Wooler, who
met him at the inn door. He pointed with great pride to certain staring
headlines.
"I engineered that!" he exclaimed. "Went round to the newspaper office
last night and put them up to everything. Nothing like publicity in these
cases. There you are!
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF FAMOUS ACTOR! BASSETT OLIVER MISSING!
INTERVIEW WITH MAN WHO SAW HIM LAST!
That's the style, Copplestone!--every human being along this coast'll be
reading that by now!"
"So there was no news of him last night?" asked Copplestone.
"Neither last night nor this morning, my boy," replied Stafford. "Of
course not! No--he never left here, not he! Now then, let Mrs. Wooler
serve us that nice breakfast which I'm sure she has in readiness, and
then we're going to plunge into business, hot and strong. There's a
couple of detectives coming on by the nine o'clock train, and we're going
to do the whole thing thoroughly."
"What about his brother?" inquired Copplestone.
"I wired him last night to his London address, and got a reply first
thing this morning," said Stafford. "He's coming along by the 5:15 A.M.
from King's Cross--he'll be here before noon. I want to get things to
work before he arrives, though. And the first thing to do, of course, is
to make sympathetic inquiry, and to search the shore, and the cliffs, and
these woods--and that Keep.
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