Greyle's cottage, close by Scarhaven church. And just then he heard a
voice calling his name, and turning saw, running out of the station, a
young, athletic-looking man, much wrapped and cloaked, who waved a hand
at him and whose face he had some dim notion of having seen before.
"Mr. Copplestone?" panted the new arrival, coming up hurriedly. "I almost
missed you--I got on the wrong platform to meet your train. You don't
know me, though you may have seen me at the inquest on Mr. Bassett Oliver
the other day--my name's Vickers--Guy Vickers."
"Yes?" said Copplestone. "And--"
"I'm a solicitor, here in Norcaster," answered Vickers. "I--at least, my
firm, you know--we sometimes act for Mrs. Greyle at Scarhaven. I got a
wire from Miss Greyle late this evening, asking me to meet you here when
the London train got in and to go on to Scarhaven with you at once. She
added the words _urgent business_ so--"
"Then in heaven's name, let's be off!" exclaimed Copplestone. "It'll take
us a good hour and a quarter as it is. Of course," he went on, as they
moved away through the Norcaster streets, "of course, you haven't any
notion of what this urgent business is?"
"None whatever!" replied Vickers. "But I'm quite sure that it is urgent,
or Miss Greyle wouldn't have said so. No--I don't know what her exact
meaning was, but of course, I know there's something wrong about the
whole thing at Scarhaven--seriously wrong!"
"You do, eh?" exclaimed Copplestone.
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