there is some trace of him at Falmouth. He no doubt stayed a night there. Anyway, somebody must go to Falmouth and make inquiries. You'd better go, Gilling, and at once. While you're away your partner had better resume his search for the man we know as the Squire. You've two good clues—the fact that he visited the Fragonard Club and that particular tobacconist's shop. Urge Swallow to do his best—the man must be kept in sight. See to both these things immediately."
"Swallow is at work already," replied Gilling. "He's got good help, too, and his failure yesterday has put him on his mettle. As for me, I'll go to Falmouth by the next express. Let me have that cablegram."
"I'll go with you," said Copplestone. "I may be of some use—and I'm interested. But," he paused and looked questioningly at the old solicitor. "What about the other news we brought you?" he asked. "About this sale of the estate, you know? If this man is an impostor———"
"Leave that to me," replied Petherton, with a shrewd glance at Sir Cresswell. "I know the Greyle family solicitors—highly respectable people—only a few doors away, in fact—and I 'm going round to have a quiet little chat with them in a few minutes. There will be no sale! Leave me to deal with that matter—and if you young men are going to Falmouth, off you go!"
It was late that night when Copplestone and Gilling arrived at this far-off Cornish seaport, and nothing
