in here to tell Mrs. Greyle, asthe next relative that we know of, is that he'd been dead some days--thebody, you see, was lying in a thicket at the foot of the cliff. "

"Some days!" exclaimed Copplestone, with a look at Gilling. "Days?"

"Four or five days at least, sir, " replied the inspector. "So the doctorthinks. The place is a cliff between the high road from Northborough andthe house itself. There's a short cut across the park to the house fromthat road. It looks as if--"

"Ah!" interrupted Gilling. "It's clear how that happened, then. He tookthat short cut, when he came from Northborough that night! But--if he'sdead, who's engineering all this? There's the fact, those chests of goldhave been removed from that old tower since Zachary Spurge left hiscousin in charge there early this morning. Everything looks as if they'dbeen carried to Norcaster. Therefore--"

"Turn this car round, " commanded Sir Cresswell. "Of course, we must getback to Norcaster. But what's to be done there?"

The two cars went scurrying back to the old shipping town. When atlast they had 'deposited the injured man at a neighbouring hospitaland came to a stop near the "Angel, " Zachary Spurge pulledCopplestone's sleeve, and with a look full of significance, motionedhim aside to a quiet place. 

CHAPTER XXIX

SCARVELL'S CUT

The quiet place was a narrow alley, which opening out of the MarketSquare in which the car had come to a halt, suddenly twisted away into alabyrinth of ancient buildings that lay between the centre of the townand the river. Not until Spurge had conducted Copplestone quite away fromtheir late companions did he turn and speak; when he spoke his words wereaccompanied by a glance which suggested mystery as well as confidence. 

"Guv'nor!" he said. "What's going to be done?"

"Have you pulled me down here to ask that?" exclaimed Copplestone, alittle impatiently. "Good heavens, man, with all these complicationsarising--the gold gone, the Squire dead--why, there'll have to be apretty deep consultation, of course. We'd better get back to it. "

But Spurge shook his head. 

"Not me, guv'nor!" he said resolutely. "I ain't no opinion o'consultations with lawyers and policemen--plain clothes or otherwise. They ain't no mortal good whatever, guv'nor, when it comes to horsesense! 'Cause why? 'Tain't their fault--it's the system. They can'tdo nothing, start nothing, suggest nothing!--they can only do thingsin the official, cut-and-dried, red-tape way, Guv'nor--you and mecan do better. "

"Well?" asked Copplestone. 

"Listen!" continued Spurge. "There ain't no doubt that that gold wascarried off early this morning--must ha' been between the time I left Jimand sun-up, 'cause they'd want to do the job in darkness. Ain't noreasonable doubt, neither, that the motor-car what they used came hereinto Norcaster. Now, guv'nor, I ask you--where is it possible they'd makefor? Not a railway station, 'cause them boxes 'ud be conspicuous and easytraced when inquiry was made. And yet they'd want to get 'em away--assoon as possible. Very well--what's the other way o' getting any stuffout o' Norcaster? What? Why--that!"

He jerked his thumb in the direction of a patch of grey water which shonedully at the end of the alley and while his thumb jerked his eye winked. 

"The river!" he went on. "The river, guv'nor! Don't this here river, running into the free and bounding ocean six miles away, offer the bestchance? What we want to do is to take a look round these here docks andquays and wharves--keeping our eyes open--and our ears as well. Come onwith me, guv'nor--I know places all along this riverside where you couldhide the Bank of England till it was wanted--so to speak. "

"But the others?" suggested Copplestone. "Hadn't we better fetch them?"

"No!" retorted Spurge, assertively. "Two on us is enough. You trust tome, guv'nor--I'll find out something. I know these docks--and all that'salongside 'em. I'd do the job myself, now--but it'll be better to havesomebody along of me, in case we want a message sending for help oranything of that nature. Come on--and if I don't find out before noon ifthere's any queer craft gone out o' this since morning--why, then, Iain't what I believe myself to be. "

Copplestone, who had considerable faith in the poacher's shrewdness, allowed himself to be led into the lowest part of the town--low in morethan one sense of the word. Norcaster itself, as regards its ancientand time-hallowed portions, its church, its castle, its officialbuildings and highly-respectable houses, stood on the top of a lowhill; its docks and wharves and the mean streets which intersected themhad been made on a stretch of marshland that lay between the foot ofthat hill and the river. And down there was the smell of tar and ofmerchandise, and narrow alleys full of sea-going men and raucous-voicedwomen, and queer nooks and corners, and ships being laden and shipsbeing stripped of their cargoes and such noise and confusion andinextricable mingling and elbowing that Copplestone thought it was aslikely to find a needle in a haystack as to make anything out relatingto the quest they were engaged in. 

But Zachary Spurge, leading him in and out of the throngs on the wharves, now taking a look into a dock, now inspecting a quay, now stopping toexchange a word or two with taciturn gentlemen who sucked their pipes atthe corners of narrow streets, now going into shady-looking public housesby one door and coming out at another, seemed to be remarkably wellsatisfied with his doings and kept remarking to his companion that theywould hear something yet. Nevertheless, by noon they had heard nothing, and Copplestone, who considered casual search of this sort utterlypurposeless, announced that he was going to more savoury neighborhoods. 

