Do you know I've been thinking as we walked up here that if Bassett Oliver had never taken it into his head to visit Scarhaven that Sunday this fraud would never have been found out! The chances were all against its ever being found out.
Consider them! A young man who is an absolute stranger in England comes to take up an inheritance, having on him no doubt, the necessary proofs of identification.

He's met by one person only--his agent.

He dies next day.

The agent buries him, under a false name, takes his effects and papers, gets some accomplice to personate him, introduces that accomplice to everybody as the real man--and there you are! Oh, Chatfield knew what he was doing! Who on earth, wandering in this cemetery, would ever connect Mark Grey with Marston Greyle ?" "Just so--but there was one danger-spot which must have given Chatfield and his accomplices a good many uneasy hours," answered Copplestone.

"You know that Marston Greyle actually registered in his own name at Falmouth and was known to the land lord and the doctor there." "Yes--and Falmouth is three hundred miles from London and five hundred from Scarhaven," replied Gilling dryly.