this side of the bay, though. Have you been to the police-station?"
"The manager may have been there," replied Copplestone. "He's gone along the other shore. But—I don't think he'll get any help there. I'm afraid Mr. Oliver must have met with an accident. I wanted to ask you a question—I saw you coming from the direction of those rocks just now. Could he have got out there across those sands, yesterday afternoon?"
"Between three o'clock and evening—yes," said the girl.
"And is it dangerous out there?"
"Very dangerous indeed—to any one who doesn't know them."
"There's something there called the Devil's Spout?"
"Yes—a deep fissure up which the sea boils. Oh! it seems dreadful to think of—I hope he didn't fall in there. If he did———"
"Well?" asked Copplestone bluntly, "what if he did?"
"Nothing ever came out that once went in," she answered. "It's a sort of whirlpool that's sucked right away into the sea. The people hereabouts say it's bottomless."
Copplestone turned his face towards the village.
"Oh, well," he said, with an accent of hopelessness. "I can't do any more down here, it's growing dusk. I must go back and meet the manager."
