Scarhaven Keep Page 6

  CHAPTER VI

  THE LEADING LADY

  Copplestone looked up with interest as the door of the private parlourwas thrown open, and a tall, handsome young woman burst in with abriskness of movement which betokened unusual energy and vivacity. Hegot an impression of the old estate agent's daughter in one glance,and wondered how Chatfield came to have such a good-looking girl ashis progeny. The impression was of dark, sparkling eyes, a mass ofdarker, highly-burnished hair, bright colour, a flashing vivacioussmile, a fine figure, a general air of sprightliness and glowinghealth--this was certainly the sort of personality that wouldrecommend itself to a considerable mass of theatre-goers, andCopplestone, as a budding dramatist, immediately began to cast AddieChatfield for an appropriate part.

  The newcomer stopped short on the threshold as she caught sight of astranger, and she glanced with sharp inquisitiveness at Copplestone as herose from his chair.

  "Oh!--I supposed you were alone, Mrs. Wooler," she exclaimed. "Youusually are, you know, so I came in anyhow--sorry!"

  "Come in," said the landlady. "Don't go, Mr. Copplestone. This is MissAdela Chatfield. Your father has just been to see this gentleman,Addie--perhaps he told you?"

  Addie Chatfield dropped into a chair at Mrs. Wooler's side, and lookedthe stranger over slowly and carefully.

  "No," she answered. "My father didn't tell me--he doesn't tell meanything about his own affairs. All his talk is about mine--the iniquityof them, and so on."

  She showed a fine set of even white teeth as she made this remark, andher eyes sought Copplestone's again with a direct challenge. Copplestonelooked calmly at her, half-smiling; he was beginning, in his youthfulinnocence, to think that he already understood this type of young woman.And seeing him smile, Addie also smiled.

  "Now I wonder whatever my father wanted to see you about?" she said, witha strong accent on the personal pronoun. "For you don't look his sort,and he certainly isn't yours--unless you're deceptive."

  "Perhaps I am," responded Copplestone, still keeping his eyes on her."Your father wanted to see me about the strange disappearance of Mr.Bassett Oliver. That was all."

  The girl's glance, bold and challenging, suddenly shifted beforeCopplestone's steady look. She half turned to Mrs. Wooler, and her colourrose a little.

  "I've heard of that," she said, with an affectation of indifference. "Andas I happen to know a bit of Bassett Oliver, I don't see what all thisfuss is about. I should say Bassett Oliver took it into his head to gooff somewhere yesterday on a little game of his own, and that he's turnedup at Norcaster by this time, and is safe in his dressing-room, or on thestage. That's my notion."

  "I wish I could think it the correct one," replied Copplestone. "But wecan soon find out if it is--there's a telephone in the hall. Yet--I'm sosure that you're wrong, that I'm not even going to ring Norcaster up. Mr.Bassett Oliver has--disappeared here!"

  "Are you a member of his company?" asked Addie, again looking Copplestoneover with speculative glances.

  "Not at all! I'm a humble person whose play Mr. Oliver was about toproduce next month, in consequence of which I came down to see him, andto find this state of affairs. And--having nothing else to do--I'm nowhere to help to find him--alive or dead."

  "Oh!" said Addie. "So--you're a writer?"

  "I understand that you are an actress?" responded Copplestone. "I wonderif I've ever seen you anywhere?"

  Addie bowed her head and gave him a sharp glance.

  "Evidently not!" she retorted. "Or you wouldn't wonder! As if anybodycould forget me, once they'd seen me! I believe you're pulling my leg,though. Do you live in town?"

  "I live," replied Copplestone slowly and with affected solemnity, "inchambers in Jermyn Street."

  "And do you mean to tell me that you didn't see me last year in _TheClever Lady Hartletop?_" she exclaimed.

  Copplestone put the tips of his fingers together and his head on one sideand regarded her critically.

  "What part did you play?" he asked innocently.

  "Part? Why, _the_ part, of course!" she retorted. "Goodness! Why, Icreated it! And played it to crowded houses for nearly two hundrednights, too!"

  "Ah!" said Copplestone. "But I'll make a confession to you. I rarelyvisit the theatre. I never saw _Lady Hartletop._ I haven't been in atheatre of any sort for two years. So you must forgive me. I congratulateyou on your success."

  Addie received this tribute with a mollified smile, which changed to aglance of surprised curiosity.

  "You never go to the theatre?--and yet you write plays!" she exclaimed."That's queer, isn't it? But I believe writing people are queer--theylook it, anyhow. All the same, you don't look like a writer--what does helook like, Mrs. Wooler? Oh, I know--a sort of nice little officer boy,just washed and tidied up!"

  The landlady, who had evidently enjoyed this passage at arms, laughed asshe gave Copplestone a significant glance.

  "And when did you come down home, Addie?" she asked quietly. "I didn'tknow you were here again."

  "Came down Saturday night," said Addie. "I'm on my way toEdinburgh--business there on Wednesday. So I broke the journey here--justto pay my respects to my worshipful parent."

  "I think I heard you say that you knew Mr. Bassett Oliver?" askedCopplestone. "You've met him?"

  "Met him in this country and in America," replied Addie, calmly. "He wason tour over there when I was--three years ago. We were in two or threetowns together at the same time--different houses, of course. I never sawmuch of him in London, though."

