Copplestone's steady look. She half turned to Mrs. Wooler, and her colour
rose a little.

"I've heard of that," she said, with an affectation of indifference. "And
as I happen to know a bit of Bassett Oliver, I don't see what all this
fuss is about. I should say Bassett Oliver took it into his head to go
off somewhere yesterday on a little game of his own, and that he's turned
up at Norcaster by this time, and is safe in his dressing-room, or on the
stage. That's my notion."

"I wish I could think it the correct one," replied Copplestone. "But we
can soon find out if it is--there's a telephone in the hall. Yet--I'm so
sure that you're wrong, that I'm not even going to ring Norcaster up. Mr.
Bassett Oliver has--disappeared here!"

"Are you a member of his company?" asked Addie, again looking Copplestone
over with speculative glances.

"Not at all! I'm a humble person whose play Mr. Oliver was about to
produce next month, in consequence of which I came down to see him, and
to find this state of affairs. And--having nothing else to do--I'm now
here to help to find him--alive or dead."

"Oh!" said Addie. "So--you're a writer?"

"I understand that you are an actress?" responded Copplestone. "I wonder
if I've ever seen you anywhere?"

Addie bowed her head and gave him a sharp glance.