"Yes," replied Mrs. Greyle. "A week ago."
"A week ago!" exclaimed Copplestone. "That is, before last Sunday—before the Bassett Oliver episode. Then—the offer to sell is quite independent of that affair!"
"Strange—and significant!" muttered Gilling.
He rose from his chair and looked at his watch.
"Well," he went on, "I am going off to London. Will you give me leave,
Mrs. Greyle, to report all this to Sir Cresswell Oliver and Mr.
Petherton? They ought to know."
"I'm going, too," declared Copplestone, also rising. "Mrs. Greyle, I'm sure will entrust the whole matter to us. And Mr. Dennie will trust us with those papers."
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" asserted Mr. Dennie, pushing his packet across the table. "Take care of 'em, my boy!—ye don't know how important they may turn out to be."
"And—Mrs. Greyle?" asked Copplestone.
"Tell whatever you think it best to tell," replied Mrs. Greyle. "My own opinion is that a lot will have to be told—and to come out, yet."
"We can catch a train in three-quarters of an hour, Copplestone," said
Gilling. "Let's get back and settle up with Mrs. Wooler and be off."