"Oliver's managers--who know him best, of course--think it most serious,"
replied Copplestone. "They say that nothing but an accident of a really
serious nature would have kept him from his engagements."

"Then that settles it!" said Addie. "He's fallen down the Devil's Spout.
Plain as plain can be, that! He's made his way there, been a bit too
daring, and slipped over the edge. And whoever falls in there never comes
out again!--isn't that it, Mrs. Wooler?"

"That's what they say," answered the landlady.

"But I don't remember any accident at the Devil's Spout in my time."

"Well, there's been one now, anyway--that's flat," remarked Addie. "Poor
old Bassett--I'm sorry for him! Well, I'm off. Good-night, Mr.
Copplestone--and perhaps you'll so far overcome your repugnance to the
theatre as to come and see me in one some day?"

"Supposing I escort you homeward instead--now?" suggested Copplestone.
"That will at least show that I am ready to become your devoted--"

"Admirer, I suppose," said Addie. "I'm afraid he's not quite as innocent
as he looks, Mrs. Wooler. Well--you can escort me as far as the gates of
the park, then--I daren't take you further, because it's so dark in there
that you'd surely lose your way, and then there'd be a second
disappearance and all sorts of complications."

She went out of the inn, laughing and chattering, but once outside she
suddenly became serious, and she involuntarily laid her hand on
Copplestone's arm as they turned down the hillside towards the quay.