Scarhaven Keep

by J. S. Fletcher

  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 Copplesto
ne. "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!"