"By Gad!--I believe something has happened!" exclaimed Copplestone. "Look there--men running down the hillside from the Keep. And listen--they're shouting to those fellows on the other quay. Come on across! Will it be out of keeping with your invalid pose if you run?" Gilling answered that question by lightly vaulting the wall and dropping to the sands beneath. "I'm not an invalid in my legs, anyhow," he answered, as they began to splash across the pools left by the recently retreated tide. "By George!--I believe something has happened, too! Look at those people, running out of their cottages!" All along the south quay the fisher-folk, men, women, and children, were crowding eagerly towards the gate of the path by which Bassett Oliver had gone up towards the Keep. When Copplestone and his companion gained the quay and climbed up its wall they were pouring in at this gate, and swarming up to the woods, all talking at the top of their voices. Copplestone suddenly recognized Ewbank on the fringe of the crowd and called to him. "What is it?" he demanded. "What's happened?" Ewbank, a man of leisurely movement, paused and waited for the two young men to come up. At their approach he took his pipe out of his mouth, and inclined his head towards the Keep. "They're saying something's been found up there." he replied. "I don't know what. But Chatfield, he's sent two men down here to the village. One of 'em's gone for the police and the doctor, and t'other's gone to the 'Admiral,' looking for you. You're wanted up there--partiklar!" CHAPTER XI BENEATH THE BRAMBLES By the time Copplestone and the pseudo-curate had reached the plateau of open ground surrounding the ruins it seemed as if half the population of Scarhaven had gathered there. Men, women and children were swarming about the door in the curtain wall, all manifesting an eager desire to pass through. But the door was strictly guarded. Chatfield, armed with a new oak cudgel stood there, masterful and lowering; behind him were several estate labourers, all keeping the people back. And within the door stood Marston Greyle, evidently considerably restless and perturbed, and every now and then looking out on the mob which the fast-spreading rumour had called together. In one of these inspections he caught sight of Copplestone, and spoke to Chatfield, who immediately sent one of his body-guard through the throng. "Mr. Greyle says will you go forward, sir?" said the man. "Your friend can go in too, if he likes." "That's your clerical garb," whispered Copplestone as he and Gilling made their way to the door. "But why this sudden politeness?" "Oh, that's easy to reckon up," answered Gilling. "I see through it. They want creditable and respectable witnesses to something or other. This big, heavy-jowled man is Chatfield, of course?" "That's Chatfield," responded Copplestone. "What's he after?"