he evening, the passengers who landed from her would be almost
certain to stay the night in Falmouth. So we've only to resume our round
of these hotels in order to hit something pertinent. This is plain and
easy work, Copplestone--no corners in it. We'll strike oil before noon."

They struck oil at the very next hotel they called at--an old-fashioned
house in close proximity to the harbour. There was a communicative
landlord there who evidently possessed and was proud of a retentive
memory, and he no sooner heard the reason of Gilling's call upon him than
he bustled into activity, and produced the register of the previous year.

"But I remember the young gentleman you're asking about," he remarked, as
he took the book from a safe and laid it open on the table in his private
room. "Not a common name, is it? He came here about eleven o'clock of the
night you've mentioned--there you are!--there's the entry. And
there--higher up--is the name of the man who came to meet him. He came
the day before--to be here when the _Araconda_ got in."

The two visitors, bending over the book, mutually nudged each other as
their eyes encountered the signatures on the open page. There, in the
handwriting of the letters which Mr. Dennie had so fortunately preserved,
was the name Marston Greyle. But it was not the sight of that which
surprised them; they had expected to see it. What made them both thrill
with the joy of an unexpected discovery was the sight of the signature
inserted some lines above it, under date October 4th. Lest they should
exhibit that joy before the landlord, they mutually stuck their elbows
into each other and immediately affected the unconcern of indifference.

But there the signature was--_Peter Chatfield_. Peter Chatfield!--they
both knew that they were entering on a new stage of their quest; that the
fact that Chatfield had travelled to Falmouth to meet the new owner of
Scarhaven meant much--possibly meant everything.

"Oh!" said Gilling, as steadily as possible. "That gentleman came to meet
the other, did he? Just so. Now what sort of man was he?"

"Big, fleshy man--elderly--very solemn in manner and appearance,"
answered the landlord. "I remember him well. Came in about five o 'clock
in the afternoon of the 4th just after the London train arrived--and
booked a room. He told me he expected to meet a gentleman from New York,
and was very fidgety about fixing it up to go off in the tender to the
_Araconda_ when s