enging, suddenly shifted before
Copplestone's steady look. She half turned to Mrs. Wooler, and her colour
rose a little.

"I've heard of that," she said, with an affectation of indifference. "And
as I happen to know a bit of Bassett Oliver, I don't see what all this
fuss is about. I should say Bassett Oliver took it into his head to go
off somewhere yesterday on a little game of his own, and that he's turned
up at Norcaster by this time, and is safe in his dressing-room, or on the
stage. That's my notion."

"I wish I could think it the correct one," replied Copplestone. "But we
can soon find out if it is--there's a telephone in the hall. Yet--I'm so
sure that you're wrong, that I'm not even going to ring Norcaster up. Mr.
Bassett Oliver has--disappeared here!"

"Are you a member of his company?" asked Addie, again looking Copplestone
over with speculative glances.

"Not at all! I'm a humble person whose play Mr. Oliver was about to
produce next month, in consequence of which I came down to see him, and
to find this state of affairs. And--having nothing else to do--I'm now
here to help to find him--alive or dead."

"Oh!" said Addie. "So--you're a writer?"

"I understand that you are an actress?" responded Copplestone. "I wonder
if I've ever seen you anywhere?"

Addie bowed her head and gave him a sharp glance.

"Evidently not!" she retorted. "Or you wouldn't wonder! As if anybody
could forget me, once they'd seen me! I believe you're pulling my leg,
though. Do you live in town?"

"I live," replied Copplestone slowly and with affected solemnity, "in
chambers in Jermyn Street."

"And do you mean to tell me that you didn't see me last year in _The
Clever Lady Hartletop?_" she exclaimed.

Copplestone put the tips of his fingers together and his head on one side
and regarded her critically.

"What part did you play?" he asked innocently.

"Part? Why, _the_ part, of course!" she retorted. "Goodness! Why, I
created it! And played it to crowded houses for nearly two hundred
nights, too!"

"Ah!" said Copplestone. "But I'll make a confession to you. I rarely
visit the theatre. I never saw _Lady Hartletop._ I haven't been in a
theatre of any sort for two years. So you must forgive me. I congratulate
you on your success."

Addie received this tribute with a mollified smile, which changed to a
glance of surprised curiosity.

"You never go to the theatre?--and yet you write plays!" she exclaimed.
"That's queer, i