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Updated: June 18, 2025
When at last they had 'deposited the injured man at a neighbouring hospital and came to a stop near the "Angel," Zachary Spurge pulled Copplestone's sleeve, and with a look full of significance, motioned him aside to a quiet place.
The girl's glance, bold and challenging, 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.
There what is it, Copplestone," he broke off, seeing signs of a desire to speak on Copplestone's part. "You're talking of the very same afternoon and evening that I came down four evenings ago," said Copplestone. "My train was the four o'clock I got to Norcaster at ten surely they didn't come on the same train!"
Copplestone's recollection of him as he showed himself on board the Pike was of a very smartly attired, rather dandified person only some deep scheme, he knew, would have caused him to assume this disguise, and he watched him with interest as he rolled ashore and disappeared within the lower story of the sail-loft.
It happened that the evening chosen for this humble but comfortable entertainment was the evening after Captain Copplestone's departure from the castle. The supper was well cooked, and neatly placed on the table. A foaming tankard of ale flanked the large dish of hissing steaks; and the gentlemen from the castle set to work with a good will to do justice to Mr. Maunders's entertainment.
The house which stood beneath the old Keep was one of size and importance, the sort of place which could only be kept up by a rich man Copplestone's glances at its grounds, its gardens, its entrance lodge, its entire surroundings had shown him that only a well-to-do man could live there.
"No news at all!" exclaimed Stafford, glancing at Copplestone's companions. "You got any?" "None," replied Copplestone. "Not a word. This is Mr. Greyle, of the Keep he has heard nothing. This lady Miss Greyle? was out a good deal yesterday afternoon; she knows Oliver quite well by sight, but she did not see him. So if you've no news " Marston Greyle interrupted, turning to the policeman.
And Spurge says that at the back of this quay there's a perfect rabbit-warren of courts and alleys, and if or, rather as they've escaped into that eh?" The detectives who had accompanied Sir Cresswell on the interrupted expedition to the old tower and who had now followed him and his companions in a second car and arrived in time to hear Copplestone's story, looked at each other.
While thus engaged, Copplestone encountered an old school friend with whom he exchanged a few words: Gilling, meanwhile strolled about, inspecting the pictures, photographs and old playbills on the walls of the saloon and its adjacent apartments. And suddenly, he turned back, waited until Copplestone's acquaintance had gone away, and then hurried up and smacked his co-searcher on the shoulder.
But quainter than figure or garments was the man's face a gnarled, weather-beaten, sea-and-wind stained face, which, in Copplestone's opinion, was honest enough and not without abundant traces of a sense of humour. Copplestone at once trusted that face. He swung himself up by the nooks and crannies of the rock, and joined the man on his ledge. "Well?" he said.
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