"Give it another turn, guv'nor, " urged Spurge. "Have a bit o' faith inme, now! You see, guv'nor, I've an idea, a theory, as you might term it, of my very own, only time's too short to go into details, like. Trust mea bit longer, guv'nor--there's a spot or two down here that I'm fairkeen on taking a look at--come on, guv'nor, once more!--this isScarvell's Cut. "

He drew his unwilling companion round a corner of the wharf which theywere just then patrolling and showed him a narrow creek which, hemmed inby ancient buildings, some of them half-ruinous, sail-lofts, and shedsfull of odds and ends of merchandise, cut into the land at an irregularangle and was at that moment affording harbourage to a mass of smallvessels, just then lying high and dry on the banks from which the tidehad retreated. Along the side of this creek there was just as muchcrowding and confusion as on the wider quays; men were going in and outof the sheds and lofts; men were busy about the sides of the small craft. And again the feeling of uselessness came over Copplestone. 

"What's the good of all this, Spurge!" he exclaimed testily. "You'llnever--"

Spurge suddenly laid a grip on his companion's elbow and twisted himaside into a narrow entry between the sheds. 

"That's the good!" he answered in an exulting voice. "Look there, guv'nor! Look at that North Sea tug--that one, lying out there! Whoseface is, now a-peeping out o' that hatch? Come, now?"

Copplestone looked in the direction which Spurge indicated. There, lyingmoored to the wharf, at a point exactly opposite a tumble-down sail-loft, was one of those strongly-built tugs which ply between the fishing fleetsand the ports. It was an eminently business-looking craft, rakish for itsclass, and it bore marks of much recent sea usage. But Copplestone gaveno more than a passing glance at it--what attracted and fascinated hiseyes was the face of a man who had come up from her depths and waslooking out of a hatchway on the top deck--looking expectantly at thesail-loft. There was grime and oil on that face, and the neck whichsupported the unkempt head rose out of a rough jersey, but Copplestonerecognized his man smartly enough. In spite of the attempt to look like atug deck-hand there was no mistaking the skipper of the _Pike_. 

"Good heavens!" he muttered, as he stared across the crowded quay. "Andrius!"

"Right you are, guv'nor, " whispered Spurge. "It's that very same, and nomistake! And now you'll perhaps see how I put things together, like. Nodoubt those folk as sent Sir Cresswell that message did see the _Pike_going east last evening--just so, but there wasn't no reason, consideringwhat that chap and his lot had at stake why they shouldn't put him andone or two more, very likely, on one of the many tugs that's to be metwith out there off the fishing grounds. What I conclude they did, guv'nor, was to charter one o' them tugs and run her in here. And Iexpect they've got the stuff on board her, now, and when the tide comesup, out they'll go, and be off into the free and open again, to pick the_Pike_ up somewhere 'twixt here and the Dogger Bank. Ah!--smart 'uns theyare, no doubt. But--we've got 'em!"

"Not yet, " said Copplestone. "What are we to do. Better go back and gethelp, eh?"

He was keenly watching Andrius, and as the skipper of the _Pike_ suddenlymoved, he drew Spurge further into the alley. 

"He's coming out of that hatchway!" whispered Copplestone. "If he comesashore he'll see us, and then--"

"No matter, guv'nor, " said Spurge reassuringly. "They can't get out o'Scarvell's Cut into the river till the tide serves. Yes, that's Cap'nAndrius right enough--and he's coming ashore. "

Andrius had by that time drawn himself out of the hatchway and nowrevealed himself in the jersey, the thick leg-wear, and short sea-bootsof an oceangoing man. Copplestone's recollection of him as he showedhimself on board the _Pike_ was of a very smartly attired, ratherdandified person--only some deep scheme, he knew, would have caused himto assume this disguise, and he watched him with interest as he rolledashore and disappeared within the lower story of the sail-loft. Spurge, too, watched with all his eyes, and he turned to Copplestone with a gleamof excitement. 

"Guv'nor!" he said. "We've trapped 'em beautiful! I know that place--I'veworked in there in my time. I know a way into it, from the back--we'llget in that way and see what's being done. 'Tain't worked no longer, thatsail-loft--it's all falling to pieces. But first--help!"

"How are we to get that?" asked Copplestone, eagerly. 

"I'll go it, " replied Spurge. "I know a man just aback of here that'llrun up to the town with a message--chap that can be trusted, sure andfaithful. 'Bide here five minutes, sir--I'll send a message to Mr. Vickers--this chap'll know him and'll find him. He can come down with therest--and the police, too, if he likes. Keep your eyes skinned, guv'nor. "

He twisted away like an eel into the crowd of workers and idlers, andleft Copplestone at the entrance to the alley, watching. And he had notbeen so left more than a couple of minutes when a woman slipped past themouth of the alley, swiftly, quietly, looking neither to right nor left, of whose veiled head and face he caught one glance. And in that glance herecognized her--Addie Chatfield!

