Copplestone was wondering whether he ought to tell his companion of his own recent discoveries. Like all laymen, he had an idea that you can tell anything to a lawyer, and he was half-minded to pour out the whole story to Vickers, especially as he was Mrs. Greyle's solicitor. But on second thoughts he decided to wait until he had ascertained the state of affairs at Scarhaven. "I didn't hear anything about that," he replied. "Of course, that inquest was a mere travesty of what such an inquiry should have been." "Oh, an utter farce!" agreed Vickers. "However, it produced just the opposite effect to that which the wire-pullers wanted. Of course, Chatfield had squared that jury! But he forgot the press--and the local reporters were so glad to get hold of what was really spicy news that all the Norcaster and Northborough papers have been full of it. Everybody's talking of it, as I said--people are asking what this evidence from America is; why was there such mystery about the whole thing, and so on. And, since then, everybody knows that Squire Greyle has left Scarhaven." "Have you seen Mrs. or Miss Greyle since the inquest?" asked Copplestone, who was anxious to keep off subjects on which he might be supposed to possess information. "Have you been over there?" "No--not since that day," replied Vickers. "And I don't care how soon we do see them, for I'm a bit anxious about this telegram. Something must have happened." Copplestone looked out of the window on his side of the car. Already they were clear of the Norcaster streets and on the road which led to Scarhaven. That road ran all along the coast, often at the very edge of the high, precipitous cliffs, with no more between it and the rocks far beneath than a low wall. It was a road of dangerous curves and corners which needed careful negotiation even in broad daylight, and this was a black, moonless and starless night. But Copplestone had impressed upon his driver that he must get to Scarhaven as quickly as possible, and he and his companion were both so full of their purpose that they paid no heed to the perpetual danger which they ran as the car tore round propections and down deep cuts at a speed which at other times they would have considered suicidal. And at just under the hour they ran on the level stretch by the "Admiral's Arms" and looking down at the harbour saw the lighted port-holes of some ship which lay against the south quay, and on the quay itself men moving about in the glare of lamps. "What's going on there?" said Vickers. "Late for a vessel to be loading at a place like this where time's of no great importance." Copplestone offered no suggestion. He was hotly impatient to reach the cottage, and as soon as the car drew up at its gate he burst out, bade the driver wait, and ran eagerly up to the path to Audrey, who opened the door as he advanced. In another second he had both her hands in his own--and kept them there.