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  CHAPTER XVII

  THE OLD PLAYBILL

  Gilling's cheerful optimism was the sort of desirable quality that is agood thing to have, but all the optimism in the world is valueless inface of impregnable difficulty. And the difficulty of tracing Chatfieldand his sick companion in a city the size of Bristol did indeed seemimpregnable when Gilling and Copplestone had been attacking it fortwenty-four hours. They had spent a whole day in endeavouring to getnews; they had gone in and out of hotels until they were sick of thesight of one; they had made exhaustive inquiries at the railway stationand of the cabmen who congregated there; nobody remembered anything atall about a big, heavy-faced man and a man in his company who seemed tobe very ill. And on the second night Copplestone intimated plainly thatin his opinion they were wasting their time.

  "How do we even know that they ever came to Bristol?" he asked, as he andGilling refreshed themselves with a much needed dinner. "The Falmouthlandlord saw Chatfield take tickets for Bristol! That's nothing to go on!Put it to yourself in this way. Greyle may have found even that journeytoo much for him. They may, in that case, have left the train atPlymouth--or at Exeter--or at Taunton: it would stop at each place. Seemsto me we're wasting time here--far better get nearer more tangiblethings. Chatfield, for instance. Or, go back to town and find out whatyour friend Swallow has done."

  "Swallow," replied Gilling, "has done nothing so far, or I should haveheard. Swallow knows exactly where I am, and where I shall be until Igive him further notice. Don't be discouraged, my friend--one is oftenon the very edge of a discovery when one seems to be miles away from it.Give me another day--and if we haven't found out something by tomorrowevening I'll consult with you as to our next step. But I've a plan fortomorrow morning which ought to yield some result."

  "What?" demanded Copplestone, doubtfully.

  "This! There is in every centre of population an official who registersbirths, marriages, and deaths. Now we believe the real Marston Greyle tobe dead. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that he did die here, inBristol, whither he and Chatfield certainly set off when they leftFalmouth. What would happen? Notice of his death would have to be givento the Registrar--by the nearest relative or by the person in attendanceon the deceased. That person would, in this case, be Chatfield. If thedeath occurred suddenly, and without medical attendance, an inquest wouldhave to be held. If a doctor had been in attendance he would give asigned certificate of the cause of death, which he would hand to therelatives or friends in attendance, who, in their turn, would have tohand it to the Registrar. Do you see the value of these points? What wemust do tomorrow morning is to see the Registrar--or, as there will bemore than one in a place this size--each of them in turn, in theendeavour to find out if, early in October, 1912, Peter Chatfieldregistered the death of Marston Greyle here. But remember--he may nothave registered it under that name. He may, indeed, not have used his ownname--he's deep enough for anything. That however, is our next bestchance--search of the registers. Let's try it, anyway, first thing in themorning. And as we've had a stiff day, I propose we dismiss all thoughtof this affair for the rest of the evening and betake ourselves to someplace of amusement--theatre, eh?"

  Copplestone made no objection to that, and when dinner was over, theywalked round to the principal theatre in time for the first act of a playwhich having been highly successful in London had just started on a roundof the leading provincial theatres. Between the second and third acts ofthis production there was a long interval, and the two companionsrepaired to the foyer to recuperate their energies with a drink and acigarette. While thus engaged, Copplestone encountered an old schoolfriend with whom he exchanged a few words: Gilling, meanwhile strolledabout, inspecting the pictures, photographs and old playbills on thewalls of the saloon and its adjacent apartments. And suddenly, he turnedback, waited until Copplestone's acquaintance had gone away, and thenhurried up and smacked his co-searcher on the shoulder.

  "Didn't I tell you that one's often close to a thing when one seemsfurthest off it!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Come here, my son, and lookat what I've just found."

  He drew Copplestone away to a quiet corner and pointed out an oldplaybill, framed and hung on the wall. Copplestone stared at it and sawnothing but the title of a well-known comedy, the names of one or twofairly celebrated actors and actresses and the usual particulars whichappear on all similar announcements.