But in the moment of that glance Copplestone also recognized somethingvastly more important. Here was the explanation of the mystery of theearly-morning doings at the old tower. The footprints of a woman who worefashionable and elegant boots? Addie Chatfield, of course! Was she notold Peter's daughter, a chip of the old block, even though a femininechip? And did not he and Gilling know that she had been mixed up withPeter at the Bristol affair? Great Scott!--why, of course. Addie was anaccomplice in all these things!

If Copplestone had the least shadow of doubt remaining in his mind as tothis conclusion, it was utterly dissipated when, peering cautiously roundthe corner of his hiding-place, he saw Addie disappear within the oldsail-loft into which Andrius had betaken himself. Of course, she had goneto join her fellow-conspirators. He began to fume and fret, cursinghimself for allowing Spurge to bring him down there alone--if only theyhad had Gilling and Vickers with them, armed as they were--

"All right, guv'nor!" Spurge suddenly whispered at his shoulder. "They'llbe here in a quarter of an hour--I telephoned to 'em. "

"Do you know what?" exclaimed Copplestone, excitedly. "Old Chatfield'sdaughter's gone in there, where Andrius went. Just now!"

"What--the play-actress!" said Spurge. "You don't say, guv'nor? Ha!--thatexplains everything--that's the missing link! Ha! But we'll soon knowwhat they're after, Mr. Copplestone. Follow me--quiet as a mouse. "

Once more submitting to be led, Copplestone followed his queer guidealong the alley. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE GREENGROCER'S CART

Spurge led Copplestone a little way up the narrow alley from the mouth ofwhich they had observed the recent proceedings, suddenly turned off intoa still narrower passage, and emerged at the rear of an ancient buildingof wood and stones which looked as if a stout shove or a strong windwould bring it down in dust and ruin. 

"Back o' that old sail-loft what looks out on this cut, " he whispered, glancing over his shoulder at Copplestone. "Now, guv'nor, we're going inhere. As I said before, I've worked in this place--did a spell here whenI was once lying low for a month or two. I know every inch of it, and ifthat lot are under this roof I know where they'll be. "

"They'll show fight, you know, " remarked Copplestone. 

"Well, but ain't we got something to show fight with, too?" answeredSpurge, with a knowing wink. "I've got my revolver handy, what Mr. Vickers give me, and I reckon you can handle yours. However, it ain'tcome to no revolver yet. What I want is to see and hear, guv'nor--follow me. "

He had opened a ramshackle door in the rear of the premises as he spokeand he now beckoned his companion to follow him down a passage whichevidently led to the front. There was no more than a dim light within, but Copplestone could see that the whole place was falling to pieces. Andit was all wrapped in a dead silence. Away out on the quay was the rattleof chains, the creaking of a windlass, the voices of men and shrilllaughter of women, but in there no sound existed. And Spurge suddenlystopped his stealthy creeping forward and looked at Copplestonesuspiciously. 

"Queer, ain't it?" he whispered. "I don't hear a voice, nor yet the ghostof one! You'd think that if they was in here they'd be talking. But we'llsoon see. "

Clambering up a pile of fallen timber which lay in the passage andbeckoning Copplestone to follow his example, Spurge looked through abroken slat in the wooden partition into an open shed which fronted theCut. The shed was empty. Folk were passing to and fro in front of it; theNorth Sea tug still lay at the wharf beyond; a man who was evidently itsskipper sat on a tub on its deck placidly smoking his short pipe--but ofAddie Chatfield or of Andrius there was no sign. And the silence in thatcrumbling, rat-haunted house was deeper than ever. 

"Guv'nor!" muttered Spurge, "How long is it since you see--her?"

"Almost as soon as you'd gone, " answered Copplestone. 

"Ten minutes ago!" sighed Spurge. "Guv'nor--they've done us! They're off!I see it--she must ha' caught sight o' me, nosing round, and she camehere and gave the others the office, and they bucked out at the back. The back, Guv'nor! and Lord bless you, at the back o' this shanty there'sa perfect rabbit-warren o' places--more by token, they call it theWarren. If they've got in there, why, all the police in Norcaster'llnever find 'em--leastways, I mean, to speak truthful, not without a dealo' trouble. "

"What about upstairs?" asked Copplestone. 

"Upstairs, now?" said Spurge with a doubtful glance at the ramshacklestairway. "Lord, mister!--I don't believe nobody could get up themstairs! No--they've hooked it through the back here, into the Warren. Andonce in there--"

He ended with an eloquent gesture, and dismounting from his perch madehis way along the passage to a door which opened into the shed. Thence helooked out on the quay, and along the crowded maze of Scarvell's Cut. 

