"But all the same,
you'll let me be paymaster here, you know--that's only fair."
"All right--certainly, if you wish it," agreed Copplestone. "But look
here--won't you trust me? I assure you I'm to be trusted. You suspect
somebody! Hadn't you better give me your confidence? I won't tell a
soul--and when I say that, I mean it literally. I won't tell one
single soul!"
Sir Cresswell waited a moment or two, looking quietly at Copplestone.
Then he clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder.
"All right, my lad," he said. "Yes!--we do suspect somebody. Marston
Greyle! Now you know it."
"I expected that," answered Copplestone. "All right, sir. And my orders
are--just what you said."
"Just what I said," agreed Sir Cresswell. "Carry on at that--eyes and
ears open; no fuss; everything quiet, unobtrusive, silent.
Meanwhile--Petherton will be at work. And I say--if you want company,
you know--I think you'll find it across the bay there at Mrs.
Greyle's--eh?"
"I was there last night," said Copplestone. "I liked both of them
very much. You knew Mrs. Greyle once upon a time, I think; you and
your brother?"
"We did!" replied Sir Cresswell, with a sigh. "Um!--the fact is, both
Bassett and I were in love with her at that time. She married another man
instead. That's all!"
He gave Copplestone a squeeze of the elbow, laughed, and went across to
the solicitor, who was chatting to Stafford in one of the bow windows.
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