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  CHAPTER XV

  THE CABLEGRAM FROM NEW YORK

  The two younger men received this announcement with no more than looksof astonished inquiry, but the elder one coughed significantly, hadfurther recourse to his snuff-box and turned to Mrs. Greyle with aknowing glance.

  "My dear lady!" he said impressively. "Now this is a matter in which Ibelieve I can be of service--real service! You may have forgotten thefact--it is all so long ago--and perhaps I never mentioned it in the olddays--but the truth is that before I went on the stage, I was in the law.The fact is, I am a duly and fully qualified solicitor--though," headded, with a dry chuckle, "it is a good five and twenty years since Ipaid the six pounds for the necessary annual certificate. But I have notforgotten my law--or some of it--and no doubt I can furbish up a littlemore, if necessary. You say that Mr. Marston Greyle, the present owner ofScarhaven, has offered to sell his estate to Lord Altmore? But--is notthe estate entailed?"

  "No!" replied Mrs. Greyle. "It is not."

  Mr. Dennie's face fell--unmistakably. He took another pinch of snuff andshook his head.

  "Then in that case," he said dryly, "all the lawyers in the world can'thelp. It's his--absolutely--and he can do what he pleases with it. Fivehundred years, you say? Remarkable!--that a man should want to sell landhis forefathers have walked over for half a thousand years!Extraordinary!"

  "Did Lord Altmore say if any reason had been given him as to why Mr.Greyle wished to sell?" asked Gilling.

  "Yes," replied Mrs. Greyle, who was obviously greatly upset by the recentnews. "He did. Mr. Greyle gave as his reason that the north does not suithim, and that he wishes to buy an estate in the south of England. Heapproached Lord Altmore first because it is well-known that the Altmoreshave always been anxious to extend their own borders to the coast."

  "Does Lord Altmore want to buy?" asked Gilling.

  "It is very evident that he would be quite willing to buy," saidMrs. Greyle.

  "What made him come to you," continued Gilling. "He must have hadsome reason?"

  "He had a reason," Mrs. Greyle answered, with a glance at Audrey. "Heknows the family history, of course--he is very well aware that mydaughter is at present the heir apparent. He therefore thought we oughtto know of this offer. But that is not quite all. Lord Altmore has, ofcourse, read the accounts of the inquest in this morning's paper. Alsohis steward was present at the inquest. And from what he has read, andfrom what his steward told him, Lord Altmore thinks there is somethingwrong--he thinks, for instance, that Marston Greyle should explain thismystery about the meeting with Bassett Oliver in America. At any rate,he will go no further in any negotiations until that mystery isproperly cleared up. Shall I tell you what Lord Altmore said on thatpoint? He said--"

  "Is it worth while, mother?" interrupted Audrey. "It was only hisopinion."

  "It is worth while--amongst ourselves--" insisted Mrs. Greyle. "Why not?Lord Altmore said--in so many words--'I have a sort of uneasy feeling,after reading the evidence at that inquest, and hearing what mysteward's impressions were, that this man calling himself Marston Greylemay not be Marston Greyle at all and I shall want good proof that he isbefore I even consider the proposal he has made to me.' There!So--what's to be done?"

  "The law, ma'am," observed Mr. Dennie, solemnly, "the law must step in.You must get an injunction, ma'am, to prevent Mr. Marston Greyle fromdealing with the property until his own title to it has been established.That, at any rate, is my opinion."

  "May I ask a question?" said Copplestone who had been listeningand thinking intently. "Did Lord Altmore say when this offer wasmade to him?"

  "Yes," replied Mrs. Greyle. "A week ago."

  "A week ago!" exclaimed Copplestone. "That is, before last Sunday--beforethe Bassett Oliver episode. Then--the offer to sell is quite independentof that affair!"

  "Strange--and significant!" muttered Gilling.

  He rose from his chair and looked at his watch.