"Here's some of 'em, anyway, guv'nor, " he announced. "I see Mr. Vickersand t'other London gentleman, and the old Admiral, at all events. Therethey are--getting out of a motor at the end. But go to meet 'em, Mr. Copplestone, while I keep my eye on this here tug and its skipper. "

Copplestone elbowed his way through the crowd until he met Sir Cresswelland his two companions. All three were eager and excited: Copplestonecould only respond to their inquiries with a gloomy shake of the head. 

"We seem to have the devil's own luck!" he growled dismally. "Spurge andI spotted Andrius by sheer accident. He was on a North Sea tug, ortrawler, along the quay here. Then Spurge ran off to summon you. Whilehe was away Miss Chatfield appeared--"

"Addie Chatfield!" exclaimed Vickers. 

"Exactly. And that of course, " continued Copplestone, glancing atGilling, "that without doubt--in my opinion, anyway--explains thoseelegant footprints up at the tower. Addie Chatfield, I tell you! Shepassed me as I was hiding at the entrance to an alley down the Cut here, and she went into an old sail-loft, outside which the tug I spoke of ismoored, and into which Andrius had strolled a minute or two previously. But--neither she nor Andrius are there now. They've gone! And Spurge saysthat at the back of this quay there's a perfect rabbit-warren of courtsand alleys, and if--or, rather as they've escaped into that--eh?"

The detectives who had accompanied Sir Cresswell on the interruptedexpedition to the old tower and who had now followed him and hiscompanions in a second car and arrived in time to hear Copplestone'sstory, looked at each other. 

"That's right enough--comparatively speaking, " said one. "But if they'rein the Warren we shall get 'em out. The first thing to do, gentlemen, isto take a look at that tug. "

"Exactly!" exclaimed Sir Cresswell. "Just what I was thinking. Let usfind out what its people have to say. "

The man who smoked his pipe in placid contentment on the deck of the tuglooked up in astonishment as the posse of eight crossed the plank whichconnected him with the quay. Nevertheless he preserved an undauntedfront, kept his pipe in his tightly closed lips, and cocked a defiant eyeat everybody. 

"Skipper o' this craft?" asked the principal detective laconically. "Right? Where are you from, then, and when did you come in here?"

The skipper removed his pipe and spat over the rail. He put the pipeback, folded his arms and glared. 

"And what the dickens may that be to do with you?" he inquired. "And whomay you be to walk aboard my vessel without leave?"

"None of that, now!" said the detective. "Come on--we're police officers. There's something wrong round here. We've got warrants for two men thatwe believe to have been on your tug--one of 'em was seen here not so manyminutes ago. You'd far better tell us what you know. If you don't tellnow, you'll have to tell later. And--I expect you've been paid already. Come on--out with it!"

The skipper, whose gnarled countenance had undergone several changesduring this address, smote one red fist on top of the other. 

"Darned if I don't know as there was something on the crook in this hereaffair!" he said, almost cheerily. "Well, well--but I ain't got nothingto do with it. Warrants?--you say? Ah! And what might be the partiklar'natur' o' them warrants?"

"Murder!" answered the detective. "That's one charge, anyhow--for one of'em, at any rate. There's others. "

"Murder's enough, " responded the skipper. "Well, of course, nobody cantell a man to be a murderer by merely looking at his mug. Not atall!--nobody! However, this here is how it is. Last night itwere--evening, to be c'rect--dark. I was on the edge o' the fleet, outthere off the Dogger. A yacht comes up--smart 'un--very fast sailer--andhails me. Was I going into Norcaster or anywheres about? Being aNorthborough tug, this, I wasn't. Would I go for a consideration--thenand there? Whereupon I asked what consideration? Then we bargains. Eventual, we struck it at thirty pounds--cash down, which was paid, prompt. I was to take two men straight and slick into Norcaster, to thishere very slip, Scarvell's Cut, to wait while they put a bit of a cargoon board, and then to run 'em back to the same spot where I took 'em up. Done! they come aboard--the yacht goes off east--I come careenin' west. That's all! That part of it anyway. "

"And the men?" suggested the detective. "What sort were they, and whereare they?"

"The men, now!" said the skipper. "Ah! Two on 'em--both done up in whatyou might call deep-sea-style. But hadn't never done no deep-sea nor yetany other sort o' sea work in their mortial days--hands as white and softas a lady's. One, an old chap with a dial like a full moon on him--slyold chap, him! T'other a younger man, looked as if he'd something abouthim--dangerous chap to cross. Where are they? Darned if I know. What Iknows, certain, is this--we gets in here about eight o'clock thismorning, and makes fast here, and ever since then them two's been as itwere on the fret and the fidge, allers lookin' out, so to speak, forsummun as ain't come yet. The old chap, he went across into that theresail-maker's loft an hour ago, and t'other, he followed of him, recent. Iain't seen 'em since. Try there. And I say?"

"Well?" asked the detective. 

"Shall I be wanted?" asked the skipper. "'Cause if not, I'm off and awayas soon as the tide serves. Ain't no good me waitin' here for them chapsif you're goin' to take and hang 'em!"

