CHAPTER XI
BENEATH THE BRAMBLES
By the time Copplestone and the pseudo-curate had reached the plateau of open ground surrounding the ruins it seemed as if half the population of Scarhaven had gathered there. Men, women and children were swarming about the door in the curtain wall, all manifesting an eager desire to pass through. But the door was strictly guarded. Chatfield, armed with a new oak cudgel stood there, masterful and lowering; behind him were several estate labourers, all keeping the people back. And within the door stood Marston Greyle, evidently considerably restless and perturbed, and every now and then looking out on the mob which the fast-spreading rumour had called together. In one of these inspections he caught sight of Copplestone, and spoke to Chatfield, who immediately sent one of his body-guard through the throng.
"Mr. Greyle says will you go forward, sir?" said the man. "Your friend can go in too, if he likes.
"That's your clerical garb," whispered Copplestone as he and Gilling made their way to the door. "But why this sudden politeness?"
"Oh, that's easy to reckon up," answered Gilling. "I see through it. They want creditable and respect-
