"I say," he answered in a sharp, business-like fashion, "that Gilling, who's stopping at the inn, you know, is walking up and down outside here, evidently looking out for me, and very anxious to see me, and with your permission, Mrs. Greyle, I'd like to have him in. Now that things have got to this pitch, I'd better tell you something--I don't see any good in concealing it longer. Gilling isn't an invalid curate at all!--he's a private detective. Sir Cresswell Oliver and Petherton, the solicitor, sent him down here to watch Greyle--the Squire, you know--that's Gilling's job. They suspect Greyle--have suspected him from the very first--but of what I don't know. Not--not of this, I think. Anyway, they do suspect him, and Gilling's had his eye on him ever since he came here. And I'd like to fetch Gilling in here, and I'd like him to know all that Mr. Dennie's told us. Because, don't you see, Sir Cresswell and Petherton ought to know all that, immediately, and Gilling's their man." Audrey's brows had been gathering in lines of dismay and perplexity all the time Copplestone was talking, but her mother showed no signs of anything but complete composure, crowned by something very like satisfaction, and she nodded a ready acquiescence in Copplestone's proposal. "By all means!" she responded. "Bring Mr. Gilling in at once." Copplestone hurried out into the garden and signalled to the pseudo-curate, who came hurrying across from the quay. One glance at him showed Copplestone that something had happened. "Gad!--I thought I should never attract your attention!" said Gilling hastily. "Been making eyes at you for ten minutes. I say--Greyle's off!" "Off!" exclaimed Copplestone. "How do you mean--off?" "Left Scarhaven, anyhow--for London," replied Gilling. "An hour ago I happened to be at the station, buying a paper, when he drove up--luggage and man with him, so I knew he was off for some time. And I took good care to dodge round by the booking-office when the man took the tickets. King's Cross. So that's all right, for the time being." "How do you mean--all right?" asked Copplestone. "I thought you were to keep him in sight?" "All right," repeated Gilling. "I have more eyes than these, my boy! I've a particularly smart partner in London--name of Swallow--and he and I have a cypher code. So soon as the gentleman had left, I repaired to the nearest post office and wired a code message to Swallow. Swallow will meet that train when it strikes King's Cross. And it doesn't matter if Greyle hides himself in one of the spikes on top of the Monument or inside the lion house at the Zoo--Swallow will be there! No man ever got away from Swallow--once Swallow had set eyes on him." Copplestone looked, listened, and laughed.