"Got to catch 'em first, " said the detective, with a glance at his twoprofessional companions. "And while we're not doubting your word at all, we'll just take a look round your vessel--they might have slipped onboard again, you see, while your back was turned. "

But there was no sign of Peter Chatfield, nor of his daughter, nor of thecaptain of the _Pike_ on that tug, nor anywhere in the sailmaker's loftand its purlieus. And presently the detectives looked at one another andtheir leader turned to Sir Cresswell. 

"If these people--as seems certain--have escaped into this quarter of thetown, " he said, "there'll have to be a regular hunt for them! I've knowna man who was badly wanted stow himself away here for weeks. If Chatfieldhas accomplices down here in the Warren, he can hide himself andwhoever's with him for a long time--successfully. We'll have to get a lotof men to work. "

"But I say!" exclaimed Gilling. "You don't mean to tell me that threepeople--one a woman--could get away through these courts and alleys, packed as they are, without being seen? Come now!"

The detectives smiled indulgently. 

"You don't know these folks, " said one of them, inclining his headtowards a squalid street at the end of which they had all gathered. "Butthey know _us_. It's a point of honour with them never to tell the truthto a policeman or a detective. If they saw those three, they'd neveradmit it to us--until it's made worth their while. "

"Get it made worth their while, then!" exclaimed Gilling, impatiently. 

"All in due course, sir, " said the official voice. "Leave it to us. "

The amateur searchers after the iniquitous recognized the futility oftheir own endeavours in that moment, and went away to discuss mattersamongst themselves, while the detectives proceeded leisurely, after theirfashion, into the Warren as if they were out for a quiet constitutionalin its salubrious byways. And Sir Cresswell Oliver remarked on thedifficulty of knowing exactly what to do once you had red-tape on oneside and unusual craftiness on the other. 

"You think there's no doubt that gold was removed this morning byChatfield's daughter?" he said to Copplestone as they went back to thecentre of the town together, Gilling and Vickers having turned asideelsewhere and Spurge gone to the hospital to ask for news of his cousin. "You think she was the woman whose footprints you saw up there at theBeaver's Glen?"

"Seeing that she's here in Norcaster and in touch with those two, whatelse can I think?" replied Copplestone. "It seems to me that they got intouch with her by wireless and that she removed the gold in readiness forher father and Andrius coming in here by that North Sea tug. If we couldonly find out where she's put those boxes, or where she got the car fromin which she brought it down from the tower--"

"Vickers has already started some inquiries about cars, " said SirCresswell. "She must have hired a car somewhere in the town. Certainly, if we could hear of that gold we should be in the way of getting ontheir track. "

But they heard nothing of gold or of fugitives or of what the police anddetectives were doing until the middle of the afternoon. And then Mr. Elkin, the manager of the bank from which Chatfield had withdrawn theestate and the private balance, came hurrying to the "Angel" and to Mrs. Greyle, his usually rubicund face pale with emotion, his hand waving ascrap of crumpled paper. Mrs. Greyle and Audrey were at that moment inconsultation with Sir Cresswell Oliver and Copplestone--the bank managerburst in on them without ceremony. 

"I say, I say!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Will you believe it!--thegold's come back! It's all safe--every penny. Bless me!--I scarcely knowwhether I'm dreaming or not. But--we've got it!"

"What's all this?" demanded Sir Cresswell. "You've got--that gold?"

"Less than an hour ago, " replied the bank manager, dropping into a chairand slapping his hand on his knees in his excitement, "a man who turnedout to be a greengrocer came with his cart to the bank and said he'd beensent with nine boxes for delivery to us. Asked who had sent him hereplied that early this morning a lady whom he didn't know had asked himto put the boxes in his shed until she called for them--she brought themin a motor-car. This afternoon she called again at two o'clock, paid himfor the storage and for what he was to do, and instructed him to put theboxes on his cart and bring them to us. Which, " continued Mr. Elkin, gleefully rubbing his hands together, "he did! With--this! And that, mydear ladies and good gentlemen, is the most extraordinary document which, in all my forty years' experience of banking matters, I have ever seen!"

He laid a dirty, crumpled half-sheet of cheap note-paper on the table atwhich they were all sitting, and Copplestone, bending over it, read aloudwhat was there written. 

"MR. ELKIN--Please place the contents of the nine cases sent herewith tothe credit of the Greyle Estate. 

"PETER CHATFIELD, Agent. "

Amidst a chorus of exclamations Sir Cresswell asked a sharp question. 

"Is that really Chatfield's signature?"

"Oh, undoubtedly!" replied Mr. Elkin. "Not a doubt of it. Of course, assoon as I saw it, I closely questioned the greengrocer. But he knewnothing. He said the lady was what he called wrapped up about herface--veiled, of course--on both her visits, and that as soon as she'dseen him set off with his load of boxes she disappeared. He lives, thisgreengrocer, on the edge of the town--I've got his address. But I'm surehe knows no more. "

"And the cases have been examined?" asked Copplestone. 

