But--I don't think he'll get any help there. I'm afraid
Mr. Oliver must have met with an accident. I wanted to ask you a
question--I saw you coming from the direction of those rocks just now.
Could he have got out there across those sands, yesterday afternoon?"
"Between three o'clock and evening--yes," said the girl.
"And--is it dangerous out there?"
"Very dangerous indeed--to any one who doesn't know them."
"There's something there called the Devil's Spout?"
"Yes--a deep fissure up which the sea boils. Oh! it seems dreadful to
think of--I hope he didn't fall in there. If he did--"
"Well?" asked Copplestone bluntly, "what if he did?"
"Nothing ever came out that once went in," she answered. "It's a sort of
whirlpool that's sucked right away into the sea. The people hereabouts
say it's bottomless."
Copplestone turned his face towards the village.
"Oh, well," he said, with an accent of hopelessness. "I can't do any more
down here, it's growing dusk. I must go back and meet the manager."
The girl walked along at his side as he turned towards the village.
"I suppose you are one of Mr. Oliver's company?" she observed presently.
"You must all be much concerned."
"They're all greatly concerned," answered Copplestone. "But I don't
belong to the company. No--I came to Norcaster this morning to meet Mr.
Oliver--he's going--I hope I oughtn't to say was going!--to produce a
play of mine next month, and he wanted to talk about the rehearsals.
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