"You say the inquest will be held tomorrow?" he asked. The doctor looked
his questioner up and down with an inquiry which signified doubt as to
Copplestone's right to demand information.
"In the usual course," he replied stiffly.
"Then his brother, Sir Cresswell Oliver, and his solicitor, Mr.
Petherton, must be wired for from London," observed Copplestone, turning
to Greyle. "I'll communicate with them at once. I suppose we may go up
the tower?" he continued as Greyle nodded his assent. "I'd like to see
the stairs and the parapet."
Greyle looked a little doubtful and uneasy.
"Well, I had meant that no one should go up until all this was gone
into," he answered. "I don't want any more accidents. You'll be careful?"
"We're both young and agile," responded Copplestone.
"There's no need for alarm. Do you care to go up, Mr. Gilling?"
The pseudo-curate accepted the invitation readily, and he and
Copplestone entered the turret. They had climbed half its height before
Copplestone spoke.
"Well?" he whispered. "What do you think?"
"It may be accident," muttered Gilling. "It--mayn't."
"You think he might have been--what?--thrown down?"
"Might have been caught unawares, and pushed over. Let's see what there
is up above, anyway."
The stair in the turret, much worn, but comparatively safe, and lighted
by loopholes and arrow-slits, terminated in a low arched doorway, through
which egress was afforded to a parapet which ran completely round the
inner wall of the Keep.
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