"A lie!" replied Gilling. "She got no message. The only consolation she had was that you and Copplestone were with Miss Greyle. Well, first thing next morning Swallow and Mrs. Greyle set every possible means to work. They went to the police--they wired to places up the coast and down the coast to keep a look out--and Swallow also wired full particulars to Sir Cresswell Oliver, with the result that Sir Cresswell went to the naval authorities and got them to set their craft up north to work. Having done all this, and finding that he could be of no more service at Scarhaven, Swallow returned to town to see me and to consult. Now, of course, we were in a position by then to approach that Fragonard Club--" "Ah!" exclaimed Copplestone. "Just so!" "The man, whoever he is, had been there an hour on the day Swallow and his man tracked him," continued Gilling. "Therefore, something must be known of him. Swallow and I, armed with certain credentials, went there. And--we could find out next to nothing. The hall porter there said he dimly remembered such a gentleman coming in and going upstairs, but he himself was new to his job, didn't know all the members--there are hundreds of 'em--and he took this man for a regular habitue. A waiter also had some sort of recollection of the man, and seeing him in conversation with another man whom he, the waiter, knew better, though he didn't know his name. Swallow is now moving everything to find that man--to find anybody who knows our man--and something will come of it, in the end--must do. In the meantime I came down here with Sir Cresswell and Mr. Petherton, to be on the spot. And, from your information, things will happen here! That hidden gold is the thing--they'll not leave that without an effort to get it. If we could only find out where that is and watch it--then our present object would be achieved." "What is the present object?" asked Copplestone. "Why," replied Gilling, "we've got warrants out against both Chatfield and the Squire for the murder of Bassett Oliver!--the police here have them in hand. Petherton's seen to that. And if they can only be laid hands on--What is it?" he asked turning to a sleepy-eyed waiter who, after a gentle tap at the door, put a shock head into the room. "Somebody want me?" "That there man, sir--you know," said the waiter. "Here again, sir--stable-yard, sir." Gilling jumped up and gave Copplestone a look. "That's Spurge!" he muttered. "He said he'd be back at day-break. Wait here--I'll fetch him." CHAPTER XXVI THE REAVER'S GLEN