Addie stared and glanced at the landlady. "Here?" she exclaimed. "Goodness, no! When I'm here of a Sunday, I lie in bed all day, or most of it. Otherwise, I'd have to walk with my parent to the family pew. No--my Sundays are days of rest! You really think this disappearance is serious?" "Oliver's managers--who know him best, of course--think it most serious," replied Copplestone. "They say that nothing but an accident of a really serious nature would have kept him from his engagements." "Then that settles it!" said Addie. "He's fallen down the Devil's Spout. Plain as plain can be, that! He's made his way there, been a bit too daring, and slipped over the edge. And whoever falls in there never comes out again!--isn't that it, Mrs. Wooler?" "That's what they say," answered the landlady. "But I don't remember any accident at the Devil's Spout in my time." "Well, there's been one now, anyway--that's flat," remarked Addie. "Poor old Bassett--I'm sorry for him! Well, I'm off. Good-night, Mr. Copplestone--and perhaps you'll so far overcome your repugnance to the theatre as to come and see me in one some day?" "Supposing I escort you homeward instead--now?" suggested Copplestone. "That will at least show that I am ready to become your devoted--" "Admirer, I suppose," said Addie. "I'm afraid he's not quite as innocent as he looks, Mrs. Wooler. Well--you can escort me as far as the gates of the park, then--I daren't take you further, because it's so dark in there that you'd surely lose your way, and then there'd be a second disappearance and all sorts of complications." She went out of the inn, laughing and chattering, but once outside she suddenly became serious, and she involuntarily laid her hand on Copplestone's arm as they turned down the hillside towards the quay. "I say!" she said in a low voice. "I wasn't going to ask questions in there, but--what's going to be done about this Oliver affair? Of course you're stopping here to do something. What?" Copplestone hesitated before answering this direct question. He had not seen anything which would lead him to suppose that Miss Adela Chatfield was a disingenuous and designing young woman, but she was certainly Peeping Peter's daughter, and the old man, having failed to get anything out of Copplestone himself, might possibly have sent her to see what she could accomplish. He replied noncommittally. "I'm not in a position to do anything," he said. "I'm not a relative--not even a personal friend. I daresay you know that Bassett Oliver was--one's already talking of him in the past tense!--the brother of Rear-Admiral Sir Cresswell Oliver, the famous seaman?" "I knew he was a man of what they call family, but I didn't know that," she answered. "What of it?" "Stafford's wired to Sir Cresswell," replied Copplestone. "He'll be down here some time tomorrow, no doubt. And of course he'll take everything into his own hands." "And he'll do--what?" she asked.