He had not
seen anything which would lead him to suppose that Miss Adela Chatfield
was a disingenuous and designing young woman, but she was certainly
Peeping Peter's daughter, and the old man, having failed to get anything
out of Copplestone himself, might possibly have sent her to see what she
could accomplish. He replied noncommittally.
"I'm not in a position to do anything," he said. "I'm not a relative--not
even a personal friend. I daresay you know that Bassett Oliver was--one's
already talking of him in the past tense!--the brother of Rear-Admiral
Sir Cresswell Oliver, the famous seaman?"
"I knew he was a man of what they call family, but I didn't know that,"
she answered. "What of it?"
"Stafford's wired to Sir Cresswell," replied Copplestone. "Hell be down
here some time tomorrow, no doubt. And of course he'll take everything
into his own hands."
"And he'll do--what?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know," replied Copplestone. "Set the police to work, I
should think. They'll want to find out where Bassett Oliver went, where
he got to, when he turned up to the Keep, saying he'd go and call on
the Squire, as he'd met some man of that name in America. By-the-bye,
you said you'd been in America. Did you meet anybody of the Squire's
name there?"
They were passing along the quay by that time, and in the light of one of
its feeble gas-lamps he turned and looked narrowly at his companion.
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