n Rothwell turned to Stafford with an
air 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 seriously
wrong. 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 so
well--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 course
of events, wherever he spent yesterday, he'd have been sure to turn up at
his rooms at the 'Angel' hotel last night, and he'd have walked in here
this 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 heard
that Mr. Oliver left his hotel at Northborough yesterday morning at
eleven o'clock, alone, walking. Has anybody any idea of any project, any
excursion, that he had in mind?"

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

"I was talking to Oliver about the coast scenery between here and
Northborough the other day--Friday," he remarked. "He'd never seen it--I
told him I used to know it pretty well once. He said he'd try and see
something of it on Sunday--yesterday, you know. And, I say--" here he
came closer to the two managers and lowered his voice--"that coast is
very wild, lonely, and a good bit dangerous--sharp and precipitous
cliffs. 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 'Golden
Apple'--then the station. Wire or telephone me--here. Of course, this
rehearsal's off. About this evening--oh, well, a lot may happen before
then. But go at once--I believe you can get expresses from here to
North-borough pretty often."

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

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

He hurried out w