he met? Hang his pride! Well, now," he went on, turning to the fisherman, "you're dead certain about what you've told us?"
"As certain as mortal man can be of aught there is!" answered the informant. "Sure certain, mister."
"Make a note of it, constable," said Stafford. "Mr. Oliver was last seen going up the path to the Keep, having said he meant to call on Mr. Marston Greyle. I'll call on you again tomorrow morning. Copplestone!" he went on, drawing his companion away, "I'm off to Norcaster—I shall see the police there and get detectives. There's something seriously wrong here—and by heaven, we've got to get to the bottom of it! Now, look here—will you stay here for the night, so as to be on the spot? I'll come back first thing in the morning and bring your luggage—I can't come sooner, for there are heaps of business matters to deal with. You will—good! Now I can just catch a train. Copplestone!—keep your eyes and ears open. It's my firm belief—I don't know why—that there's been foul play. Foul play!"
Stafford hurried away up hill to the station, and Copplestone, after waiting a minute or two, turned along the quay on the north of the bay—following Audrey Greyle, who was in front, alone.
