"None," replied Copplestone. "Not a word. This is Mr. Greyle, of the
Keep--he has heard nothing. This lady--Miss Greyle?--was out a good deal
yesterday afternoon; she knows Oliver quite well by sight, but she did
not see him. So if you've no news--"

Marston Greyle interrupted, turning to the policeman.

"What ought to be done, Haskett?" he asked. "You've had cases of
disappearance to deal with before, eh?"

"Can't say as I have, sir, in my time," answered the policeman.
"Leastways, not of this sort. Of course, we can get search parties
together, and one of 'em can go along the coast north'ards, and the other
can go south'ards, and we might have a look round the rocks out yonder,
tomorrow, as soon as it's light. But if the gentleman went out there, and
had the bad luck to fall into that Devil's Spout, why, then, sir, I'm
afraid all the searching in the world'll do no good. And the queer thing
is, gentlemen, if I may express an opinion, that nobody ever saw the
gentleman after he had left Mrs. Wooler's! That seems--"

A fisherman came lounging across the quay from the shadow of one of the
neighbouring cottages. He touched his cap to Marston Greyle, and looked
inquiringly at the two strangers.

"Are you the gentlemen as is asking after another gentleman?" he said.
"'Cause if so, I make no doubt as how I had a word or two with him
yesterday afternoon."

Stafford and Copplestone turned sharply on the newcomer--an elderly