"Every one, my dear sir, " answered the bank manager with a satisfiedsmirk. "Every penny is there! Glorious!"

"This is most extraordinary!" said Sir Cresswell. "What on earth does itall mean? If we could only trace that woman from the greengrocer'splace--"

But nothing came of an attempt to carry out this proposal, and no newsarrived from the police, and the evening had grown far advanced, and Mrs. Greyle and Audrey, with Sir Cresswell, Mr. Petherton and Vickers, Copplestone, and Gilling, were all in a private parlour together at alate hour, when the door suddenly opened and a woman entered, who threwback a heavy veil and revealed herself as Addie Chatfield. 

CHAPTER XXXI

AMBASSADRESS EXTRAORDINARY

If Copplestone had never seen Addie Chatfield before, if he had not knownthat she was an actress of some acknowledged ability, her entrance intothat suddenly silent room would have convinced him that here was a womanwhom nature had undoubtedly gifted with the dramatic instinct. Addie'spresentation of herself to the small and select audience was eminentlydramatic, without being theatrical. She filled the stage. It was as ifthe lights had suddenly gone down in the auditorium and up in theproscenium, as if a hush fell, as if every ear opened wide to catch afirst accent. And Addie's first accents were soft and liquid--andaccompanied by a smile which was calculated to soften the seven heartswhich had begun to beat a little quicker at her coming. With the smileand the soft accent came a highly successful attempt at a shy and modestblush which mounted to her cheek as she moved towards the centre tableand bowed to the startled and inquisitive eyes. 

"I have come to ask--mercy!"

There was a faint sigh of surprise from somebody. Sir Cresswell Oliver, only realizing that a pretty woman, had entered the room, made haste toplace a chair for her. But before Addie could respond to hisold-fashioned bow, Mr. Petherton was on his legs. 

"Er!--I take it that this is the young wom--the Miss Chatfield of whomwe have had occasion to speak a good deal today, " he said very stiffly. "I think, Sir Cresswell--eh?"

"Yes, " said Sir Cresswell, glancing from the visitor to the old lawyer. "You think, Petherton--yes?"

"The situation is decidedly unpleasant, " said Mr. Petherton, more icilythan ever. "Mr. Vickers will agree with me that it is mostunpleasant--and very unusual. The fact is--the police are now searchingfor this--er, young lady. "

"But I am here!" exclaimed Addie. "Doesn't that show that I'm not afraidof the police. I came of my own free will--to explain. And--to ask youall to be merciful. "

"To whom?" demanded Mr. Petherton. 

"Well--to my father, if you want to know, " replied Addie, with anothersoftening glance. "Come now, all of you, what's the good of being so downon an old man who, after all hasn't got so very long to live? There aretwo of you here who are getting on, you know--it doesn't become old mento be so hard. Good doctrine, that, anyway--isn't it, Sir Cresswell?"

Sir Cresswell turned away, obviously disconcerted; when he looked roundagain, he avoided the eyes of the young men and glanced a littlesheepishly at Mr. Petherton. 

"It seems to me, Petherton, " he said, "that we ought to hear what MissChatfield has to say. Evidently she comes to tell us--of her own freewill--something. I should like to know what that something is. I thinkMrs. Greyle would like to know, too. "

"Decidedly!" exclaimed Mrs. Greyle, who was watching the central figurewith great curiosity. "I should indeed, like to know--especially if MissChatfield proposes to tell us something about her father. "

Mr. Petherton, who frowned very much and appeared to be greatly disturbedby these irregularities, twisted sharply round on the visitor. 

"Where is your father?" he demanded. 

"Where you can't find him!" retorted Addie, with a flash of the eye thatlit up her whole face. "So's Andrius. They're off, my good sir!--both of'em. Neither you nor the police can lay hands on 'em now. And you'll dono good by laying hands on me. Come now, " she went on, "I said I'd cometo ask for mercy. But I came for more. This game's all over! It's--up. The curtain's down--at least it's going down. Why don't you let me tellyou all about it and then we can be friends?"

Mr. Petherton gazed at Addie for a moment as if she were someextraordinary specimen of a new race. Then he took off his glasses, wavedthem at Sir Cresswell and dropped into a chair with a snort. 

"I wash my hands of the whole thing!" he exclaimed. "Do what youlike--all of you. Irregular--most irregular!"

Vickers gave Addie a sly look. 

"Don't incriminate yourself, Miss Chatfield, " he said. "There's no needfor you to tell anything against yourself, you know. "

"Me!" exclaimed Addie. "Why, I've been playing good angel all daylong--me incriminate myself, indeed! If Miss Greyle there only knew whatI'd done for her!--look here, " she continued, suddenly turning to SirCresswell. "I've come to tell all about it. And first of all--every pennyof that money that my father drew from the bank has been restored thisafternoon. "

"We know that, " said Sir Cresswell. 

"Well, that was me!--I engineered that, " continued Addie. "Andsecond--the _Pike_ will be back at Scarhaven during the night, to unloadeverything that was being carried away. My doing, again! Because, I'm nofool, and I know when a game's up. "

"So--there was a game?" suggested Vickers. 

