Scarhaven Keep

by J. S. Fletcher

  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 th
e 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.