Scarhaven Keep J. S. Fletcher (early reader chapter books TXT) 📖

Mrs. Greyle at Scarhaven. I got a wire from Miss Greyle late this evening, asking me to meet you here when the London train got in and to go on to Scarhaven with you at once. She added the words urgent business so⁠—”

“Then in heaven’s name, let’s be off!” exclaimed Copplestone. “It’ll take us a good hour and a quarter as it is. Of course,” he went on, as they moved away through the Norcaster streets, “of course, you haven’t any notion of what this urgent business is?”

“None whatever!” replied Vickers. “But I’m quite sure that it is urgent, or Miss Greyle wouldn’t have said so. No⁠—I don’t know what her exact meaning was, but of course, I know there’s something wrong about the whole thing at Scarhaven⁠—seriously wrong!”

“You do, eh?” exclaimed Copplestone. “What now?”

“Ah, that I don’t know!” replied Vickers, with a dry laugh. “I wish I did. But⁠—you know how people talk in these provincial places⁠—ever since that inquest there have been all sorts of rumours. Every club and public place in Norcaster has been full of talk⁠—gossip, surmise, speculation. Naturally!”

“But⁠—about what?” asked Copplestone.

“Squire Greyle, of course,” said the young solicitor; “that inquest was enough to set the whole country talking. Everybody thinks⁠—they couldn’t think otherwise⁠—that something is being hushed up. Everybody’s agog to know if Sir Cresswell Oliver and Mr. Petherton are applying for a reopening of the inquest. You’ve just come from town, I believe! Did you hear anything?”

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 portholes 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.

“You’re all right?” he demanded in tones which made clear to the girl how anxious he had been. “There’s nothing wrong⁠—with you or your mother⁠—personally, I mean? You see, I didn’t get your wire until this afternoon, and then I raced off as quick⁠—”

“I know,” she said, responding a little to the pressure of his hands. “I understand. You may be sure I shouldn’t have wired if I hadn’t felt it absolutely necessary. Somebody was wanted⁠—and you’d made me promise, and so⁠—Yes,” she continued, drawing back as Vickers came up, “we are all right, personally, but⁠—there’s something very wrong indeed somewhere. Will you both come in and see mother?”

Mrs. Greyle, looking worn and ill, appeared just then in the hall, and called to them to come in. She preceded them into the parlour and turned to the young men as soon as Audrey closed the door.

“I’m more thankful to see you gentlemen than I’ve ever been in my life⁠—for anything!” she said. “Something is happening here which needs the attention of men⁠—we women can’t do anything. Let me tell you what it is. Yesterday morning, very early the Squire’s steam yacht, the Pike, was brought into the inner harbour and moored against the quay just opposite the park gates. We, of course, could see it, and as we knew he had gone away we wondered why it was brought in there. After it had been moored, we saw that preparations of some