there with a purpose, and he wanted to know its precise
nature. "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 to
me--I reside in a residence within the park. Mr. Greyle, mister, says
that he has no recollection whatever of meeting this play-actor person in
America--he may have done and he mayn't. But he doesn't remember him, and
it isn't likely he should--him, an English landlord and a gentleman
wouldn't be very like to remember a play-actor person that's here today
and gone tomorrow! I hope I give no offence, sir--maybe you're a
play-actor yourself."

"I am not," answered Copplestone. He sat staring at his visitor for
awhile, 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 be
glad to help in any possible way towards finding out something in this
here 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 spoke
to 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 more
time," he went on as Mrs. Wooler opened the door. "I'm engaged now. If
you 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 this
self-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 titled
gentleman!" he said.

"Good-night!" replied Copplestone, motioning his visitor towards the
door. "I can't give you any more time, really. However, as you seem
anxious, Mr. Bassett Oliver i