Scarhaven Keep J. S. Fletcher (early reader chapter books TXT) đ
- Author: J. S. Fletcher
Book online «Scarhaven Keep J. S. Fletcher (early reader chapter books TXT) đ». Author J. S. Fletcher
It was not from any idle curiosity that Copplestone made up his mind to await the girlâs nearer approach. There was no other human being in view, and he was anxious to get some information about the rocks whose grim outlines were rapidly becoming faint and indistinct in the gathering darkness. And so as the girl came towards him, picking her way across the pools which lay amidst the brown ribs of sand, he went forward, throwing away all formality and reserve in his eagerness.
âForgive me for speaking so unceremoniously,â he said as they met. âIâm looking for a friend who has disappearedâ âmysteriously. Can you tell me if, any time yesterday, afternoon or evening, you saw anywhere about here a tall, distinguished-looking manâ âthe actor type. In fact, he is an actorâ âperhaps youâve heard of him? Mr. Bassett Oliver.â
He was looking narrowly at the girl as he spoke, and she, too, looked narrowly at him out of a pair of grey eyes of more than ordinary intelligence and perception. And at the famous actorâs name she started a little and a faint colour stole over her cheeks.
âMr. Bassett Oliver!â she exclaimed in a clear, cultured voice. âMy mother and I saw Mr. Oliver at the Northborough Theatre on Friday evening. Do you mean that heâ ââ
âI meanâ âto put it bluntlyâ âthat Bassett Oliver is lost,â answered Copplestone. âHe came to this place yesterday, Sunday, morning, to look round; he lunched at the Admiralâs Arms, he went out, after a chat with the landlady, and heâs never been seen since. He should have turned up at the Angel at Norcaster last night, and at a rehearsal at the Theatre Royal there today at noonâ âbut he didnât. His manager and I have tracked him hereâ âand so far I canât hear of him. Iâve asked people all through the villageâ âthis side, anywayâ ânobody knows anything.â
He and the girl still looked attentively at each other; Copplestone, indeed, was quietly inspecting her while he talked. He judged her to be twenty-one or two; she was a little above medium height, slim, graceful, pretty, and he was quick to notice that her entire air and appearance suggested their present surroundings. Her fair hair escaped from a knitted cap such as fisherfolk wear; her slender figure was shown to advantage by a rough blue jersey; her skirt of blue serge was short and practical; she was shod in brogues which showed more acquaintance with sand and salt water than with polish. And her face was tanned with the strong northern winds, and the ungloved hands, small and shapely as they were, were brown as the beach across which she had come.
âI have not seenâ ânor heardâ âof Mr. Bassett Oliverâ âhere,â she answered. âI was out and about all yesterday afternoon and evening, tooâ ânot on this side of the bay, though. Have you been to the police station?â
âThe manager may have been there,â replied Copplestone. âHeâs gone along the other shore. Butâ âI donât think heâll get any help there. Iâm afraid Mr. Oliver must have met with an accident. I wanted to ask you a questionâ âI saw you coming from the direction of those rocks just now. Could he have got out there across those sands, yesterday afternoon?â
âBetween three oâclock and eveningâ âyes,â said the girl.
âAndâ âis it dangerous out there?â
âVery dangerous indeedâ âto anyone who doesnât know them.â
âThereâs something there called the Devilâs Spout?â
âYesâ âa deep fissure up which the sea boils. Oh! It seems dreadful to think ofâ âI hope he didnât fall in there. If he didâ ââ
âWell?â asked Copplestone bluntly, âwhat if he did?â
âNothing ever came out that once went in,â she answered. âItâs a sort of whirlpool thatâs sucked right away into the sea. The people hereabouts say itâs bottomless.â
Copplestone turned his face towards the village.
âOh, well,â he said, with an accent of hopelessness. âI canât do any more down here, itâs growing dusk. I must go back and meet the manager.â
The girl walked along at his side as he turned towards the village.
âI suppose you are one of Mr. Oliverâs company?â she observed presently. âYou must all be much concerned.â
âTheyâre all greatly concerned,â answered Copplestone. âBut I donât belong to the company. Noâ âI came to Norcaster this morning to meet Mr. Oliverâ âheâs goingâ âI hope I oughtnât to say was going!â âto produce a play of mine next month, and he wanted to talk about the rehearsals. Everything, of course, was at a standstill when I reached Norcaster at one oâclock, so I came with Stafford, the business manager, to see what we could do about tracking Mr. Oliver. And Iâm afraid, Iâm very much afraidâ ââ
He paused, as a gate, set in the thick hedge of a garden at this point of the village, suddenly opened to let out a man, who at sight of the girl stopped, hesitated, and then waited for her approach. He was a tall, well-built man of apparently thirty years, dressed in a rough tweed knickerbocker suit, but the dusk had now so much increased that Copplestone could only gather an impression of
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