They suspect Greyle--have suspected him from the very
first--but of what I don't know. Not--not of this, I think. Anyway, they
do suspect him, and Gilling's had his eye on him ever since he came here.
And I'd like to fetch Gilling in here, and I'd like him to know all that
Mr. Dennie's told us. Because, don't you see, Sir Cresswell and
Petherton ought to know all that, immediately, and Gilling's their man."
Audrey's brows had been gathering in lines of dismay and perplexity
all the time Copplestone was talking, but her mother showed no
signs of anything but complete composure, crowned by something very
like satisfaction, and she nodded a ready acquiescence in
Copplestone's proposal.
"By all means!" she responded. "Bring Mr. Gilling in at once."
Copplestone hurried out into the garden and signalled to the
pseudo-curate, who came hurrying across from the quay. One glance at him
showed Copplestone that something had happened.
"Gad!--I thought I should never attract your attention!" said Gilling
hastily. "Been making eyes at you for ten minutes. I say--Greyle's off!"
"Off!" exclaimed Copplestone. "How do you mean--off?"
"Left Scarhaven, anyhow--for London," replied Gilling. "An hour ago I
happened to be at the station, buying a paper, when he drove up--luggage
and man with him, so I knew he was off for some time. And I took good
care to dodge round by the booking-office when the man took the tickets.
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