"Just what I said," agreed Sir Cresswell. "Carry on at that--eyes and
ears open; no fuss; everything quiet, unobtrusive, silent.
Meanwhile--Petherton will be at work. And I say--if you want company,
you know--I think you'll find it across the bay there at Mrs.
Greyle's--eh?"

"I was there last night," said Copplestone. "I liked both of them
very much. You knew Mrs. Greyle once upon a time, I think; you and
your brother?"

"We did!" replied Sir Cresswell, with a sigh. "Um!--the fact is, both
Bassett and I were in love with her at that time. She married another man
instead. That's all!"

He gave Copplestone a squeeze of the elbow, laughed, and went across to
the solicitor, who was chatting to Stafford in one of the bow windows.
Ten minutes later all three were off to Norcaster, and Copplestone was
alone, ruminating over this sudden and extraordinary change in the
hiterto even tenor of his life. Little more than twenty-four hours
previously, all he had been concerned about was the production of his
play by Bassett Oliver--here he was now, mixed up in a drama of real
life, with Bassett Oliver as its main figure, and the plot as yet
unrevealed. And he himself was already committed to play in it--but
what part?

Now that the others had gone, Copplestone began to feel strangely alone.
He had accepted Sir Cresswell Oliver's commission readily, feeling
genuinely interested in the affair, and being secretly conscious that he
would be glad of the opportunity of further improving his acquaintance
with Audrey Greyle. But now that he considered things quietly, he began