  "You didn't see anything of him yesterday, here?" suggested Copplestone.

  Addie stared and glanced at the landlady.

  "Here?" she exclaimed. "Goodness, no! When I'm here of a Sunday, I lie inbed all day, or most of it. Otherwise, I'd have to walk with my parent tothe family pew. No--my Sundays are days of rest! You really think thisdisappearance is serious?"

  "Oliver's managers--who know him best, of course--think it most serious,"replied Copplestone. "They say that nothing but an accident of a reallyserious nature would have kept him from his engagements."

  "Then that settles it!" said Addie. "He's fallen down the Devil's Spout.Plain as plain can be, that! He's made his way there, been a bit toodaring, and slipped over the edge. And whoever falls in there never comesout again!--isn't that it, Mrs. Wooler?"

  "That's what they say," answered the landlady.

  "But I don't remember any accident at the Devil's Spout in my time."

  "Well, there's been one now, anyway--that's flat," remarked Addie. "Poorold Bassett--I'm sorry for him! Well, I'm off. Good-night, Mr.Copplestone--and perhaps you'll so far overcome your repugnance to thetheatre as to come and see me in one some day?"

  "Supposing I escort you homeward instead--now?" suggested Copplestone."That will at least show that I am ready to become your devoted--"

  "Admirer, I suppose," said Addie. "I'm afraid he's not quite as innocentas he looks, Mrs. Wooler. Well--you can escort me as far as the gates ofthe park, then--I daren't take you further, because it's so dark in therethat you'd surely lose your way, and then there'd be a seconddisappearance and all sorts of complications."

  She went out of the inn, laughing and chattering, but once outside shesuddenly became serious, and she involuntarily laid her hand onCopplestone's arm as they turned down the hillside towards the quay.

  "I say!" she said in a low voice. "I wasn't going to ask questions inthere, but--what's going to be done about this Oliver affair? Of courseyou're stopping here to do something. What?"

  Copplestone hesitated before answering this direct question. He had notseen anything which would lead him to suppose that Miss Adela Chatfieldwas a disingenuous and designing young woman, but she was certainlyPeeping Peter's daughter, and the old man, having failed to get anythingout of Copplestone himself, might possibly have sent her to see what shecould accomplish. He replied noncommittally.

  "I'm not in a position to do anything," he said. "I'm not a relative--noteven a personal friend. I da
resay you know that Bassett Oliver was--one'salready talking of him in the past tense!--the brother of Rear-AdmiralSir Cresswell Oliver, the famous seaman?"

  "I knew he was a man of what they call family, but I didn't know that,"she answered. "What of it?"

  "Stafford's wired to Sir Cresswell," replied Copplestone. "He'll be downhere some time tomorrow, no doubt. And of course he'll take everythinginto his own hands."

  "And he'll do--what?" she asked.

  "Oh, I don't know," replied Copplestone. "Set the police to work, Ishould think. They'll want to find out where Bassett Oliver went, wherehe got to, when he turned up to the Keep, saying he'd go and call onthe Squire, as he'd met some man of that name in America. By-the-bye,you said you'd been in America. Did you meet anybody of the Squire'sname there?"

  They were passing along the quay by that time, and in the light of one ofits feeble gas-lamps he turned and looked narrowly at his companion. Hefancied that he saw her face change in expression at his question; ifthere was any change, however, it was so quick that it was gone in asecond. She shook her head with emphatic decision.

  "I?" she exclaimed. "Never! It's a most uncommon name, that. I neverheard of anybody called Greyle except at Scarhaven."

  "The present Mr. Greyle came from America," said Copplestone.

  "I know, of course," she answered. "But I never met any Greyles outthere. Bassett Oliver may have done, though. I know he toured in a lotof American towns--I only went to three--New York, Chicago, St. Louis.I suppose," she continued, turning to Copplestone with a suggestion ofconfidence in her manner, "I suppose you consider it a very damningthing that Bassett Oliver should disappear, after saying what he didto Ewbank."

  It was very evident to Copplestone that whether Miss Chatfield had spokenthe truth or not when she said that her father had not told her of hisvisit to the "Admiral's Arms," she was thoroughly conversant with all thefacts relating to the Oliver mystery, and he was still doubtful as towhether she was not seeking information.

  "Does it matter at all what I think," he answered evasively. "I've nopart in this affair--I'm a mere spectator. I don't know how what yourefer to might be considered by people who are accustomed to size thingsup. They might say all that was a mere coincidence."

  "But what do you think?" she said with feminine persistence. "Come, now,between ourselves?"

  Copplestone laughed. They had come to the edge of the wooded park inwhich the estate agent's house stood, and at a gate which led into it,he paused.

  "Between ourselves, then, I don't think at all--yet," he answered. "Ihaven't sized anything up. All I should say at present is that if--oras, for I'm sure the fisherman repeated accurately what he heard--asOliver said he met somebody called Marston Greyle in America, why--Iconclude he did. That's all. Now, won't you please let me see youthrough these dark woods?"

  But Addie said her farewell, and left him somewhat abruptly, and hewatched her until she had passed out of the circle of light from the lampwhich swung over the gate. She passed on into the shadows--andCopplestone, who had already memorized the chief geographical points ofhis new surroundings, noticed what she probably thought no stranger wouldnotice--that instead of going towards her father's house, she turned upthe drive to the Squire's.