Copplestone looked again. He started at what he read. _Margaret Sayers_.......MISS ADELA CHATFIELD. "And now look at that!" continued Gilling, with an accentuation of his triumphal note. "See! These people were here for a fortnight--from October 3rd to 17th--1912. Therefore--if Peter Chatfield brought Marston Greyle to Bristol on October 6th, Peter Chatfield's daughter would also be in the town!" Copplestone looked over the bill again, rapidly realizing possibilities. "Would Chatfield know that?" he asked reflectively. "It's only likely that he would," replied Gilling. "Even if father and daughter don't quite hit things off in their tastes, it's only reasonable to suppose that Peter would usually know his daughter's whereabouts. And if he brought Greyle here, ill, and they had to stop, it's only likely that Peter would turn to his daughter for help. Anyway, Copplestone, here are two undoubted facts:--Chatfield and Greyle booked from Falmouth for Bristol on October 6th, 1912, and may therefore be supposed to have come here. That's one fact. The other is--Addie Chatfield was certainly in Bristol on that date and for eleven days after it." "Well--what next?" asked Copplestone. "I've been thinking that over while you stared at the bill," answered Gilling. "I think the best thing will be to find out where Addie Chatfield put herself up during her stay. I daresay you know that in most of these towns there are lodgings which are almost exclusively devoted to the theatrical profession. Actors and actresses go to them year after year; their owners lay themselves out for their patrons--what's more, your theatrical landlady always remembers names and faces, and has her favourites. Now, in my stage experience, I never struck Bristol, so I don't know much about it, but I know where we can get information--the stage door-keeper. He'll tell us where the recognized lodgings are--and then we must begin a round of inquiry. When? Just now, my boy!--and a good time, too, as you'll see." "Why?" asked Copplestone. "Best hour of the evening," replied Gilling with glib assurance. "Landladies enjoying an hour of ease before beginning to cook supper for their lodgers, now busy on the stage. Always ready to talk, theatrical landladies, when they've nothing to do. Trust me for knowing the ropes!--come round to the stage door and let's ask the keeper a question or two." But before they had quitted the foyer an interruption came in the shape of a shrewd-looking gentleman in evening dress, who wore his opera hat at a rakish angle and seemed to be very much at home as he strolled about, hands in pockets, looking around him at all and sundry. He suddenly caught sight of Gilling, smiled surprisedly and expansively, and came forward with outstretched hand. "Bless our hearts, is it really yourself, dear boy!" exclaimed this apparition. "Really, now? And what brings you here--God bless my soul and eyes--why I haven't seen you this--how long is it, dear boy!"