Addie leaned forward from the chair which Sir Cresswell had given her atthe end of the table and planting her elbows on the table edge began tocheck off her points on the tips of her slender fingers. She was wellaware that she had the stage to herself by that time and she showed herconsciousness of it. 

"You have it, " she answered. "There was a game--and perhaps I know moreof it than anybody. I'll tell now. It began at Bristol. I was playingthere. One morning my father fetched me out from rehearsal to tell methat he'd been down to Falmouth to meet the new Squire of Scarhaven, Marston Greyle, and that he found him so ill that they'd had to go to adoctor, who forbade Greyle to travel far at a time. They'd got toBristol--there, Greyle was so much worse that my father didn't know whatto do with him. He knew that I was in the town, so he came to me. I gotGreyle a quiet room at my lodgings. A doctor saw him--he said he was verybad, but he didn't say that he was in immediate danger. However, he diedthat very night. "

Addie paused for a moment, and Copplestone and Gilling exchanged glances. So far, this was all known to them--but what was coming?

"Now, I was alone with Greyle for awhile that evening, " continued Addie. "It was while my father was getting some food downstairs. Greyle said tome that he knew he was dying, and he gave me a pocket-book in which hesaid all his papers were: he said I could give it to my father. I believehe became unconscious soon after that; anyway, he never mentioned thatpocket-book to my father. Neither did I. But after Greyle was dead Iexamined its contents carefully. And when I was in London at the end ofthe week, I showed them to--my husband. "

Addie again paused, and at least two of the men glanced at each otherwith a look of surmise. Her--husband! "Who the--"

"The fact is, " she went on suddenly, "Captain Andrius is my husband. Butnobody knew that--not even my own father. We've been married threeyears--I met him when I was crossing over to America once. We gotmarried--we kept the marriage secret for reasons of our own. Well, he metme in London the Sunday after Greyle's death, and I showed him thepapers which were in Greyle's pocket-book. And--now this, of course, waswhere it was very wicked in me--and him--though we've tried to make upfor it today, anyhow--we fixed up what I suppose you two gentlemen wouldcall a conspiracy. My husband had a brother, an actor--not up to much, nor of much experience--who had been brought up in the States and who wasthen in town, doing nothing. We took him into confidence, coached him upin everything, furnished him with all the papers in the pocket-book, andresolved to pass him off as the real Marston Greyle. "

Mr. Petherton stirred angrily in his chair and turned a protesting faceon Sir Cresswell. 

"Apart from being irregular, " he exclaimed, "this is altogetheroutrageous! This woman is openly boasting of conspiracy and--"

"You're wrong!" said Addie. "I'm not boasting--I'm explaining. You oughtto be obliged to me. And--"

"If Mrs. Andrius--to give the lady her real name--cares to unburden hersecrets to us, I really don't see why we shouldn't listen to them, Mr. Petherton, " observed Vickers. "It simplifies matters greatly. "

"That's what I say, " agreed Addie. "I'm done with all this and I want toclear things up, whatever comes of it. Well--I say we fixed that up withmy brother-in-law. "

"His name--his real name, if you please, " inquired Vickers. 

"Oh--ah!--well, his real name was Martin Andrius, but he'd another namefor the stage, " replied Addie. "We gave him the papers and arranged forhim to go down to Scarhaven to my father. Now I want to assure you all, right here, that my father never did really know that Martin was animposter. He began to suspect something at the end, but he didn't knowfor a fact. Martin went down to him at Scarhaven, just a week after thereal Marston Greyle had died. He claimed to be Marston Greyle, heproduced his papers. My father told about the Marston Greyle he'dburied. Martin pooh-poohed that--he said that that man must be asecretary of his, Mark Grey, who, after stealing some documents had lefthim in New York and slipped across here, no doubt meaning to passhimself off as the real man until he could get something substantial outof the estate, when he'd have vanished. I tell you my father acceptedthat story--why? Because he knew that if Miss Greyle there came into theestate, she and her mother would have bundled Peter Chatfield out of hisstewardship quick. "

"Proceed, if you please, " said Sir Cresswell. "There are other detailsabout which I am anxious to hear. "

"Meaning about your own brother, " remarked Addie. "I'm coming to that. Well, on his story and on his production of those papers--birthcertificates, Greyle papers of their life in America and so on--everybodyaccepted Martin as the real man, and things seemed to go on smoothly tillthat Sunday when Bassett Oliver had the bad luck to go to Scarhaven. Andnow, Sir Cresswell, I'll tell you the plain and absolute truth aboutyour brother's death! It's the absolute truth, mind--nobody knows itbetter than I do. On that Sunday I was at Scarhaven. I wanted to speakprivately to Martin. I arranged to meet him in the grounds of the Keepduring the afternoon. I did meet him there. We hadn't been talking manyminutes when Bassett Oliver came in through the door in the wall, whichone of us had carelessly left open. He didn't see us. But we saw him. Andwe were afraid! Why? Because Bassett Oliver knew both of us. He'd metMartin several times, in London and in New York--and, of course, he knewthat Martin was no more Marston Greyle than he himself was. Well!--weboth shrank behind some shrubs that we were standing amongst, and we gaveeach other one look, and Martin went white as death. But Bassett Oliverwent on across the lawn, never seeing us, and he entered the turret towerand went up. Martin just said to me 'If Bassett Oliver sees me, there'san end to all this--what's to be done?' But before I could speak orthink, we saw Bassett at the top of the tower, making his way round theinside parapet. And suddenly--he disappeared!"

