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Updated: June 6, 2025
"And the first consequence is that I now formally demand an adjournment of this inquest, sine die." "On what grounds, sir?" demanded the Coroner. "To permit me to bring evidence from America," replied Petherton, with a side glance at Marston Greyle. "Evidence already being prepared." The Coroner hesitated, looked at Greyle's solicitor, and then turned sharply to the jury.
"Is it worth while, mother?" interrupted Audrey. "It was only his opinion." "It is worth while amongst ourselves " insisted Mrs. Greyle. "Why not?
In plain English, he made up his mind to visit Hobkin's Hole next morning and find out who the unknown correspondent was. He was half tempted to go round to the cottage and show the queer scrawl to Audrey Greyle, of whom, having passed six delightful hours in her company he was beginning to think much more than was good for him, unless he intended to begin thinking of her always.
She's a class H. boat built last year oil fuel turbines runs up to thirty knots and she's doing 'em, too, just now! Come on, Copplestone more stuff on this fire!" "I don't think we need be uneasy," said Copplestone. "Miss Greyle thinks that her mother will have raised a hue and cry after the Pike. This torpedo thing is probably looking round for us. She what's that?"
Well, on his story and on his production of those papers birth certificates, Greyle papers of their life in America and so on everybody accepted Martin as the real man, and things seemed to go on smoothly till that Sunday when Bassett Oliver had the bad luck to go to Scarhaven. And now, Sir Cresswell, I'll tell you the plain and absolute truth about your brother's death!
Copplestone had kept a sharp watch on Marston Greyle and his cousin when they walked off, and he had seen that they had parted at a point a little farther along the shore road the man turning up into the wood, the girl going forward along the quay which led to the other half of the village.
I think you're anxious to clear things up about Mr. Oliver. But I don't want my mother dragged into it for a simple reason. We've got to live here and Chatfield is a vindictive man." "You're frightened of him?" said Copplestone incredulously. "You!" "Not for myself," she answered, giving him a warning look and glancing apprehensively at Mrs. Greyle, who was talking eagerly to Mr.
"Take care that he doesn't collar it yet," said Mrs. Greyle with a laugh as she went into her own room. "Chatfield is resourceful enough for anything. And take care of yourselves!" That was the second admonition to be careful, and Copplestone thought of both, as, an hour later, he, Gilling, Vickers and Spurge sped along the desolate, wind-swept moorland on their way to the Reaver's Glen.
He was a tall, well-built man of apparently thirty years, dressed in a rough tweed knickerbocker suit, but the dusk had now so much increased that Copplestone could only gather an impression of ordinary good-lookingness from the face that was turned inquiringly on his companion. The girl turned to him and spoke hurriedly. "This is my cousin, Mr. Greyle, of Scarhaven Keep," she murmured.
"But what fools Peter Chatfield and his associates must be from their own villainous standpoint to have encumbered themselves with all that weight of gold!" exclaimed Mrs. Greyle. "The folly of it seems incredible when they could have taken it in some more easily portable form!" "Ah!" laughed Copplestone. "But that just shows Chatfield's extraordinary deepness and craft!
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