  "Well?" he asked. "What of this?"

  "That!" replied Gilling, flicking the tip of his finger on a line in thebill. "That my boy!"

  Copplestone looked again. He started at what he read.

  _Margaret Sayers_.......MISS ADELA CHATFIELD.

  "And now look at that!" continued Gilling, with an accentuation of histriumphal note. "See! These people were here for a fortnight--fromOctober 3rd to 17th--1912. Therefore--if Peter Chatfield brought MarstonGreyle to Bristol on October 6th, Peter Chatfield's daughter would alsobe in the town!"

  Copplestone looked over the bill again, rapidly realizing possibilities.

  "Would Chatfield know that?" he asked reflectively.

  "It's only likely that he would," replied Gilling. "Even if father anddaughter don't quite hit things off in their tastes, it's only reasonableto suppose that Peter would usually know his daughter's whereabouts. Andif he brought Greyle here, ill, and they had to stop, it's only likelythat Peter would turn to his daughter for help. Anyway, Copplestone, hereare two undoubted facts:--Chatfield and Greyle booked from Falmouth forBristol on October 6th, 1912, and may therefore be supposed to have comehere. That's one fact. The other is--Addie Chatfield was certainly inBristol on that date and for eleven days after it."

  "Well--what next?" asked Copplestone.

  "I've been thinking that over while you stared at the bill," answeredGilling. "I think the best thing will be to find out where AddieChatfield put herself up during her stay. I daresay you know that in mostof these towns there are lodgings which are almost exclusively devoted tothe theatrical profession. Actors and actresses go to them year afteryear; their owners lay themselves out for their patrons--what's more,your theatrical landlady always remembers names and faces, and has herfavourites. Now, in my stage experience, I never struck Bristol, so Idon't know much about it, but I know where we can get information--thestage door-keeper. He'll tell us where the recognized lodgings are--andthen we must begin a round of inquiry. When? Just now, my boy!--and agood time, too, as you'll see."

  "Why?" asked Copplestone.

  "Best hour of the evening," replied Gilling with glib assurance."Landladies enjoying an hour of ease before beginning to cook supperfor their lodgers, now busy on the stage. Always ready to talk,theatrical landladies, when they've nothing to do. Trust me forknowing the ropes!--come round to the stage door and let's ask thekeeper a question or two."

  But before they had quitted the foyer an interruption came in the shapeof a shrewd-looking gentleman in evening dress, who wore his opera hat ata rakish angle and seemed to be very much at home as he strolled about,hands in pockets, looking around him at all and sundry. He suddenlycaught sight of Gilling, smiled surprisedly and expansively, and cameforward with outstretched hand.

  "Bless our hearts, is it really yourself, dear boy!" exclaimed thisapparition. "Really, now? And what brings you here--God bless my soul andeyes--why I haven't seen you this--how long is it, dear boy!"

  "Three years," answered Gilling, promptly clasping the outstretched hand."But what are you doing here--boss, eh?"

  "Lessee's manager, dear boy--nice job, too," whispered the other. "Beenhere two years--good berth." He deftly steered Gilling towards therefreshment bar, and glanced out of his eye corner at Copplestone."Friend of yours?" he suggested hospitably. "Introduce us, dear boy--myname is the same as before, you know!"

  "Mr. Copplestone, Mr. Montmorency," said Gilling. "Mr. Montmorency, Mr.Copplestone."

  "Servant, sir," said Mr. Montmorency. "Pleased to meet any friend of myfriend! And what will you take, dear boys, and how are things withyou, Gi
lling, old man--now who on earth would have thought of seeingyou here?"

  Copplestone held his peace while Gilling and Mr. Montmorency heldinteresting converse. He was sure that his companion would turn thisunexpected meeting to account, and he therefore felt no surprise whenGilling, after giving him a private nudge, plumped the manager with adirect question.

  "Did you see Addie Chatfield when she was here about a year ago?" heasked. "You remember--she was here in _Mrs. Swayne's Necklace_--here afortnight."