Addie's voice had become low and grave during the last few minutes andshe kept her eyes on the table at the end. But she looked up readilyenough when Sir Cresswell seized her arm and rapped out a question almostin her ear. 

"Is that the truth--the real truth?"

"It's the absolute truth!" she answered, regarding him steadily. "I'mnot altogether a good sort, nor a very bad sort, but I'm telling you thereal truth in that. It was a sheer accident--he stepped off the parapetand fell. Martin went into the base of the tower and came back saying hewas dead. We were both dazed--we separated. He went off to the house--Iwent to my father by a roundabout way. We decided to let things taketheir course. You all know a great deal of what happened. But--later--myhusband and Martin began to take certain things into their own hands. They put me on one side. To this minute, I don't quite know how much myfather got into their secrets or how little, but I do know that theydetermined to make what you might call a purse for themselves out ofScarhaven. Martin left certain powers in his brother's hands and wentoff to London. He was there, hidden, until Andrius got all ready for aflight on the _Pike_. Then he set off to Scarhaven, to join her. But hedidn't join her, and none of us knew what had become of him until today, when we heard of what had been found at Scarhaven. That explained it--hehad taken that short cut from the Northborough road through the woodsbehind the Keep, and fallen over the cliff at the Hermit's steps. Butthat very night, you, Mr. Vickers, and Mr. Copplestone and Miss Greyle, nearly stopped everything, and if Andrius and Chatfield hadn't carriedyou off, the scheme would have come to nothing. Well--you know whathappened after that--"

"But, " interjected Vickers, quickly, "not your share in the lastdevelopment. "

"My share's been to see that the thing was up, and that if I wanted tosave them all, I'd best put a stop to it, " rejoined Addie, with a grimsmile. "I tell you, I didn't know what they'd been up to until today. Iwas in England--never mind where--wondering what was going on. YesterdayI got a code message from my husband. When he fetched my father away fromyou, he forced him to tell where that gold was--then he wired to me--bywireless--full instructions to recover it during last night. I did--neveryou mind the exact means I took nor who it was that I got to help--I gotit--and I took good care to put it where I knew it would be safe. Thenthis morning I went to meet the two of them at Scarvell's Cut. And I tookthe upper hand then! I got them away from that sail-loft--safely. I mademy husband give me a code message for the man in charge of the _Pike_, telling him to return at once to Scarhaven; I made my father write a noteto Elkin at the bank, telling him to place the gold which I sent with itto the credit of the Greyle Estate. And when all that was done--I gotthem away--they're gone!"

Vickers, who had never taken his eyes off Addie during her lengthyexplanation, gave her a whimsical smile. 

"Safely?" he asked. 

"I'll defy the police to find 'em, anyway, " replied Addie with a quickresponse of lip and eye. "I don't do things by halves. I say--they'regone! But--I'm here. Come, now--I've made a clean breast of it all. Thething's over and done with. There's nothing to prevent Miss Greyle therecoming into her rights--I can prove 'em--my father can prove them. So--isit any use doing what that old gentleman's just worrying to do? You canall see what he wants--he's dying to hand me over to the police. "

Sir Cresswell Oliver rose, glanced at Audrey and her mother, receivedsome telepathic communication from them, and assumed his oldquarter-deck manner. 

"Not tonight, I think, Petherton, " he said authoritatively. "No--certainly not tonight!"

 * * * * *

Some months later, when Audrey Greyle had come into possession ofScarhaven, and had married Copplestone in the little church behind hermother's cottage, she and her husband, to satisfy a mutual andlong-cherished desire, visited a certain romantic and retired part of thecountry. And in the course of their wanderings they came across a verypretty village, and in it a charmingly situated retreat, which looked soattractive from the road along which they were walking that they haltedand peered at it through its trimly-kept boundary hedge. And there, seated in the easiest of chairs on the smoothest of lawns, roses abouthim, a cigar in his mouth, the newspaper in his hand, a glass at hiselbow, they saw Peter Chatfield. They looked at him for a long moment;then they looked at each other and smiled delightedly, as children mightsmile at a pleasure-giving picture, and they passed on in silence. Butwhen that village lay behind them, Copplestone gave his wife a slyglance, and permitted himself to make an epigram. 

"Chatfield!" he said musingly. "Chatfield! sublimely ungrateful that heisn't in Dartmoor. "

THE END