"It maddens me to think that you should be at Chatfield's mercy!" muttered Copplestone. "But do you really mean to say that if—if Chatfield thought you—that is, your mother—were mixed up in anything relating to the clearing up of this affair he would—"
"Drive us out without mercy," replied Audrey. "That's dead certain."
"And that your cousin would let him?" exclaimed Copplestone.
"Surely not!"
"I don't think the Squire has any control over Chatfield," she answered.
"You have seen them together."
"If that's so," said Copplestone, "I shall begin to think there is something queer about the Squire in the way your mother suggests. It looks as if Chatfield had a hold on him. And in that case—"
He suddenly broke off as a smart automobile drove up to the cottage door and set down a tall, distinguished-looking man who after a glance at the little house walked quickly up the garden. Audrey's face showed surprise.
"Mother!" she said, turning to Mrs. Greyle. "There's Lord Altmore here!
He must want you. Or shall I go?"
Mrs. Greyle quitted the room hastily. The others heard her welcome the visitor, lead him up the tiny hall; they heard a door shut. Audrey looked at Copplestone.
"You've heard of Lord Altmore, haven't you?" she said. "He's our biggest man in these parts—he owns all the country at the back, mountains, valleys, everything. The Greyle land shuts him off from the sea. In the old days, Greyles and Altmores used to fight over their boundaries, and—"
Mrs. Greyle suddenly showed herself again and looked at her daughter.