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Updated: June 13, 2025
Peter Chatfield! they both knew that they were entering on a new stage of their quest; that the fact that Chatfield had travelled to Falmouth to meet the new owner of Scarhaven meant much possibly meant everything. "Oh!" said Gilling, as steadily as possible. "That gentleman came to meet the other, did he? Just so. Now what sort of man was he?"
"Nothing will make me believe that Andrius is the solely responsible person for this last development," said Copplestone, moodily. "There were other people on board cleverly concealed. And what are we going to do?" Audrey had stepped away from the circle of light made by the lanthorn and was gazing steadily in the direction which Chatfield had taken.
And then I see me being not so many yards away from him nine small white wood boxes, all clamped with metal bands, lying in a row on the grass, and I see, too, that Chatfield had been making a place for 'em amongst the stones. Yes that was it nine small white wood boxes so small, considering, that I wondered what made 'em so heavy." Copplestone favoured Vickers with another quiet kick.
"On terms, Mr. Vickers," remarked Chatfield. "On terms, sir." "What terms?" asked Audrey. "To Mr. Chatfield's personal advantage, of course." Chatfield, who was still the most unconcerned of the group, seated himself on the rocks and looked at his audience. "I've said to Mr. Vickers here that if I help Miss Greyle to the estate, I ought to be rewarded handsome," he said.
Before Chatfield or the labourers saw what he was at, he sprang on the agent's big form, grasped him by the neck with one hand, twisted his oak staff away from him with the other, flung him headlong on the turf, and raised the staff threateningly. "Now!" he said, "beg Miss Greyle's pardon, instantly, or I'll split your wicked old head for you. Quick, man I mean it!"
If Copplestone had followed his first natural impulse, he would have laughed aloud at this solemnly propounded question: as it was, he found it difficult to content himself with a smile. "Isn't it a little early to arrive at any conclusion, of any sort, Mr. Chatfield?" he asked. "You haven't made up your own mind, surely?"
Gilling took the message from Sir Cresswell and thoughtfully read it over. Then he handed it back and motioned the old seaman to look at Spurge. "I think you ought to know what this man has just told us, sir," he said. "We've got a story from him that exactly fits in with what Chatfield told Mr. Vickers when the Pike returned to carry him off yesterday.
However, I found out for him that she wouldn't be in until next evening, so of course he settled down to wait. Very quiet, reserved old fellow never said much." "Did he go off on the tender next night?" asked Gilling. "He did and came back with this other gentleman and his baggage this Mr. Greyle," answered the landlord. "Mr. Chatfield had booked a room for Mr. Greyle."
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.
For you see we're already certain that at the stage at which we've arrived a conspiracy began conspiracy between Chatfield, his daughter, and the man who's been passing himself off as Marston Greyle. Now, who is the man? Where did they get hold of him? Is he some relation of theirs? All that's got to be found out.
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