  "I remember very well, dear boy," responded Mr. Montmorency, with ajudicial sip at the contents of his tumbler. "I saw the lady severaltimes. More by token, I accidentally witnessed a curious little scenebetween Miss Addie and a gentleman whom Nature appeared to have speciallymanufactured for the part of heavy parent--you know the type. One morningwhen that company was here, I happened to be standing in the vestibule,talking to the box-office man, when a large, solemn-faced individual,Quakerish in attire, and evidently not accustomed to the theatre walkedin and peered about him at our rich carpets and expensivefittings--pretty much as if he was appraising their value. At the sametime, I observed that he was in what one calls a state--a little, perhapsa good deal, upset about something. Wherefore I addressed myself to himin my politest manner and inquired if I could serve him. Thereupon heasked if he could see Miss Adela Chatfield on very important business.Now, I wasn't going to let him see Miss Addie, for I took him to be a manwho might have a writ about him, or something nasty of that sort. But atthat very moment, Miss Addie, who had been rehearsing, and had come outby the house instead of going through the stage door, came tripping intothe vestibule and let off a sharp note of exclamation. After which sheand old wooden-face stepped into the street together, and immediatelyexchanged a few words. And that the old man told her something veryserious was abundantly evident from the expression of their respectivecountenances. But, of course, I never knew what it was, nor who he was,dear boy--not my business, don't you know."

  "They went away together, those two?" asked Gilling, favouringCopplestone with another nudge.

  "Up the street together, certainly, talking most earnestly," replied Mr.Montmorency.

  "Ever see that old chap again?" asked Gilling.

  "I never did, dear boy,--once was sufficient," said Mr. Montmorency,lightly. "But," he continued, dropping his bantering tone, "are thesequestions pertinent?--has this to do with this new profession of yours,dear boy? If so--mum's the word, you know."

  "I'll tell you what, Monty," answered Gilling. "I wish you'd find out forme where Addie Chatfield lodged when she was here that time. Can it bedone? Between you and me, I do want to know about that, old chap. Nevermind why, now--I will tell you later. But it's serious."

  Mr. Montmorency tapped the side of his handsome nose.

  "All right, my boy!" he said. "I understand--wicked, wicked world! Done?Dear boy, it shall be done! Come down to the stage door--our man knowsevery landlady in the town!"

  By various winding ways and devious passages he led the two young mendown to the stage door. Its keeper, not being particularly busy at thattime, was reading the evening newspaper in his glass-walled box, andglanced inquiringly at the strangers as Mr. Montmorency pulled them upbefore him.

  "Prickett," said Mr. Montmorency, leaning into the sanctum over itshalf-door and speaking confidentially. "You keep a sort of register oflodgings don't you, Prickett? Now I wonder if you could tell me whereMiss Adela Chatfield, of the _Mrs. Swayne's Necklace_ Company stoppedwhen she was last here?--that's a year ago or about it. Prickett," hewent on, turning to Gilling, "puts all this sort of thing down,methodically, so that he can send callers on, or send up urgent lettersor parcels during the day--isn't that it, Prickett?"

  "That's about it, sir," answered the door-keeper. He had taken down asort of ledger as the manager spoke, and was now turning over its leaves.He suddenly ran his finger down a page and stopped its course at aparticular line.

  "Mrs. Salmon, 5, Montargis Crescent--second to the right outside," heannounced briefly. "Very good lodgings, too, are those."

  Gilling promised Mr. Montmorency that he would look him up later on,and went away with Copplestone to Montargis Crescent. Within fiveminutes they were standing in a comfortably furnished, old-fashionedsitting-room, liberally ornamented with the photographs of actors andactresses and confronting a stout, sharp-eyed little woman wholistened intently to all that Gilling said and sniffed loudly when hehad finished.

  "Remember Miss Chatfield being here!" she exclaimed. "I should think I doremember! I ought to! Bringing mortal sickness into my house--and thendeath--and then a funeral--and her and her father going away never givingme an extra penny for the trouble!"