ntlemen was up here again--I
left him in charge. And there he is now. And now you know all I can tell
you, gentlemen, and as I understand there's some mystery about Chatfield
and that he's disappeared, happen you'll know how to put two and two
together. And if I'm of any use--"

"Spurge," said Gilling. "How far is it to this Reaver's Glen--or, rather
to that peel tower?"

"Matter of eight or nine miles, guv'nor, over the moors," replied Spurge.

"How did you come in then?" asked Gilling.

"Cousin Jim Spurge's bike--down in the stable-yard, now," answered
Spurge. "Did it comfortable in under the hour."

"I think we ought to go out there--some of us," said Gilling. "We
ought--"

At that moment the door opened and Sir Cresswell Oliver came in, holding
a bit of flimsy paper in his hand. He glanced at Spurge and then beckoned
the three young men to join him.

"I've had a wireless message from the North Sea--and it puzzles me," he
said. "One of our ships up there has had news of what is surely the
_Pike_ from a fishing vessel. She was seen late yesterday afternoon going
due east--due east, mind you! If that was she--and I'm sure of it!--our
quarry's escaping us."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE PEEL TOWER

Gilling took the message from Sir Cresswell and thoughtfully read
it over. Then he handed it back and motioned the old seaman to look
at Spurge.

"I think you ought to know what this man has just told us, sir," he said.
"We've got a story from him that exactly fits in with what Chatfield told
Mr. Vickers when the _Pike_ returned to carry him off yesterday.
Chatfield, you'll remember, said that the gold he'd withdrawn from the
bank is hidden somewhere--well, there's no doubt that this man Zachary
Spurge knows where it is hidden. It's there now--and the presumption is,
of course, that these people on the _Pike_ will certainly come in to this
coast--somehow!--to get it. So in that case--eh?"

"Gad!--that's valuable!" said Sir Cresswell, glancing again at Spurge,
and with awakened interest. "Let me hear this story."

Copplestone epitomized Spurge's account, while the poacher listened
admiringly, checking off the main points and adding a word or two where
he considered the epitome lacking.

"Very smart of you, my man," remarked Sir Cresswell, nodding benevolently
at Spurge when the story was over. "You're in a fair way to find yourself
well rewarded. Now gentlemen!" he continued, sitting down at the table,
and eng