"
"I am not," answered Copplestone. He sat staring at his visitor for
awhile, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its cordial tone.
"Well," he said, "and what have you called on me about?"
Chatfield looked up sharply, noticing the altered tone.
"To tell you--and them as you no doubt represent--that Mr. Greyle will be
glad to help in any possible way towards finding out something in this
here affair," he answered. "He'll welcome any inquiry that's opened."
"Oh!" said Copplestone. "I see! But you're making a mistake, Mr.
Chatfield. I don't represent anybody. I'm not even a relation of Mr.
Bassett Oliver. In fact, I never met Mr. Oliver in my life: never spoke
to him. So--I'm not here in any representative or official sense."
Chatfield's small eyes grew smaller with suspicious curiosity.
"Oh?" he said questioningly. "Then--what might you be here for, mister?"
Copplestone stood up and rang the bell.
"That's my business." he answered. "Sorry I can't give you any more
time," he went on as Mrs. Wooler opened the door. "I'm engaged now. If
you or Mr. Greyle want to see Mr. Oliver's friends I believe his brother,
Sir Cresswell Oliver, will be here tomorrow--he's been wired for anyhow."
Chatfield's mouth opened as he picked up his hat. He stared at this
self-assured young man as if he were something quite new to him.
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