  "Well," he went on, "I am going off to London. Will you give me leave,Mrs. Greyle, to report all this to Sir Cresswell Oliver and Mr.Petherton? They ought to know."

  "I'm going, too," declared Copplestone, also rising. "Mrs. Greyle, I'msure will entrust the whole matter to us. And Mr. Dennie will trust uswith those papers."

  "Oh, certainly, certainly!" asserted Mr. Dennie, pushing his packetacross the table. "Take care of 'em, my boy!--ye don't know how importantthey may turn out to be."

  "And--Mrs. Greyle?" asked Copplestone.

  "Tell whatever you think it best to tell," replied Mrs. Greyle. "My ownopinion is that a lot will have to be told--and to come out, yet."

  "We can catch a train in three-quarters of an hour, Copplestone," saidGilling. "Let's get back and settle up with Mrs. Wooler and be off."

  Copplestone contrived to draw Audrey aside.

  "This isn't good-bye," he whispered, with a meaning look. "You'llsee me back here before many days are over. But listen--if anythinghappens here, if you want anybody's help--in any way--you know whatI mean--promise you'll wire to me at this address. Promise!--or Iwon't go."

  "Very well," said Audrey, "I promise. But--why shall you come back?"

  "Tell you when I come," replied Copplestone with another look."But--I shall come--and soon. I'm only going because I want to be ofuse--to you."

  An hour later he and Gilling were on their way to London, and fromopposite corners of a compartment which they had contrived to get tothemselves, they exchanged looks.

  "This is a queer business, Copplestone!" said Gilling. "It strikes meit's going to be a big one, too. And--it's coming to a point roundSquire Greyle."

  "Do you think your man will have tracked him?" asked Copplestone.

  "It will be the first time Swallow's ever lost sight of anybody if hehasn't," answered Gilling. "He's a human ferret! However, I wired to himjust before we left, telling him to meet me at King's Cross, so we'llget his report. Oh, he'll have followed him all right--I don't imaginefor a moment that Greyle is trying to evade anybody, at this juncture,at any rate."

  But when--four hours later--the train drew into King's Cross--andGilling's partner, a young and sharp-looking man, presented himself, itwas with a long and downcast face and a lugubrious shake of the head.

  "Done!--for the first time in my life!" he growled in answer toGilling's eager inquiry. "Lost him! Never failed before--as you know.Well, it had to come, I suppose--can't go on without an occasionaldefeat. But--I'm a bit licked as to the whole thing--unless your man isdodging somebody. Is he?"

  "Tell your tale," commanded Gilling, motioning Copplestone to follow himand Swallow aside.

  "I was up here in good time this afternoon to meet his train," reportedSwallow. "I spotted him and his man at once; no difficulty, as yourdescription of both was so full. They were together while the luggagewas got out; then he, Greyle, gave some instructions to the man and lefthim. He himself got into a taxi-cab; I got into another close behind andgave its driver certain orders. Greyle drove straight to the FragonardClub--you know."

  "Ah!" exclaimed Gilling. "Did he, now? That's worth knowing."

  "What's the Fragonard Club?" asked Copplestone. "Never heard of it."

  "Club of folk connected with the stage and the music-halls," answeredGilling, testily. "In a side street, off Shaftesbury Avenue--tell youmore of it, later. Go on, Swallow."

  "He paid off his driver there, and went in," continued Swallow. "I paidmine and hung about--there's only one entrance and exit to that spot, asyou know. He came out again within five minutes, stuffing some lettersinto his pocket. He walked away across Shaftesbury Avenue into WardourStreet--there he went into a tobacconist's shop. Of course, I hung aboutagain. But this time he didn't come. So at last I walked in--to buysomething. He wasn't there!"

  "Pooh!--he'd slipped out--walked out--when you weren't looking!" saidGilling. "Why didn't you keep your eye on the ball, man?--you!"

  "You be hanged!" retorted Swallow. "Never had an eyelash off that shopdoor from the time he ente
red until I, too, entered."

