THE STEAM YACHT
Copplestone had seen and learned enough of Audrey Greyle during his brief
stay at Scarhaven to make him assured that she would not have sent for
him save for very good and grave reasons. It had been with manifest
reluctance that she had given him her promise to do so: her entire
behaviour during the conference with Mr. Dennie and Gilling had convinced
him that she had an inherent distaste for publicity and an instinctive
repugnance to calling in the aid of strangers. He had never expected that
she would send for him--he himself knew that he should go back to her,
but the return would be on his own initiative. There, however, was her
summons, definite as it was brief. He was wanted--and by her. And without
opening one of his letters, he snatched up the whole pile, thrust it into
his pocket, hurriedly made some preparation for his journey and raced off
to King's Cross.
He fumed and fretted with impatience during the six hours' journey down
to Norcaster. It was ten o'clock when he arrived there, and as he knew
that the last train to Scarhaven left at half-past-nine he hurried to get
a fast motor-car that would take him over the last twenty miles of his
journey. He had wired to Audrey from Peterborough, telling her that he
was on his way and should motor out from Norcaster, and when he had
found a car to his liking he ordered its driver to go straight to Mrs.
Greyle's cottage, close by Scarhaven church. And just then he heard a
voice calling his name, and turning saw, running out of the station, a
young, athletic-looking man, much wrapped and cloaked, who waved a hand
at him and whose face he had some dim notion of having seen before.
"Mr. Copplestone?" panted the new arrival, coming up hurriedly. "I almost
missed you--I got on the wrong platform to meet your train. You don't
know me, though you may have seen me at the inquest on Mr. Bassett Oliver
the other day--my name's Vickers--Guy Vickers."
"Yes?" said Copplestone. "And--"
"I'm a solicitor, here in Norcaster," answered Vickers. "I--at least, my
firm, you know--we sometimes act for 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
re-opening 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 port-holes 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 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 motor-car, 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 Vickers hurried his
little party up a gangway and on to the deck. A hard-faced, keen-eyed,
man, evidently in authority, came forward.
"Are you the captain of this vessel?" demanded Vickers in tones of
authority. "You are? I am Mr. Vickers, solicitor, of Norcaster. I give
you formal warning that the man you have known as Marston Greyle is
not Marston Greyle at all, but an impostor. All the property which you
have removed from the house, and now have on this vessel, belongs to
this lady, Miss Audrey Greyle, Lady of the Manor of Scarhaven. It is
at your peril that you move it, or that you cause this vessel to
leave this harbour. I claim the vessel and all that is on it on behalf
of Miss Greyle."
The man addressed listened in silent attention, and showed no sign of any
surprise. As soon as Vickers had finished he turned, hurried down a
stairway, remained below for a few minutes, and came up again.
"Will you kindly step this way, Miss Greyle and gentlemen?" he said
politely. "You must remember that I am only a servant. If you will come
down--"
He led them down the stairs, along a thickly-carpeted passage, and opened
the door of a lighted saloon. All unthinking, the three stepped in--to
hear the door closed and locked behind them.