tale--it bore the marks of credibility. But
what did it amount to? That Spurge saw Bassett Oliver enter the ruins of
the Keep, by the one point of ingress; that a few moments later he saw
Marston Greyle come away from the same place, evidently considerably
upset, and sneak off in a manner which showed that he dreaded
observation. That was all very suspicious, to say the least of it, taken
in relation to Oliver's undoubted disappearance--but it was only
suspicion; it afforded no direct proof. However, it gave material for a
report to Sir Cresswell Oliver, and he determined to write out an account
of his dealings with Spurge that afternoon, and to send it off at once by
registered letter.

He was busily engaged in this task when Mrs. Wooler came into his
sitting-room to lay the table for his lunch. Copplestone saw at once that
she 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 the
landlady. "Been ill for some time, and his doctor has recommended him to
try the north coast air. So he came down here, and he's going to stop
awhile to see how it suits him."

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

"I daresay it's a case of kill or cure," replied Mrs. Wooler. "Chest
complaint, I should think. Not that the young gentleman looks
particularly delicate, either, and he tells me that he's a very good
appetite and that his doctor says he's to live well and to eat as much as
ever he can."

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

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

"Oh, that's all right!" said the new arrival. "The air of Scarhaven
will d