"Bassett Oliver, the actor," he said. "Oh, yes, I saw his name on the
bills in Norcaster the other day. Came here, and has disappeared, you
say? Under what circumstances?"
Copplestone had listened carefully to the newcomer's voice; more
particularly to his accent. He had already gathered sufficient knowledge
of Scarhaven to know that this man was the Squire, the master of the old
house and grey ruin in the wood above the cliff; he also happened to
know, being something of an archaeologist and well acquainted with family
histories, that there had been Greyles of Scarhaven for many hundred
years. And he wondered how it was that though this Greyle's voice was
pleasant and cultured enough, its accent was decidedly American.
"Perhaps I'd better explain," said Copplestone. "I've already told most
of it to this lady, but you will both understand more fully if I tell you
more. It's this way--" and he went on to tell everything that had
happened and come to light since one o'clock that day. "So you see, it's
here," he concluded; "we're absolutely certain that Oliver went out of
the 'Admiral's Arms' up there about half-past two yesterday, but--where?
From that moment, no one seems to have seen him. Yet how he could come
along this village street, this quay, without being seen--"
"He need not have come along the quayside," interrupted the girl.
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