He sprang over the edge of the cliff and hurried down the rough path; Chatfield, picking up his coat and shawl, prepared to follow him; Audrey and Copplestone lingered until he, too, had begun to lumber downward.
"If that is the Pike," said Audrey, "there is something—wrong. Whoever it is that is on the Pike wouldn't come back to take us!"
"You think there is somebody on the Pike—somebody other than Andrius?" suggested Copplestone.
"I believe the man who calls himself Marston Greyle was on the Pike," announced Audrey. "I've always thought so. Whether Chatfield knew that or not, I don't know. My own belief is that Chatfield did know. I believe Chatfield was in with them, as the saying is. I think they were all running away with as much of the Scarhaven property as they could lay hands on and that having got it, they bundled Chatfield out and dumped him down here, having no further use for him. And, if that's the Pike, and they're returning here, it's because they want Chatfield!"
Copplestone suddenly recognized that feminine instinct had solved a problem which masculine reason had so far left unsolved.
"By gad!" he exclaimed softly. "Then, if that is so, this is merely another of Chatfield's games. You don't believe him?"
"I would think myself within approachable distance of lunacy if I believed a word that Peter Chatfield said," she answered calmly. "Of course, he is playing a game of his own all through. He shall have his pension—if I have the power to give it—but believe him—oh, no!"
"Let's follow them," said Copplestone. "Something's going to happen—if that is the Pike."
"Look there, then," exclaimed Audrey as they began to descend the cliff.
"Chatfield's already uneasy."
She pointed to the beach below, where Chatfield, now fully overcoated and shawled again, had mounted a ridge of rock, and while gazing intently at the vessel, was exchanging remarks with Vickers, who had evidently said something which had alarmed him. They caught Chatfield's excited ejaculations as they hurried over the sand.