Scarhaven Keep | Page 4

of you seen Mr. Oliver, anywhere, since Saturday night? Can anybody
tell anything about him--anything at all? Because--it's useless to deny
the fact--he's not come here, and he's not come to town at all, so far as
we know. So--"
Rothwell came hurrying on to the stage from the opposite wings. He
hastened across to Stafford and drew him and Copplestone a little
aside.
"I've heard from Northborough," he Said. "I 'phoned Waters, the
manager there, to run across to the 'Golden Apple' and make inquiries.
The 'Golden Apple' people say that Oliver left there at eleven o'clock
yesterday morning. He was alone. He simply walked out of the hotel.
And they know nothing more."
CHAPTER II
GREY ROCK AND GREY SEA
The three men stood for a while silently looking at each other.
Copplestone, as a stranger, secretly wondered why the two managers
seemed so concerned; to him a delay of half an hour in keeping an
appointment did not appear to be quite as serious as they evidently
considered it. But he had never met Bassett Oliver, and knew nothing
of his ways; he only began to comprehend matters when Rothwell
turned to Stafford with an air of decision.
"Look here!" he said. "You'd better go and make inquiry at

Northborough. See if you can track him. Something must be
wrong--perhaps seriously wrong. You don't quite understand, do you,
Mr. Copplestone?" he went on, giving the younger man a sharp glance.
"You see, we know Mr. Oliver so well--we've both been with him a
good many years. He's a model of system, regularity, punctuality, and
all the rest of it. In the ordinary course of events, wherever he spent
yesterday, he'd have been sure to turn up at his rooms at the 'Angel'
hotel last night, and he'd have walked in here this morning at half-past
twelve. As he hasn't done either, why, then, something unusual has
happened. Stafford, you'd better get a move on."
"Wait a minute," said Stafford. He turned again to the groups behind
him, repeating his question.
"Has anybody anything to tell?" he asked anxiously. "We've just heard
that Mr. Oliver left his hotel at Northborough yesterday morning at
eleven o'clock, alone, walking. Has anybody any idea of any project,
any excursion, that he had in mind?"
An elderly man who had been in conversation with the leading lady
stepped forward.
"I was talking to Oliver about the coast scenery between here and
Northborough the other day--Friday," he remarked. "He'd never seen
it--I told him I used to know it pretty well once. He said he'd try and
see something of it on Sunday--yesterday, you know. And, I say--" here
he came closer to the two managers and lowered his voice--"that coast
is very wild, lonely, and a good bit dangerous--sharp and precipitous
cliffs. Eh?"
Rothwell clapped a hand on Stafford's arm.
"You'd really better be off to Northborough," he said with decision.
"You're sure to come across traces of him. Go to the 'Golden
Apple'--then the station. Wire or telephone me--here. Of course, this
rehearsal's off. About this evening--oh, well, a lot may happen before
then. But go at once--I believe you can get expresses from here to
North-borough pretty often."

"I'll go with you--if I may," said Copplestone suddenly. "I might be of
use. There's that cab still at the door, you know--shall we run up to the
station?"
"Good!" assented Stafford. "Yes, come by all means." He turned to
Rothwell for a moment. "If he should turn up here, 'phone to Waters at
the Northborough theatre, won't you?" he said. "We'll look in there as
soon as we arrive."
He hurried out with Copplestone and together they drove up to the
station, where an express was just leaving for the south. Once on their
way to Northborough, Stafford turned to his companion with a grave
shake of the head.
"I daresay you don't quite see the reason of our anxiety," he observed.
"You see, we know Oliver. He's a trick of wandering about by himself
on Sundays--when he gets the chance. Of course when there's a long
journey between two towns, he doesn't get the chance, and then he's all
right. But when, as in this case, the town of one week is fairly close to
the town of the next, he invariably spots some place of interest, an old
castle, or a ruined abbey, or some famous house, and goes looking
round it. And if he's been exploring some spot on this coast yesterday,
and it's as that chap Rutherford said, wild and dangerous, why, then--"
"You think he may have had an accident--fallen over the cliffs or
something?" suggested Copplestone.
"I don't like to think anything," replied Stafford. "But I shall be a good
deal relieved if we can get some