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

sort were being made. Then men⁠—estate labourers⁠—began coming down from the house, carrying packing cases, which were taken on board. And while this was going on, Mrs. Peller, the housekeeper, came hurrying here, in a state of great consternation. She said that a number of men, sailors and estate men, were packing up and removing all the most valuable things in the house⁠—the finest pictures, the old silver, the famous collection of china which Stephen John Greyle made⁠—and spent thousands upon thousands of pounds in making!⁠—the rarest and most valuable books out of the library⁠—all sorts of things of real and great value. Everything was being taken down to the Pike⁠—and the estate carpenter, who was in charge of all this, said it was by the Squire’s orders, and produced to Mrs. Peller his written authority. Of course, Mrs. Peller could do nothing against that, but she came hurrying to tell us, because she, like everybody else, is much exercised by these recent events. And so Audrey and I pocketed our pride, and went to see Peter Chatfield. But Peter Chatfield, like his master, had gone! He had left home the previous evening, and his house was locked up.”

Copplestone and Vickers exchanged glances, and the young solicitor signed Mrs. Greyle to proceed.

“Then,” she added, “to add to that, as we came away from Chatfield’s house, we met Mr. Elkin, the bank manager from Norcaster. He had come over in a motorcar, to see me⁠—privately. He wanted to tell me⁠—in relation to all these things⁠—that within the last few days, the Squire and Peter Chatfield had withdrawn from the bank the very large balances of two separate accounts. One was the Squire’s own account, in his name⁠—the other was an estate account, on which Chatfield could draw. In both cases the balances withdrawn were of very large amount. Of course, as Mr. Elkin pointed out, it was all in order, and no objection could be raised. But it was unusual, for a large balance had always existed on both these accounts. And, Mr. Elkin added, so many strange rumours are going about Norcaster and the district, that he felt seriously uneasy, and thought it his duty to see me at once. And now⁠—what is to be done? The house is being stripped of the best part of its valuables, and in my opinion when that yacht sails it will be for some foreign port. What other object can there be in taking these things away? Of course, as nothing is entailed, and there are no heirlooms, everything is absolutely the Squire’s property, so⁠—”

Copplestone, who had been realizing the serious significance of these statements, saw that it was time to speak, if energetic methods were to be taken at once.

“I’d better tell you the truth,” he said interrupting Mrs. Greyle. “I might have told you, Vickers, as we came along, but I decided to wait, until we got here and found out how things were. Mrs. Greyle, the man you speak of as the Squire, is no more the owner of Scarhaven than I am! He is not Marston Greyle at all. The real Marston Greyle who came over from America, died the day after he landed, in lodgings at Bristol to which Peter Chatfield and his daughter had taken him, and he is buried in a Bristol cemetery under the name of Mark Grey; Gilling and I found that out during these last few days. It’s an absolute fact. So the man who has been posing here as the rightful owner is⁠—an impostor!”

A dead silence followed this declaration. The mother and daughter after one long look at Copplestone turned and looked at each other. But Vickers, quick to realize the situation, started from his seat, with evident intention of doing something.

“That’s⁠—the truth?” he exclaimed, turning to Copplestone. “No possible flaw in it?”

“None,” replied Copplestone. “It’s sheer fact.”

“Then in that case,” said Vickers, “Miss Greyle is the owner of Scarhaven, of everything in the house, of every stick, stone and pebble, about the place! And we must act at once. Miss Greyle, you will have to assert yourself. You must do what I tell you to do. You must get ready at once⁠—this minute!⁠—and come down with me and Mrs. Greyle to that yacht and stop all these proceedings. In our presence you must lay claim to everything that’s been taken from the house⁠—yes, and to the yacht itself. Come, let’s hurry!”

Audrey hesitated and looked at Mrs. Greyle.

“Very well,” she said quietly. “But⁠—not my mother.”

“No need!” said Vickers. “You will have us with you.”

Audrey hurried from the room, and Mrs. Greyle turned anxiously to Vickers.

“What shall you do?” she asked.

“Warn all concerned,” answered Vickers, with a snap of the jaw which showed Copplestone that he was a man of determination. “Warn them, if necessary, that the man they have known as Marston Greyle is an impostor, and that everything they are handling belongs to Miss Greyle. The Scarhaven people know me, of course⁠—there ought not to be any great difficulty with them⁠—and as regards the yacht people⁠—”

“You know,” interrupted Mrs. Greyle, “that this man⁠—the impostor⁠—has made himself very popular with the people here? You saw how they cheered him after the inquest? You don’t think there is danger in Audrey going down there?”

“Wouldn’t it be enough if you and I went?” suggested Copplestone. “It’s very late to drag Miss Greyle out.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s absolutely necessary,” said Vickers. “If your story is true⁠—I mean, of course, since it is true⁠—Miss Greyle is owner and mistress, and she must be on the spot. It’s all we can do, anyway,” he continued, as Audrey, wrapped in a big ulster, came back to the parlour. “Even now we may be too late. And if that yacht once sails away from here⁠—”

There were signs that the yacht’s departure was imminent when they went down to the south quay and came abreast of her. The lights on the shore were being extinguished; the estate labourers were gone; only two or three sailors were busy with ropes and gear. And