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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Marston Greyle," he said, presently, "or his agent, Peter Chatfield, or both, in common agreement, are already doing something to solve the mystery so far as Greyle's property is concerned. They've closed the Keep and its surrounding ruins to the people who used to be permitted to go in, and they're conducting an exhaustive search for Bassett Oliver, of course." Gilling made a grimace.
Was she not old Peter's daughter, a chip of the old block, even though a feminine chip? And did not he and Gilling know that she had been mixed up with Peter at the Bristol affair? Great Scott! why, of course. Addie was an accomplice in all these things!
If Chatfield has accomplices down here in the Warren, he can hide himself and whoever's with him for a long time successfully. We'll have to get a lot of men to work." "But I say!" exclaimed Gilling. "You don't mean to tell me that three people one a woman could get away through these courts and alleys, packed as they are, without being seen? Come now!" The detectives smiled indulgently.
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.
"Why, YOU are the man that made them disinfect their houses," cried he, "and invented a little oven or something to steam mattresses and things. You are the man that nursed them and buried them when the undertaker died. You digged graves with your own hands I say, I should like to shake hands with you!" Gilling shook hands, submissively, but looking bewildered. He cleared his throat.
"You'd better soothe him down I want to know what he's got to tell." "It's all right, Spurge," said Copplestone. "Come Mr. Vickers is on our side this time; he's one of us. You can say anything you like before him or Mr. Gilling either. We're all in it. Pull your chair up here, alongside of me, and tell us what you've been doing." "Well, of course, if you puts it that way, Mr.
They led their band of Dwarfs to Gilling's house and screamed out to his wife that Gilling was dead. The Giant's wife began to weep and lament. At last she rushed out of the house weeping and clapping her hands. Now Galar and Fialar had clambered up on the lintel of the house, and as she came running out they cast a millstone on her head. It struck her and Gilling's wife fell down dead.
They stayed too long, however. Suttung, Gilling's brother, tracked them down and captured them. Suttung was not harmless and simple like Gilling, his brother. He was cunning and he was covetous. Once they were in his hands the Dwarfs had no chance of making an escape. He took them and left them on a rock in the sea, a rock that the tide would cover.
And so as I've made things plain how's this matter going so far?" Copplestone shook his head. "My orders," he said, with a significant look, "are to say nothing to any one." "Except to me," responded Gilling. "Sir Cresswell Oliver's card is my passport. You can tell me anything." "Tell me something first," replied Copplestone. "Precisely what are you here for?
"Well," continued Gilling, "it was at any rate so dark that Swallow's driver, who appears to have been a very nervous chap, made very poor progress. Also he took one or two wrong turnings. Finally he ran his car into a guide post which stood where two roads forked and there Swallow was landed, scarcely halfway to Scarhaven.
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