, of course," she answered. "But I never met any Greyles out
there. Bassett Oliver may have done, though. I know he toured in a lot
of American towns--I only went to three--New York, Chicago, St. Louis.
I suppose," she continued, turning to Copplestone with a suggestion of
confidence in her manner, "I suppose you consider it a very damning
thing that Bassett Oliver should disappear, after saying what he did
to Ewbank."

It was very evident to Copplestone that whether Miss Chatfield had spoken
the truth or not when she said that her father had not told her of his
visit to the "Admiral's Arms," she was thoroughly conversant with all the
facts relating to the Oliver mystery, and he was still doubtful as to
whether she was not seeking information.

"Does it matter at all what I think," he answered evasively. "I've no
part in this affair--I'm a mere spectator. I don't know how what you
refer to might be considered by people who are accustomed to size things
up. They might say all that was a mere coincidence."

"But what do you think?" she said with feminine persistence. "Come, now,
between ourselves?"

Copplestone laughed. They had come to the edge of the wooded park in
which the estate agent's house stood, and at a gate which led into it,
he paused.

"Between ourselves, then, I don't think at all--yet," he answered. "I
haven't sized anything up. All I should say at present is that if--or
as, for I'm sure the fisherman repeated accurately what he heard--as
Oliver said he met somebody called Marston Greyle in America, why--I
conclude he did. That's all. Now, won't you please let me see you
through these dark woods?"

But Addie said her farewell, and left him somewhat abruptly, and he
watched her until she had passed out of the circle of light from the lamp
which swung over the gate. She passed on into the shadows--and
Copplestone, who had already memorized the chief geographical points of
his new surroundings, noticed what she probably thought no stranger would
notice--that instead of going towards her father's house, she turned up
the drive to the Squire's.

CHAPTER VII

LEFT ON GUARD

Stafford was back at Scarhaven before breakfast time next morning,
bringing with him a roll of copies of the _Norcaster Daily Chronicle_,
one of which he immediately displayed to Copplestone and Mrs. Wooler, who
met him at the inn door. He pointed with great pride to certain staring
headlines.

"I engineered that!" he exc