well-known boat-builders of
the town. It will be remembered that he had a particular liking for
night-sailing, and would often sail his yacht out of harbour late of
an evening in order, as he said, to enjoy the wonderful effects of
moonlight on sea and coast.' That, you'll bear in mind," concluded Mr.
Cazalette, with a more than usually sardonic grin, "was penned by some
fatuous reporter before they knew that the deceased gentleman had
robbed the bank. And no doubt it was on those night excursions that
he, and this man Baxter that we've heard of, carried away the stolen
valuables, and safely hid them in some quiet spot on this coast--and
there you'll see, they'll be found all in good time. And as sure as my
name is what it is, Dr. Lorrimore, it was that spot that Salter Quick
was after--only he wasn't exactly certain where it was, and had
somehow got mixed about the graves of the Netherfields. Man alive! yon
plate of the old monks is buried under some Netherfield headstone at
this minute!"

"Don't believe it, sir!" said Lorrimore. "It's much more likely to be
stored in some handy seaport where it can be easily called for without
attracting attention. And if Middlebrook'll give me Scarterfield's
address that's what I'm going to suggest to him."

I suppose Lorrimore wrote to the detective. But during the next few
days I heard nothing from Scarterfield; indeed nobody heard anything
new from anywhere. I believe that Scarterfield from Blyth, gave some
hints to the coastguard people about keeping a look-out for the
_Blanchflower_, but I am not sure of it. However, two of us at
Ravensdene Court took a mutual liking for walks along the loneliest
stretches of the coast--myself and Miss Raven. Before my journey to
Blyth and Hull, she and I had already taken to going for afternoon
excursions together; now we lengthened them, going out after lunch and
remaining away until we had only just time to return home by the
dinner-hour. I think we had some vague idea that we might possibly
discover something--perhaps find some trace, we knew not of what. Then
we were led, unexpectedly, as such things always do happen, to the
threshold of our great and perilous adventure. Going further afield
than usual one day, and, about five o'clock of a spring afternoon,
straying into a solitary ravine that opened up before us on the moors
that stretched to the very edge of the coast, we came upon an ancient
wood of dwarf oak, so venerable and time-wor