unday night, of course."

"Thanks," said Copplestone. "I suppose membership of that's confined to
the profession, eh?"

"Strictly," replied his friend. "But they ain't at all particular about
their guests--you'll meet all sorts of people there, from judges to
jockeys, and millionairesses to milliners."

Copplestone was still wondering what the Squire of Scarhaven could have
to do with the Fragonard Club when he went to Mr. Petherton's office the
next morning. He was late for the appointment which Gilling had made, and
when he arrived Gilling had already reported all that had taken place the
day before to the solicitor and to Sir Cresswell Oliver. And on that
Copplestone produced the papers entrusted to him by Mr. Dennie and they
all compared the handwritings afresh.

"There is certainly something wrong, somewhere," remarked Petherton,
after a time. "However, we are in a position to begin a systematic
inquiry. Here," he went on, drawing a paper from his desk, "is a
cablegram which arrived first thing this morning from New York--from an
agent who has been making a search for me in the shipping lists. This is
what he says: 'Marston Greyle, St. Louis, Missouri, booked first-class
passenger from New York to Falmouth, England, by S.S. _Araconda_,
September 28th, 1912.' There--that's something definite. And the next
thing," concluded the old lawyer, with a shrewd glance at Sir Cresswell,
"is to find out if the Marston Greyle who landed at Falmouth is the same
man whom we have recently seen!"

CHAPTER XVI

IN TOUCH WITH THE MISSING

Sir Cresswell Oliver took the cablegram from Petherton and read it over
slowly, muttering the precise and plain wording to himself.

"Don't you think, Petherton, that we had better get a clear notion of our
exact bearings?" he said as he laid it back on the solicitor's desk.
"Seems to me that the time's come when we ought to know exactly where we
are. As I understand it, the case is this--rightly or wrongly we suspect
the present holder of the Scarhaven estates. We suspect that he is not
the rightful owner--that, in short, he is no more the real Marston Greyle
than you are. We think that he's an impostor--posing as Marston Greyle.
Other people--Mrs. Valentine Greyle, for example--evidently think so,
too. Am I right?"

"Quite!" responded Petherton. "That's our position--exactly."

"Then--in that case, what I want to get at is this," continued Sir
Cresswell. "How does this relate t