Greyle. "The folly of it seems incredible
when they could have taken it in some more easily portable form!"
"Ah!" laughed Copplestone. "But that just shows Chatfield's extraordinary
deepness and craft! He no doubt persuaded his associates that it was
better to have actual bullion where they were going, and tricked them
into believing that he'd actually put it aboard the _Pike_! If it hadn't
been that they examined the boxes which he put on the _Pike_ and found
they contained lead or bricks, the old scoundrel would have collared the
real stuff for himself."
"Take care that he doesn't collar it yet," said Mrs. Greyle with a laugh
as she went into her own room. "Chatfield is resourceful enough
for--anything. And--take care of yourselves!"
That was the second admonition to be careful, and Copplestone thought of
both, as, an hour later, he, Gilling, Vickers and Spurge sped along the
desolate, wind-swept moorland on their way to the Reaver's Glen. It was
a typically North Country autumnal morning, cold, raw, rainy; the tops of
the neighbouring hills were capped with dark clouds; sea-birds called
dismally across the heather; the sea, seen in glimpses through vistas of
fir and pine, looked angry and threatening.
"A fit morning for a do of this sort!" exclaimed Gilling suddenly. "Is it
pretty bare and bleak at this tower of yours, Spurge?"
"You'll be warm enough, guv'nor, where I shall put you," answered Spurge.
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