way. Greyle may have found even that journey
too much for him. They may, in that case, have left the train at
Plymouth--or at Exeter--or at Taunton: it would stop at each place. Seems
to me we're wasting time here--far better get nearer more tangible
things. Chatfield, for instance. Or, go back to town and find out what
your friend Swallow has done."

"Swallow," replied Gilling, "has done nothing so far, or I should have
heard. Swallow knows exactly where I am, and where I shall be until I
give him further notice. Don't be discouraged, my friend--one is often
on the very edge of a discovery when one seems to be miles away from it.
Give me another day--and if we haven't found out something by tomorrow
evening I'll consult with you as to our next step. But I've a plan for
tomorrow morning which ought to yield some result."

"What?" demanded Copplestone, doubtfully.

"This! There is in every centre of population an official who registers
births, marriages, and deaths. Now we believe the real Marston Greyle to
be dead. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that he did die here, in
Bristol, whither he and Chatfield certainly set off when they left
Falmouth. What would happen? Notice of his death would have to be given
to the Registrar--by the nearest relative or by the person in attendance
on the deceased. That person would, in this case, be Chatfield. If the
death occurred suddenly, and without medical attendance, an inquest would
have to be held. If a doctor had been in attendance he would give a
signed certificate of the cause of death, which he would hand to the
relatives or friends in attendance, who, in their turn, would have to
hand it to the Registrar. Do you see the value of these points? What we
must do tomorrow morning is to see the Registrar--or, as there will be
more than one in a place this size--each of them in turn, in the
endeavour to find out if, early in October, 1912, Peter Chatfield
registered the death of Marston Greyle here. But remember--he may not
have registered it under that name. He may, indeed, not have used his own
name--he's deep enough for anything. That however, is our next best
chance--search of the registers. Let's try it, anyway, first thing in the
morning. And as we've had a stiff day, I propose we dismiss all thought
of this affair for the rest of the evening and betake ourselves to some
place of amusement--theatre, eh?"

Copplestone made no objection to that, and when dinner was over,