Scarhaven Keep | Page 7

called the Devil's Spout, up which the sea
rushes. Everybody wants to look over it, you know, and if a man was
there alone, and his foot slipped, and he fell, why--"
Stafford came back, looking more cast down than ever.
"They've heard nothing there," he announced. "Come on--we'll go
down and see if we can hear anything from any of the people. We'll call
in and see you later, Mrs. Wooler, and if you can make any inquiries in
the meantime, do. Look here," he went on, when he and Copplestone
had got outside, "you take this south side of the bay, and I'll take the
north. Ask anybody you see--any likely person--fishermen and so on.
Then come back here. And if we've heard nothing--"
He shook his head significantly, as he turned away, and Copplestone,
taking the other direction, felt that the manager's despondency was
influencing himself. A sudden disappearance of this sort was surely not
to be explained easily--nothing but exceptional happenings could have
kept Bassett Oliver from the scene of his week's labours. There must
have been an accident--it needed little imagination to conjure up its
easy occurrence. A too careless step, a too near approach, a loose stone,
a sudden giving way of crumbling soil, the shifting of an already
detached rock--any of these things might happen, and then--but the
thought of what might follow cast a greyer tint over the already cold

and grey sea.
He went on amongst the old cottages and fishing huts which lay at the
foot of the wooded heights on the tops of whose pines and firs the
gaunt ruins of the old Keep seemed to stand sentinel. He made inquiry
at open doors and of little groups of men gathered on the quay and by
the drawn-up boats--nobody knew anything. According to what they
told him, most of these people had been out and about all the previous
afternoon; it had been a particularly fine day, that Sunday, and they had
all been out of doors, on the quay and the shore, in the sunshine. But
nobody had any recollection of the man described, and Copplestone
came to the conclusion that Oliver had not chosen that side of the bay.
There was, however, one objection to that theory--so far as he could
judge, that side was certainly the more attractive. And he himself went
on to the end of it--on until he had left quay and village far behind, and
had come to a spit of sand which ran out into the sea exactly opposite
the group of rocks of which Mrs. Wooler had spoken. There they lay,
rising out of the surf like great monsters, a half-mile from where he
stood. The tide was out at that time, and between him and them
stretched a shining expanse of glittering wet sand. And, coming straight
towards him across it, Copplestone saw the slim and graceful figure of
a girl.
CHAPTER III
THE MAN WHO KNEW SOMETHING
It was not from any idle curiosity that Copplestone made up his mind to
await the girl's nearer approach. There was no other human being in
view, and he was anxious to get some information about the rocks
whose grim outlines were rapidly becoming faint and indistinct in the
gathering darkness. And so as the girl came towards him, picking her
way across the pools which lay amidst the brown ribs of sand, he went
forward, throwing away all formality and reserve in his eagerness.
"Forgive me for speaking so unceremoniously," he said as they met.
"I'm looking for a friend who has disappeared--mysteriously. Can you

tell me if, any time yesterday, afternoon or evening, you saw anywhere
about here a tall, distinguished-looking man--the actor type. In fact, he
is an actor--perhaps you've heard of him? Mr. Bassett Oliver."
He was looking narrowly at the girl as he spoke, and she, too, looked
narrowly at him out of a pair of grey eyes of more than ordinary
intelligence and perception. And at the famous actor's name she started
a little and a faint colour stole over her cheeks.
"Mr. Bassett Oliver!" she exclaimed in a clear, cultured voice. "My
mother and I saw Mr. Oliver at the Northborough Theatre on Friday
evening. Do you mean that he--"
"I mean--to put it bluntly--that Bassett Oliver is lost," answered
Copplestone. "He came to this place yesterday, Sunday, morning, to
look round; he lunched at the 'Admiral's Arms,' he went out, after a chat
with the landlady, and he's never been seen since. He should have
turned up at the 'Angel' at Norcaster last night, and at a rehearsal at the
Theatre Royal there today at noon--but he didn't. His manager and I
have tracked him here--and so far I can't hear of him. I've asked people