  "Then there's a side-door to that shop--into some alley or passage,"said Gilling.

  "Not that I could find," answered Swallow. "Might be at the rear of thepremises perhaps, but I couldn't ascertain, of course. Remember!--there'sanother thing. He may have stopped on the premises. There's that in it.However, I know the shop and the name."

  "Why didn't you bring somebody else with you, to follow the man and theluggage?" demanded Gilling, half-petulantly.

  Swallow shook his head.

  "There I made a mess of it, I confess," he admitted. "But it never struckme they'd separate. I thought, of course, they'd drive straight to somehotel, and--"

  "And the long and the short of it is, Greyle's slipped you," saidGilling. "Well--there's no more to be done tonight. The only thing ofvalue is that Greyle called at the Fragonard. What's a countrysquire--only recently come to England, too!--to do with the Fragonard?That is worth something. Well--Copplestone, we'd better meet in themorning at Petherton's. You be there at ten o'clock, and I'll get SirCresswell Oliver to be there, too."

  Copplestone betook himself to his rooms in Jermyn Street; it seemed anage--several ages--since he had last seen the familiar things in them.During the few days which had elapsed since his hurried setting-off tomeet Bassett Oliver so many things had happened that he felt as if hehad lived a week in a totally different world. He had met death, andmystery, and what appeared to be sure evidence of deceit and cunning andperhaps worse--fraud and crime blacker than fraud. But he had also metAudrey Greyle. And it was only natural that he thought more about herthan of the strange atmosphere of mystery which wrapped itself aroundScarhaven. She, at any rate, was good to think upon, and he thought muchas he looked over the letters that had accumulated, changed his clothes,and made ready to go and dine at his club, Already he was counting thehours which must elapse before he would go back to her.

  Nevertheless, Copplestone's mind was not entirely absorbed by thispleasant subject; the events of the day and of the arrival in Londonkept presenting themselves. And coming across a fellow club-memberwhom he knew for a thorough man about town, he suddenly plumped himwith a question.

  "I say!" he said. "Do you know the Fragonard Club?"

  "Of course!" replied the other man. "Don't you?"

  "Never even heard of it till this evening," said Copplestone."What is it?"

  "Mixed lot!" answered his companion. "Theatrical and music-hall folk--menand women--both. Lively spot--sometimes. Like to have a look in when theyhave one of their nights?"

  "Very much," assented Copplestone. "Are you a member?"

  "No, but I know several men who are members," said the other. "I'll fixit all right. Worth going to when they've what they call ahouse-dinner--Sunday night, of course."

  "Thanks," said Copplestone. "I suppose membership of that's confined tothe profession, eh?"

  "Strictly," replied his friend. "But they ain't at all particular abouttheir guests--you'll meet all sorts of people there, from judges tojockeys, and millionairesses to milliners."

  Copplestone was still wondering what the Squire of Scarhaven could haveto do with the Fragonard Club when he went to Mr. Petherton's office thenext morning. He was late for the appointment which Gilling had made, andwhen he arrived Gilling had already reported all that had taken place theday before to the solicitor and to Sir Cresswell Oliver. And on thatCopplestone produced the papers entrusted to him by Mr. Dennie and theyall compared the handwritings afresh.

  "There is certainly something wrong, somewhere," remarked Petherton,after a time. "However, we are in a position to begin a systematicinquiry. Here," he went on, drawing a paper from his desk, "is acablegram which arrived first thing this morning from New York--from anagent who has been making a search for me in the shipping lists. This iswhat he says: 'Marston Greyle, St. Louis, Missouri, booked first-classpassenger from New York to Falmouth, England, by S.S. _Araconda_,September 28th, 1912.' There--that's something definite. And the nextthing," concluded the old lawyer, with a shrewd glance at Sir Cresswell,"is to find out if the Marston Greyle who landed at Falmouth is the sameman whom we have recently seen!"