The two younger men waited impatiently in and about the hotel while their elders went on their self-appointed mission. Stafford, essentially a man of activity, speculated on their reasons for seeing the three people whom Sir Cresswell Oliver had specifically mentioned: Copplestone was meanwhile wondering if he could with propriety pay another visit to Mrs. Greyle's cottage that night. It was drawing near to dusk when the two quiet-looking, elderly gentlemen returned and summoned the younger ones to another conference. Both looked as reserved and bland as when they had set out, and the old seaman's voice was just as suave as ever when he addressed them. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "we have paid our visits, and I suppose I had better tell you at once that we are no wiser as to actual facts than we were when we left you earlier in the afternoon. The man Ewbank stands emphatically by his story; Mr. Marston Greyle says that he cannot remember any meeting with my brother in America, and that he certainly did not call on him here on Sunday: Mrs. Valentine Greyle has not met Bassett for a great many years. Now--there the matter stands. Of course, it cannot rest there. Further inquiries will have to be made. Mr. Petherton and I are going on to Norcaster this evening, and we shall have a very substantial reward offered to any person who can give any information about my brother. That may result in something--or in nothing. As to my brother's business arrangements, I will go fully into that matter with you, Mr. Stafford, at Norcaster, tomorrow. Now, Mr. Copplestone, will you have a word or two with me in private?" Copplestone followed the old seaman into a quiet corner of the room, where Sir Cresswell turned on him with a smile. "I take it," he said, "that you are a young gentleman of leisure, and that you can abide wherever you like, eh?" "Yes, you may take that as granted," answered Copplestone, wondering what was coming. "Doesn't much matter if you write your plays in Jermyn Street or--anywhere else, eh?" questioned Sir Cresswell with a humorous smile. "Practically, no," replied Copplestone. Sir Cresswell tapped him on the shoulder. "I want you to do me a favour," he said. "I shall take it as a kindness if you will. I don't want to talk about certain ideas which Petherton and I have about this affair, yet, anyway--not even to you--but we _have_ formed some ideas this afternoon. Now, do you think you could manage to stay where you are for a week or two?" "Here?" exclaimed Copplestone. "This seems very comfortable," said Sir Cresswell, looking round. "The landlady is a nice, motherly person; she gave me a very well-cooked lunch; this is a quiet room in which to do your writing, eh?" "Of course I can stay here," answered Copplestone, who was a good deal bewildered. "But--mayn't I know why--and in what capacity?"